Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club Book VIII

by Robert P McAuley

  Bill took a big pull on the Cuban and exhaled a long puff of white smoke towards the high ceiling, as he looked the meeting room over. The deep red curtains were open allowing the stars to be seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the cocktail tables held caviar and cheeses from all over the world along with the finest wines available. The big fireplace, which dominated the room, had a low fire going simply for the effect and seemed to attract most of the crowd as they gathered in front of it. Bill saw John Brand, a club member who became a very good friend of his after he sent him back to get the Hindenburg airship problem back on track. John was attired as a Civil War officer with the wings of an Aerial Balloonist on his chest. He was talking with Rocky Perna and Bill laughed to himself as he remembered Rocky setting some young punks straight back in Little Italy in the mid-eighteen hundreds as he and John Brand looked on. (Author’s Note: The Ronald Reagan Mission: Book 3). In a corner talking to Mariem Bliss, was Tom “Whitey” Madden dressed in his 1800s New York City Police Officer’s uniform. It was a replica of the uniform his great-great grandfather wore back then. Walking in the door was Fred Wiatre, another time traveler who Bill used to fix a problem during the Civil War. Fred was dressed as an officer of artillery for the Union Army, a post an ancestor of his held back then. All of the club’s members were attired in the clothes of the mid-eighteen hundreds, and many mimicked what their ancestors wore at the time period represented by The 1800 Club.

  A chime sounded and Matt announced, “Dinner is served.”

  Bill caught John Brand’s eye and John joined him as they entered the dining room.

  “Hello John, would you be so kind as to sit on my right?”

  John smiled and answered, “Why, President Scott, it would be my honor to sit next to you.”

  The club members entered and stood in front of the seats they chose for the dinner, and waited until Bill sat before they followed suit.

  Picking up a menu, Bill said to all, “A-ha! I see our club’s chef and kitchen help has, as usual, gone out of their way to entertain us with their culinary expertise.”

  He slowly slid his finger down the ornate menu and said, “A salad of chilled tomatoes, lettuce and walnuts with small onions and a special dressing. Next, oyster soup with chopped green sprouts and croutons. This is followed by: baked pork chops, diced white potatoes, glazed carrots, and cabbage, accompanied by thick slices of white bread and butter. This fine meal is ended by coffee and toffee dribbled over Lady Finger cookies.” With a quick sweep, he looked around the table as he said with a grin on his face and twinkle in his eyes, “Actually, the end of this fine meal takes place back in the great room with brandy and cigars for all who wish to indulge. Now, shall we dine?”

  That was the cue for the food to be served and all enjoyed the meal as they talked about the goings on of the world of December 10, 1864.

  “Mister President,” asked Thomas Cradel. He was dressed in a tuxedo, cut in the mid-eighteen hundreds fashion, and was a descendant of Thomas Cradel, the New York Stockbroker of 1861, and their line continued to this day. The original Cradel made millions of dollars during the Civil War and his great-great grandson mimicked him perfectly. “Sir, I wonder if you would share your thoughts as to what you believe the outcome of General Sherman’s siege of Savannah will bring?”

  “I do believe the siege of the Rebel city will shorten the war and perhaps save many lives on both sides of this terrible conflict.”

  Heads nodded in agreement as Jean Kirk, a red haired woman dressed in a flowing dress of the day, asked, “Sir, do you think women will ever have a chance to be in the front lines with the fighting men? I mean, as a woman who helps in the hospitals cleaning and fixing the dressings of the wounded, I feel that if we were allowed closer to the fighting, we could attend them much sooner, making better a chance for their survival.”

  Colonel Charles Fedders, attired in the uniform of an artillery officer for the Union Army, cut in and said with a smug grin on his face. “Mister President, if I may address Miss Kirk’s question?” Bill nodded and Colonel Fedders continued.

  “Miss Kirk, I and many other officers of the Union Army, feel that the front is no place for a woman as they tend to faint at the sight of blood, and, . . . “

  Jean Kirk stood and looked him in the eye as her voice took on an icy tone, which Bill couldn’t tell if it was a mock icy tone or not.

