“I’m set,” answered John followed by a nod from Rocko. Matt opened the door that gave them time travel. He took out his Time Frequency Modulator and entered in: OCTOBER 25, 1889 1:00 P.M. and they went down the stone steps to the security door where Matt pressed the TFM’s activate button and they stepped into the garden Club’s garden.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 25, 1889 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
It was warm for October and immediately the three men covered their noses as John speculated, “Phew! It’s a bad day in New York City, gents, no breeze to clear the air of the horse waste smell.” The other two men agreed with a nod.
The three time travelers flagged down a carriage to take them across town.
“Boy,” said Rocko as the three sets of legs seemed to wrap around each of them in the confined space, “We either caught a smaller than usual cab or the people back here were much smaller than us.”
Suddenly John wrinkled his nose and added, “Phew! Plus, this cab smells like old fish.”
“Not really, sir. I took the opportunity of spraying fish smell on our outfits.”
Both men answered at the same time, “What? Why?”
“Why?” asked a surprised Matt. “Why to add to our disguise. We are supposed to be fishermen, sirs, are we not?”
“I’d rather be the one fisherman that has never caught a fish than smell like I just cleaned one hundred of them,” answered Rocko with a hearty laugh that got both John and Matt to join in.
“Well,” added John, “at least we won’t be bothered by people sitting too close to us.”
The twenty-minute carriage ride ended at the Fast and Rapid Ferry Service of New York and New Jersey. As there was a ferry leaving every thirty minutes, there was no large crowd and the three time travelers strolled along as they continually looked at the old streets of 1889.
As they crossed a busy street that was very wide and full of horse-drawn wagons, all trying to get their goods to a certain ship, Rocko, who was constantly around docks and boat yards said as they crossed it: “These are the most dangerous streets in New York as they are cobblestone and the wagon drivers all race to move their goods or just to exercise their steeds and the steel rims of their wagon wheels slip and slide sending their wagon into many a crash or an unaware person.”
They entered the large building that looked more like a zeppelin hangar than a ferry dock, entered and dropped a five cent coin into a tall box with a tin plate under the slot. As the coin dropped in it hit the tin plate and rang like a small bell. If the clerk standing next to it didn’t hear the ring, he stopped the would-be fare beater and chased them away. They entered the wide mouth of the flat ferry and walked along the designated walking area as it quickly filled with carriages, trucks and the occasional battery driven taxi cab. It seemed that every passenger tried to stand at the very front of the ferryboat, many for the view, but most for the fresh air the trip promised. The time traveling trio also stood at the front of the boat and Rocko said, “Well, at least on a ferry boat the movement freshens the air somewhat.”
John grinned as other passengers slowly left the area around them. “Matt,” he quipped with a smile, “your special fishmonger aroma is working. I do believe that the other passengers think we are true fishermen.”
As the flat bottom boat crossed the water to the New Jersey shore the forced air that ran through the center of the open boat provided a period of fresh air. However, the closer they got to New Jersey, the more the smell returned.
Matt shrugged and said, “We must remember, sirs, that New Jersey also uses the horse as the main means of transportation.”
To the average person of 1889 the waters between New York and New Jersey looked like a free-for-all as boats and ships of all sizes seemed to weave and dodge after almost colliding with each other. Horns, bells, whistles and even shouts from sailors all added to the cacophony that erupted as any boat entered another’s perceived space.
“Boy,” said John as he cringed as two small sailboats just missed each other, “that was close.”
Rocko, who has sailed for years, grinned as he said, “Not as close as it looked, guys. These sailors really know their trade and as the majority of the boats are sail powered, they all look for the same breeze. But in fact, they all know how far they can go without running into another boat.” He shook his head, “It’s a ballet on water.”
The trip across the water took twenty-five minutes and soon the three time travelers exited the docked ferry and walked directly across the street to the New Jersey Railway station and went into the cavernous interior. There was row after row of long, wooden benches all facing the departure display wall. The number of passengers that had entered the building over the years was shown by the smoothness of the wooden benches and arm rests.
Besides the three New Yorkers there were another ten travelers sitting on them as another ten slept while using their luggage as pillows. The stationmaster ignored them as he had seen thousands of tired travelers over the years and always gave them a break.
Matt went to one of the many windows, put up a ten-dollar bill and asked the gray haired clerk with thick sideburns and a pair of glasses that sat at the edge of a long, thin nose, “Sir, I would like to purchase three, round trip tickets to Port Monmouth.”
The man almost smiled as he took the ten, passed back three tickets and one-dollar change. “Three p.m. on track 9. She pulls into Port Monmouth at 4:15 this afternoon and you can count on that as the engineer is Jack Ward, the best dang trainman ever.” He looked over Matt’s shoulder and said, “Gate is open now if you want to board.”
“Thank you, sir. We shall board immediately.”
The three time travelers went out the gate and stepped onto a long wooden platform. There were six trains sitting in the covered departure area, but only one had its steam up.
