Book 11

by Robert P McAuley

  “The most famous Royal Navy sighting was recorded by King George V, who in 1881 was a midshipman on H.M.S. Bacchante. In his diary, for July 11, he unequivocally wrote, ‘At four a.m., the Flying Dutchman crossed our bow. The lookout on the forecastle, and the officer of the watch, also saw the ghost ship off the port bow.’ Prince George described ‘... a strange red light, as of a phantom ship, all aglow in the midst of which light the mast, spars and sails of a brig two hundred yards distant stood out in strong relief as she came up.’ The ghost ship was sighted from other ships in the squadron, the Cleopatra and the Tourmaline. Thirteen crewmen, in all, witnessed the phenomenon. Prince Louis of Battenberg, great uncle of Prince Philip, commanded the squadron. The seaman who first reported the ghost ship died from a fall, only seven hours afterwards. With the help of the Reverend John Neale Dalton, Prince George published his account as The Cruise Of H.M.S. Bacchante. Before publication, naval authorities at the Admiralty checked the manuscript, to ensure that it contained no errors.”

  “Boy,” said Maryellen, “Talk about credible witnesses.”

  “So, Maryellen,” asked John Hyder, “What do you propose we do?”

  “We find out if there is a place or club or something along those lines that keeps track of the sightings of the ghost ship and see if there’s a way we can be at the next appearance.”

  “Wow,” said Jerry, “that’s a big assignment.”

  “I know, but if we . . . “

  “Not so tough,” said Joseph as he stood again with his open laptop. “Listen to this: ‘The Dutchman! Dedicated to solving the mystery of the Flying Dutchman.’ It’s a club that meets once a month and keeps track of all of the sightings of the ghost ship.”

  “For what reason?” asked Alexis.

  Joseph shrugged his broad shoulders and said, “For the same reason that there’s a club that is dedicated to finding Amelia Earhart.”

  “They should only know,” quipped Jerry with a smile. “Anyway, I imagine there’s a number we can reach them at?”

  “Yep!” said Joseph as he wrote down a number on a memo pad.

  Two hours later, Jerry Sullivan sat in a small room just ten city blocks from the History Tracking Group’s office. Two sawhorses held up a four-foot by eight-foot, three-quarter-inch thick plywood table. A map of the world was drawn on the table and on the map was every sighting ever recorded of the Flying Dutchman. Next to each dot that represented the ship’s sighting was a notation that gave the time and date of the sighting.

  “Very impressive,” Jerry said to Craig Hussine, a tall man with long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail who pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose every ten seconds when he spoke.

  “Thank you, Mister Sullivan and thank you for believing in the Dutchman. Not everyone does.”

  “I wonder, how many sighting have there been?”

  “Hundreds and probably hundreds more that have never been recorded.”

  Jerry scratched his chin, “If there are hundreds, why is it that there are only forty-one dots on your map?”

  Hussine grinned and asked, “Can you figure it out?”

  “Well, if there are hundreds of sightings, but you only have forty-one drawn on your table that means that you either only heard of forty-one or the ghost ship only appears in those forty-one places.”

  Hussine grinned and said, “Very good, Mr. Sullivan. She has been sighted hundreds of times, but she always appears in one of those forty-one sites.”

  Now for the sixty-four dollar question, Jerry thought, “So, can you tell me exactly where and when she was seen on October 20, 1889?”

  “Yes. But why would you want to know that? Are you writing a book or something?”

  “No, let’s just call it a hobby of mine, but I will make a contribution to your club if you tell me.”

  Hussine nodded and said, “Let me get the paperwork on that appearance.” He went to an old fashioned, five drawer file cabinet, opened it, and his fingers flicked through the files until he stopped and pulled out a thin, light blue folder. “I’m afraid there was no sighting on that date, but there was a sighting five days later on October 25, 1889 at almost the same spot.”

  “And that spot was . . . ?”

  “Allow me to read what this fisherman said he saw.