  “Colonel, the women who have attended the wounded men you and your officers sent into battle have much more fortitude than you think and I do believe that if we get to help them sooner rather than later, more would be alive today.” She looked at Bill and added, “Do you not agree with my beliefs, President Scott?”

  Bill thought quickly, Uh oh! I better stop this conversation fast before we have the Civil War all over again, but this time right here in the club. “I must say, Miss Kirk, you have a sound argument and I do believe that someday your vision will be proven as you declare.”

  Matt, on the ball as usual, quickly served Colonel Fedders and the rest of the dinner was accompanied by light banter as the guests continued their playacting.

  After dinner, Bill, John Brand and Rocky Perna stood on the balcony overlooking the city as they smoked cigars and sipped brandy.

  In a low voice, Bill said to the pair of time travelers, “Hey guys, I’m off tomorrow for a trip to England and won’t be back for about a month.”

  “What year?” asked John?

  “1868.”

  “Wow! That’s hot, Bill,” quipped Rocky as he flicked a long ash. “Can you tell us a little about the mission?”

  Bill took a sip of brandy and then answered as he looked around to make sure no other club member happened to be within earshot. “It’s most likely going to be a snap. It seems that Wilhelm Boeing, father of William Boeing who was the founder of Boeing Aircraft, loses his steamship ticket and never leaves Europe so his son never comes to the United States. I have to go back and grab a ticket as it flies out of his hand and give it back to him.”

  John slapped him on his back and laughed, “Boy, you could have asked me to do this one for you. A couple of weeks on the high seas are just what I need.”

  “Hey,” said Rocky with a smile, “I’m always available, especially for the easy ones, Bill.”

  Bill did a fake grimace as he answered both friends, “Guys, you know I always have you in mind for a mission, and believe me, you’ll both get another before long. In fact, maybe we’ll just take off without being on a mission and go fishing up the Hudson River before Henry Hudson even discovers it.”

  Both men agreed as the club’s grandfather clock struck twelve, and another evening at The 1800 Club came to an end.

  The next morning, Matt once again woke Bill up with fresh coffee and buttered toast, . . . with Samson, hoping some toast would fall off his plate, trotting close behind. After breakfast, he showered, shaved and said to himself in the mirror,

  “Well, might as well get changed.” He took the suit Matt had laid out and went into his private chambers, reappearing ten minutes later and buzzed Matt who brought up the two valises he would be traveling with.

  “Nice choice as usual, Matt,” Bill said as he turned around and looked in a full-length mirror to see a well-dressed man of the mid-1800s looking back. The suit Matt had picked was a dark blue, three button with a nine button, matching vest. A starched, white-collar shirt set off a dark blue cravat with a pearl stickpin in the center. Finishing it all were his highly polished, black, button-down shoes and black derby set on his head at a slight angle.

  “Splendid, sir. Why, you look as though you just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, circa 1868, . . . that is, if the magazine were in publication at that time.” Matt closed the straps on the two valises and asked, “What is your plan of action, sir, the obvious one, just be next to the gentleman and grab the boarding pass before it blows away?”

  “Exactly, Matt. I took a capture of the hologram and have a picture of Mister Boeing, and I know whe
re he’ll be standing at eight o’clock. I just have to make sure I’m in position when the whistle blows, make the grab and follow the crowd aboard for the nice, leisurely trip back home.”

  Bill took the time exchanger out of his inside breast pocket and typed in the date and time he needed for the mission: six-thirty on the morning of June 27, 1868. He shook hands with Matt, “See you in a couple of weeks, Matt. Mind the store.”

  Matt just nodded at what he considered a silly statement. There is no store, he thought as he humored his boss. He opened the mahogany door as Bill hefted the valises and exited the club.

  The time traveler went down the stone stairs and at the bottom unlocked and swung open the heavy steel door. He stepped out into the club’s garden on June 27, 1868.