“That’s us,” said Matt as he pointed at the fat bellied train that hissed as steam exited the various parts designed to relieve the pressure on its boilers. As the cool air touched the hot engine, condensation formed making the black paint look as though it was wet. There was a young boy wiping down whatever part he could reach as the train’s engineer watched with a smile. Rocko guessed the boy was the train engineer’s son.
There was a red, wooden stair step at the foot of car number two and the three stepped up and into the interior. One seat in the center of the car had a movable back that slid towards the front so four people could sit facing each other two by two. John and Matt sat next to each other and Rocko faced them while Matt’s bag occupied the fourth seat.
Overhead gas lamps showed off the beautiful woodwork that surrounded the windows and seats as well as illuminated the car’s interior. As usual the lamps hissed from the compressed gas that was carried in cylinders beneath the car and while it may bother someone from that period, it somehow soothed the time travelers. The seats were covered in red corduroy and filled with a combination of horsehair and springs. The floor had a thick, warm-red rug that was held in place by brass tacks driven into the wooden floor that sat upon the steel frame. As the times demanded, there was a highly polished spittoon situated at both ends of the car. The windows were closed and each had a red corduroy curtain and a shade with a cream colored tassel on the end of its pull string.
“Corduroy,” said Rocko feeling the seat. “I didn’t know they had this material in this time period.”
“’The cloth of Kings’, quipped Matt as he patted the material. “It goes back at least two thousand years and I imagine the seats are a fourteen Wale while the curtains are eight Wale.”
Both Rocko and John stared out the window rather than enter into a conversation on corduroy with Matt.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 25, 1889 PLACE: ABOARD THE FLYING DUTCHMAN
Bill looked up and quipped, “The fog seems lighter.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement as she held his arm.
“Not as light as a few years back,” said Chad as the six passengers strolled the deck.
/> They turned to walk down the port side when out of the fog stepped the captain. “Greetings, I hope all is well?”
“Fine, as fine can be,” answered Elizabeth. “And yourself Captain van der Decken?”
“The same. Always the same.” He looked up and able to see half way up the taut sail exclaimed, “The fog seems lighter today.”
“Ahh!” exclaimed Chad, “Yes it is, but nothing like the time we saw the docks of London a few years ago.”
The captain nodded and stepped back into the fog.
“So,” said Chad as the group returned to their deck walking, “Do tell us more of your time traveling tales, Bill. I find them titillating.”
“Yes, please do,” added his wife.
“Well,” answered Bill with a shrug, “It was quite simple: when a probe from the future found a glitch, or as I like to call it, a hiccup, in history, I received an emissary from the future who explained the problem. I would then look at the members in my club to see who would be the best one to send back and set history back on course. Then I would brief them and supply them with clothes and money of that era.”
“And you say that England has a Queen in your time? Quite good, quite good,” said Gloria.
“And,” asked Elizabeth, “I am the reason that you came to my time period? You came back to stop me from falling off the ship only to fall overboard with me.” She grinned and said with a smile, “That is so funny!”
They all laughed . . . Bill along with them. “Well,” he said, “If I didn’t come back to save you we wouldn’t have met Chad, Gloria, James and Etta and we wouldn’t have met Captain van der Decken and his crew so all’s well that ends well.”
Chad slapped Bill on the back and said, “As I said, old fellow, give it time and you’ll discover the wonderful feeling of a sea voyage.”
“You were right, Chad. I have to tip my hat to you.”
They resumed their walk as Elizabeth said, “I must admit that there are times when I miss my old life, but they are getting to be less and less.”
“As we said they would, my dear,” said Etta as she slid her arm around Elizabeth’s slim waist.
“Bill,” said James, “will you tell us some more of your time travel stories at dinner? I do find them exhilarating!”
“Sure, no problem.”
DATELINE: SAME TIME PLACE: CAL’S BOAT RENTAL, PORT MONMOUTH, NEW JERSEY
“Goin’ fishin’ gents?” asked Cal Dunny, the owner of Cal’s Boat Rental. The big man had a constant squint in his brown eyes from years of sailing and looking into the sun as it bounced off the water and reminded Rocko of the cartoon character, Popeye the sailor.
“Yep,” Rocko answered. “Hope the Bluefish are biting.”
“They are, my friend, they are. What’cha lookin’ for?” he asked as he swept his large hand over the area. There were at least twenty large and small rowboats all turned upside down on the beach while two sailboats were tied to a short pier that jutted out into the water.
Rocko smiled and said as he pointed at the two-masted sailboat, “Is that a Herreshoff Coquina over there?”
“Sure do know your boats, my friend. Yep, that’s a Herreshoff. In fact Nathanael Greene Herreshoff is an old buddy of mine and he built that one for me. But, as you seem to know what’s what with sailboats, I’ll rent her to ya. Have her back at ten o’clock tomorrow morning and she’s yours for ten dollars. Deal?”
“Deal.” said Rocko as he passed ten singles to the boatyard owner who said, “My son will run down with bait and rods. Good luck.”
“Hey,” Rocko said as an afterthought, “by any chance do you know an old friend of mine, Eric Clubbins? He said if we could make it, we should meet up with him offshore.”