  ‘It was ten minutes past ten at night and I was out one half mile from the White House at the foot of Wilson Avenue in Port Monmouth, New Jersey. I was about to drop my net overboard to catch some early morning flat fish. I spied another eager fishing boat with two or three men in her with lowered sails just sitting quietly about one half mile away. Suddenly the bright light of the half moon disappeared and in its place was a thick fog that just seemed to roll across the water towards me. I started to pull on my oars, but it was no good as I was enveloped in some of the nastiest fog I’ve ever been in. It was wet and a silence came over everything. The sound of the light waves lapping on the side of my boat, the slap of the sail against the mast, the creaking of my wooden hull . . . all of these noises just stopped. It was eerie indeed, but the worst was yet to come. I made sure the net was tidy in my boat and I started to pull on the oars again when out of the gray fog came the light of a lit oil lamp. It gave off the color red and illuminated a tall ship that glided through the fog with a full press of sails though there was hardly a ripple of wind to make a white cap. There was nobody on deck. She was heading south and was going to miss hitting me by about two hundred feet and I just watched rather than row and maybe attract her attention. I thought all of those stories about a ghost ship were just to scare the kiddies, but I saw it with my own two eyes: The Flying Dutchman herself. I didn’t fish that area again for weeks.’

  I swear this to be the truth, Eric Clubbins, December 28, 1889.’

  Hussine turned to Jerry and asked, “Did that help you any, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “It certainly did, Mr. Hussine.” He took out his checkbook and pen and asked, “What or who do you want me to make this out to?”

  Hussine made a copy of the note and said as he passed it to Jerry, “The club could use a new table, so just make it out to ‘The Dutchman Club.’

  Jerry wrote out the check, passed it to Hussine, and as he went out the door, he grinned as he heard a shout of joy come from Mr. Hussine as he looked at the number Jerry had put on the check.

  Now, he thought as he went back to the 1800 Club, what do we do with this information? He stopped in his tracks and mentally snapped his fingers, I know what has to be done.

  He left the conference room and walked one flight up to the Time Transfer door. Best move we ever made, he thought as he walked towards Fred. He was referring to the building that the group purchased six months ago, right next door to the 1800 Club. It took the construction company one week to build a walkway between their building at 518 East Ninth Street and the building that the 1800 Club was located at on 520 Ninth Street.

  “Hi Mr. Sullivan,” greeted Fred with a smile. “Stepping out?”

  “Yep!”

  The guard opened the laptop and said, “The usual, Mr. Sullivan, name and I.D. number, date and time.”

  “Jerry J. Sullivan, I.D. number two. March 18, 2014, two P.M. ”

  Fred typed the information into the computer and with a nod pressed a button that opened the door behind his desk. He held out a small box and said, “Nose filters, sir?”

  “I’m only going to be a few minutes. Thanks anyway.”

  “See ya on the way back, Mr. Sullivan.”

  Jerry walked through the door and stepped onto the landing of the top floor of the 1800 Club. He walked down the stone stairs and smiled at the warm feeling of the gas lamps as they flickered and reflected his shadow against the red brick wall. On the next landing, he thought, Good luck, Mr. Sullivan and knocked on the steel door.

  DATELINE: MARCH 18, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Matt cleaned the coffee table for the tenth time and didn’t even know that he had broken a rule that
he had set for himself: never sit when not invited to by the head of the club. It was a weak moment and Samson jumped up and sat next to him.

  “Well, old fellow,” he said to the beagle as he petted him, “It seems that you too miss the master. And I do understand, as it has been a bunch of days without any contact at all. He pulled the open laptop towards his side of the table and entered in:

  SIR, IS EVERYTHING GOING AS PLANNED? YOU HAVE MISSED TWO CLUB MEETINGS AND I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO GIVE ANY EXPLANATION AS TO YOUR BEING ABSENT. I HAVE SAID THAT YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED AWAY FOR BUSINESS BUT MISTERS BRAND AND PERNA JUST RAISE AN EYEBROW WHEN I TELL THAT WHITE LIE. MATT.