  DATELINE: JUNE 27, 1868 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK

  It was just daybreak and the birds were up and singing as they looked about for their breakfast. As he walked towards the high irongate that would allow him to leave the garden, a startled frog leaped out of his way and with a plop, entered the goldfish pond at the junction of the stone walls. The time traveler took a deep breath of the sweet aroma given off by the garden’s flowers and shrubbery. The aroma just about masked the pungent smell of horse waste that he knew would become almost overpowering once he stepped outside of the garden’s gate. Opening the gate, Bill stepped out and, after he locked the gate behind him, set off to hail a cab, his leather heels meeting the gray slate sidewalk the only sounds this early in the morning.

  The early morning walk took him past a street cleaner dressed in white pants, cap and work jacket. The man pushed a wide, long-handled broom alongside the curb as he collected leaves that had fallen from the oak trees that lined both sides of the street. His destination was the pile of leaves he had gathered earlier at the corner. Next to the pile was a white, iron Sanitation Department trashcan on two large steel wheels, which held more of the leaves. Both men nodded as they made eye contact.

  Boy, thought Bill as he passed the man, this is one of the reasons I love this time period. Everyone seems to have manners and is not afraid to smile at another person.

  At the corner, he spotted an empty cab. The driver was just removing a feedbag from around the horse’s neck as Bill stopped in front of him.

  “Open for business?”

  The big man, whose bright red mustache matched his thick eyebrows, nodded vigorously, “Yessir. Out early this fine mornin’, ain’t ya?”

  “Yep. Going up to the forty-eighth street pier.

  “Well then, ya picked the right cab, sir. Ol’ Mary’s had her breakfast an jus’ rarin’ ta go. Hop on in ‘n we’ll be on our way.”

  Bill placed his two bags inside, stepped up on the steel rung and entered the wooden cab as the driver climbed up and released the brake. The cabby snapped the whip in the air and whistled. The horse pulled away from the curb and Bill sat back and looked out the window as Old New York passed by. The smell wasn’t as bad as he knew it would be when more traffic would be on the streets, adding to the horse waste faster than the Sanitation men could do their jobs.

  The steel wheels of the carriage slipped and squeaked on the cobblestones as the clop of Mary’s hooves brought a grin of satisfaction to the time traveler’s face.

  This is the best job in the world! New York in living color, not the black and white, grainy photos seen in history books, and, he thought as he saw a storeowner lowering his blue and white striped awning, living and breathing people, in color, doing every-day things. This is the best!

  The cabby went up Broadway until he got to forty-eight street and made a left turn. Before he arrived at the piers, the cab became part of a group of cabs and delivery wagons, all going to the same destination. The cab drivers all jostled for the front position to be able to drop off their fare at a good spot, hoping for a better tip while the delivery men wanted to get rid of their loads and head back for another one. Bill’s cab arrived slightly past the gate, and he grabbed the bags as the driver leaned down and, with a flick of his wrist, opened the door.

  “Here we are sir. Safe as a babe, an’ fast as the stork what brought it. That’ll be ten-cents.”

  Bill stepped out onto the damp cobblestones and passed up the fare and another five-cent tip. The driver tipped his hat and a shock of red, curly hair flopped out from beneath it. “Sir, if’n yer ever in need of a cab, jus’ walk on over ta the same spot ya’ found me at this mornin’.”

  “I’ll do that, and thanks,” said Bill as he checked his pocket watch. It was seven-twenty as he walked towards a small, white and green wooden building that stood at the entrance of the pier. People shuffled towards it with their luggage and tickets and Bill got on the end of the line.

  It took twenty minutes for his ticket to be punched, get his assigned cabin and walk up the covered gangway. Once onboard, a young man dressed in a white and black uniform did a short salute and checked the cabin number.

  “Main deck, sir, just forward of the dining room, and welcome aboard the Delphi. We sail at 10 am and refreshments will be available at 11.”