“You know Eric? Well he’s out there already. He drops his net about one half mile out from the White House. Ya can’t miss him. Follow the shoreline south and after three miles you’ll see the White House Restaurant and Bar. Once you’re next to her, go out one mile and you’ll see ol’ Eric just sittin’ there in his boat pullin’ in Bluefish one after the other.”
The three men said goodbye and walked down to the pier. Once near the boat Matt opened the burlap bag and the three time travelers donned their boots and gloves.
“Rocko,” asked John as he stepped off the small wooden pier and onto the deck of the sailboat, “I sure hope that you can drive one of these things.”
“No problem, partner,” he said with a wink, “This just happens to have been built by one of the greatest boat designers in the world. Nathanael Greene Herreshoff designed more than a few sailboats that won the America’s Cup between 1893 and 1920. I sailed one a few years back and believe me it is fast!”
John nodded and said, “It’s a little tight in here right now and we’re going to have to fit in another two so it’s going to be real tight on the return trip.”
Rocko agreed and said, “We need speed more than comfort and we’re lucky to have found this boat.”
“Sirs,” said Matt, “I suggest we get something to eat as we do have another four hours to wait and we shall need our energy.”
“I know just the place,” said Rocko.
The crunching sound of feet on sand got their attention and a small boy with a box in one hand and fishing rods in the other stopped, passed them to John and said as he pointed at the box, “My pa sent this down. It’s black dirt worms, best ta fish with an’ three rods. Best ya watch the hooks, they’re mighty sharp.”
John tipped him and placed them in the bottom of the boat.
“Bye, sirs, and good fishin’,” the boy said with a wave.
Rocko sat in the rear of the low riding boat and gently handled the tiller. They caught an offshore breeze and before they knew it the slim boat was cutting through the water leaving a white wake.
After fifteen minutes Matt and John saw that Rocko had lowered one of the two sails and gently turned towards shore. They saw where he was heading and knew immediately that it was the White House at the foot of Wilson Avenue in Port Monmouth.
“Any restaurant that big,” Rocko said as he tilted his head towards the White House, “has to be good to survive and I bet they have the best fresh fish around.”
They docked at one of the longest jetties that stuck out from the beach and walked in on it.
The door on the beach side opened to show ten, red and white-checkered tablecloth-covered tables. They sat by one of the ten windows and a waitress handed them menus.
Matt nodded, “Scallops and rice. If done correctly, it could be good.”
“I’m for the tuna steak,” said Rocko rubbing his stomach.
“I’m for the scallops and rice too,” added John.”
“Gents,” said Matt, “I do believe that we should all have a different meal as: if the scallops are off, we would have two sick men rather than one. So, I’ll change mine to cod.”
“Hey, wait, you have the scallops,” said John “ and I’ll . . . “
“Thank you, but no, sir,” said Matt, “I’m fine with my choice, please have the scallops.”
Port Monmouth, N.J. White House
A waiter took their orders and as they waited for their food, John said, “So, guys, how do you see this rescue mission going down? I mean do we just hail her and tell Bill to jump?”
Rocko shook his head no and said, “I don’t think so. The story is that the captain and crew are doomed to sail the seas because he blasphemed Mother Nature or some other deity. There are also stories of other people aboard who were shipwrecked and they are now part of the curse to sail forever.”
Matt asked, “So, you believe that Bill and the woman are doomed as well?”
“Well,” said John, “knowing Bill, if he sees another ship, he’ll jump overboard and swim for it.”
Rocko shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe. Unless he is now under some sort of a spell or something. I mean, if there are others aboard all these years, why haven’t they tried to jump ship when they were sighted? And why h
asn’t he contacted Matt with his communication device?”
“Well,” said John, “if he didn’t have it on him when he fell overboard, it’s still in his cabin.”
The waiter put their food down and walked back into the bar area of the restaurant as Matt picked up the conversation.
“Gentlemen, I do believe that we must be prepared to board her and snatch Mister Scott and the young lady . . . forcefully if need be.”
“I second that,” added John as Rocko shook his head in agreement.
“There is just one thing, guys,” added Rocko, “someone must stay in the sailboat while the other two board the ship. Any volunteers?”
The silence was the answer to his question so Rocko picked up three straws and clipped one in half. “Whoever picks the short one stays in the boat.” He put them in his hand behind his back and then offered them first pick.
John and Matt picked one and they all put their hands out and opened them. Matt would stay in the boat.
The three time travelers sipped coffee and smoked a cigar as they waited out the clock. Finally at nine o’clock Rocko said as he stood, “We have a little over an hour, guys, I suggest we start out.”
Matt paid the waiter and the three left as the man collected the dishes and said, “Good luck fishing, men. Come on back for breakfast.”
Ten minutes later they were in the boat and Rocko manned the helm. He looked at his luminescent pocket compass, then back to the well-lit White House and steered straight out to where the Flying Dutchman was spotted by the fisherman, Eric Clubbins.
“I see a boat,” said Matt as he pointed slightly left of where they were heading.”
“Good eyes, Matt,” quipped Rocko. “My plan is to sit with lowered sails about one half mile away from him.”
Book 11 Page 11