  Both him and Samson almost jumped at the knock on the door.

  “The master!” said Matt as he walked towards the door. Samson had beat him to it and after a second of sniffing around the door, he emitted a low growl that alerted Matt.

  “Hush, Samson, perhaps the master stepped in something that has given him a different odor.” He opened the door to see Jerry standing there.

  “You must be Matt,” he said as he stood with both hands clasped in front of him.

  Matt kept Samson back as he answered, “Yes, sir. And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m sorry to suddenly appear without any forewarning, Matt. I’m Jerry Sullivan, from the History Tracking group.”

  “Ahh, Mr. Sullivan. Please come in, sir.”

  Matt held the door as Jerry entered and looked around the room. “This is magnificent,” he said in almost a whisper. “I’ve heard so much about the club and to be here in person is fantastic.”

  “Sir,” Matt said, “If you are looking for Mr. Scott, I’m afraid the master is out on a mission.”

  “Yes, I know. It was I who set the mission up and now need your help.”

  “First, sir, please sit and allow me to get you some refreshments.”

  “I’ll sit, and thanks for the offer, but nothing for me.”

  Matt took the seat opposite him and asked as Samson sniffed Jerry’s leg, “How may I help, sir?”

  “Let me give you the complete story first.”

  Twenty minutes later Matt shook his head and asked, “Why not simply go back to the moment he was going out the door and stop him?”

  Jerry nodded and answered as he started to wheeze in the poorer air of 2014, “We always have that option, but if we can get him off of that ship, think of all the history we can learn about the ship and its crew. The bottom line is that we are a historical tracking organization and if there is a way to add information to an historical mystery, it is our duty to do so.”

  Matt nodded and said, “I understand. So how do we get him off of the ship? I mean can we be certain that it will appear when you say it will? And what do we do, ask him to jump overboard with the woman?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Jerry with a shrug, “I’m here to see if you and I could come up with the answer.”

  Matt clenched his hands together and rested his chin on them with his elbows on his knees, his eyes closed. Jerry watched as he mumbled under his breath for a few moments before he realized that Matt was saying names to himself.

  Finally he snapped his eyes open and said, “Mr. John Brand and Mr. Rocko Perna.” He picked up the phone, dialed a number and after a moment said, “Sir, this is Matt from the club. We have an emergency and must do a rescue of President Scott. I do believe that you, Mr. Perna and I can do the rescue. Will you contact Mr. Perna and join me here at the club as soon as possible?” He nodded and said, “Very well, sir. See you then.” He hung up and turned to Jerry.

  “I do believe that we can pull this off, sir, and the planning will begin when you provide us with the coordinates and time the ship will appear.”

  Suddenly feeling out of breath, Jerry handed Matt a slip of paper. “Here it is. By the time she appears Bill and the woman will have been aboard for close to two weeks.” He stood and walked with a slight wobble to the door. “Matt, thank you very much, I knew you would have the answer. Somehow the 1800 Club always does.”

  Matt smiled and said confidently, “I’m sure that the master has everything under control and is just waiting for the right time to leave that ship.”

  Jerry took out his Time Frequency Modulator, entered March 9, 2070, pressed the activate button and walked slowly up the flight of stairs.

  DATELINE: MARCH 22, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  He opened the door to his time and said as he passed Fred, “Fred, if I ever have the need to go back in time, and pass on using the nose filters, please remind me how I feel right now.”

  Fred smiled.

  DATELINE: MARCH 22, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Matt greeted John Brand and Rocko Perna, two club members who had gone back in time and completed a few missions. Rocko’s expertise in anything that floats was sorely needed and John, with his U.S. Air Force experience and training as well as his physical attributes, helped insure the mission’s chances of success.

  “Matt,” said John as he offered his hand, “what’s the problem?”

  Matt felt out of place, shaking the hand of a club member and did so awkwardly and found that Rocko also had his hand out. He shook both hands and said, “Sirs. President Scott has gone out on a mission and failed to return. I have had no contact from him since the first day.”