  Bill smiled his thanks and walked the main deck and found his room, 1-27. The time traveler was pleased that, being on the main deck the cabin’s interior was bathed in sunlight. The porthole’s window was open and a breeze strong enough to make the short drapes flutter wafted through bringing the refreshing smell of seawater. He opened the cabin door and smiled. The ocean liner was designed to be as opulent as a grand hotel and it showed. The interior of his cabin was painted white with mahogany wood trim. There was a high, twin bed with its headboard against one wall and a small mahogany table on either side of it. On top of one table was a silver tray that held writing paper, straight pen, bottle of ink and blotter. On the other table, there was a folded copy of Harper’s Weekly newspaper, next to a bottle of Brandy with two glasses. Attached to the wall above each desk were oil lamps. Next was a table with a white, porcelain pitcher sitting in a deep washing bowl. A set of white towels hung from a bar attached to the table. He noticed a brass ring attached to each side of the bed frame and a long, eight-inch wide, velvet sash folded across the bed. He knew that in rough weather one was to tie the sash to one ring, pull it across them and tie it to the other ring, thus stopping them from rolling out of the bed. Another door, this one louvered, opened to a small closet with enough space for his suits to be hung. To the right of the closet was a small three-drawer dresser for underclothes and toiletries. Lastly, next to the entrance door was a table and set of chairs made of mahogany and wicker. Bill looked under the bed and saw the chamber pot. He knew from reading up on the ships of this era that there were usually just a few washrooms aboard, and the call of nature deemed the chamber pot a necessity.

  “Oh well,” he said to himself with a grin, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.” He checked his pocket watch again and it was just before eight. Putting the valises up on the bed, he emptied the contents, hung his suits and then filled the dresser drawers. Finished, the time traveler sat in a wicker chair and opened the newspaper. The first headline that caught his eye was:

  WONDERFUL NEW SYRUP INVENTED

  On May 8th of this year, Mister John Pemberton invented a wonderful syrup in Atlanta, Georgia, USA. He is also the inventor of many syrups, medicines, and elixirs including a very popular drink called French Wine of Coca, which contained French Bordeaux wine, cocaine, and caffeine (from the kola nut).

  Bill grinned as he realized that it was the syrup would become the world famous drink: Coca Cola. Another headline read:

  SANITARY WASHROOM PAPER

  The invention of Sanitary Washroom Paper by Thomas, Edward and Clarence Scott of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, seems to be catching on fast. Hotels are counted among the biggest buyers of this product and the brothers have recently renamed their small company, The Scott Paper Company. The brothers first sold their papers from a pushcart on the streets of Philadelphia.

  Bill laughed as he thought; maybe I should have
had Matt pack some ‘Sanitary Washroom Paper’ for me. He was tickled to be reading a newspaper that was just off the press and not just a photograph of an old newspaper. He read on.

  MEMORIAL DAY PARADE

  On May 30 of this year, two women were seen placing flowers on both Union and Confederate graves in Columbus, Missouri. The following day, in Ironton, Ohio, a parade was held in memory of all fallen soldiers, both Union and Confederate. This newspaper supports the idea of this becoming a yearly event.

  Bill turned the page and read more news from over one hundred years before. Wow! He thought as he continued reading, this is so much better than reading a history book. I’ll have to take this back with me to use in the club’s newspaper.

  GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY

  A daring train robbery occurred near Marshfield, Indiana on May 22 of this year. Although all the information is not yet available, the culprits appear to be the group known as the Reno gang. The amount of money taken is still being investigated, but from rumors heard, this newspaper assumes it to be a small fortune.

  Bill Grinned as he put the paper down. Boy, they should only know of some of the schemes coming along in their future.

  The time traveler left the cabin, locking the door behind him, and started a slow stroll on the main deck. The sun was rising as fast as the heat it was giving off on this beautiful summer morning, and Bill lowered his derby to block its rays. He looked at New York and compared its skyline to the skyline of his time.

  Much more sunlight illuminating the city, he thought as he scanned the mid-town area. Of course, high-rise buildings of the future will soon take care of that. He shook his head. Boy, the quest for space in the City That Never Sleeps, will give it the feel of dark, gray canyons, rather than the well-lit metropolis I’m looking at now. He looked at a steamship coming up the harbor and watched as the crew dumped waste and garbage over the side before docking. Well, I guess things aren’t as great as it seems when we’re in the club. We never really think of the waste problems of the time, nor the lack of laws prohibiting dumping and such. Oh well. He continued his walk around the ship.