  “Okay Matt,” said John, “Lets sit and go over everything in order. Perhaps he just took an extended vacation.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow and asked, “Would he ever do that and not let you two gentlemen know as well as I?”

  Both men shook their heads no as they sat in the living room.

  “It all started,” said Matt as he began at the beginning . . .

  Twenty minutes later Matt finished and the three men just sat in silence for a few moments. Suddenly Rocko slapped the arm of his chair, stood and said with his hands deep in his pant’s pockets, “It’s a snap! We go back to October 26, 1889 when that guy Eric Clubbins saw the ghost ship off the New Jersey shore, hire a fast boat and sail into that fog bank and call out to Bill that we’re here for him.”

  John shrugged his shoulders and said, “Rocko, as usual you got right to the point. And,” he said as he looked at Matt, “we have a backup plan to stop Bill before he even steps out the door. Correct?”

  “Correct, sir,” answered Matt. “And I might add, that you two gentlemen have lit the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel for me.”

  Rocko scratched Samson’s ears and quipped with a grin, “Just hope that light isn’t a train coming at us.”

  John laughed as Matt wondered why.

  “So,” said John, I propose that we ship out right away. Agree, Rocko?”

  “Yep! We’ll need clothes and money from that era.” He looked at Matt who nodded affirmatively.

  “I would imagine that you would wish to be attired in fishing type clothing. Am I correct?”

  John and Rocko looked at each other and nodded as John said, “Yep! We’ll fit in better.”

  Matt stood, “I have both of your measurements from previous trips back and will get what is needed right away.” He left the two men going over plans and went up the carpeted stairs to the huge room where he stored the clothing and accessories for any time trip needed.

  Twenty minutes later he entered the room and put their clothes on a hassock. He was dressed in a brown shirt, black pants with a gray patch sewn in the left knee, long rubber boots and a leather long coat over everything. On his head he wore a black knitted navy cap and lastly long rubber gloves that reached his elbows.

  “Matt . . .” John said, “why . . .?”

  “Why am I dressed like a fisherman from 1889? Why, to fit in, sir, that’s why.”

  “I don’t mean, why, I mean, well I hadn’t considered you going . . .”

  “Back with you?” Matt said, answering his question before he asked it. “It seems to me that we don’t know what to expect when we see the ghost ship. Rumor has it t
hose dead men with the power to attract all to her and keep them aboard for as long as she sails man it. My thinking is three men could be a large asset or a small inconvenience.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Rocko. “We just rent a bigger boat.”

  “Then it’s one for all and all for one!” said John as he went to the fishermen’s clothing.

  Soon he stood in front of the full mirror in the den and posed with a grin. He wore a red sweater with a crew neck, dark green pants tucked into high rubber boots and the pants were held up with wide black suspenders. Overall he wore a long brown leather coat. His cap matched Matt’s, as did his long gloves.

  Rocko wore a black sweater, black pants and high black rubber boots. A rope belt held up his pants and a three-quarter black leather jacket covered everything. On his head was the typical black knitted cap and his hands were covered with black leather short gloves.

  “Well,” said Rocko removing his gloves, “we sure do look the part.”

  Matt opened a burlap bag and said, “Sirs, I suggest we put our boots and gloves in this bag as we need to travel through the city and then New Jersey where we would look like fishermen who have lost their boat. I have shoes for you both to wear.”

  They dropped the items in the bag and Matt tied the top and gave them regular street shoes. And following the normal procedures when someone was traveling back in time, gave them each some money, identification and for each of the three of them, a hairbrush/communicator. Matt held up the hairbrush with the communication device inserted in it and said, “Should we find ourselves in need of help, I supplied each of us with one.” He told them of the new password security mode and they all put their brush in their inside coat pocket as Matt continued, “There is a New Jersey Railway train leaving Hoboken on October 25, 1889 at three p.m. and it arrives in Port Monmouth, New Jersey at 4:15 p.m. That should give us plenty of time to rent a boat. Shall we?”