Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club Book VIII

by Robert P McAuley

  Nemo nodded. “I detect a French inflection in your speaking, sir. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the man as he looked around in awe, “I am French, but also speak English and Spanish.”

  “And please explain your plea, sir,” asked Nemo.

  “That I may sail with you and take accounts of all that occurs aboard this fine vessel of yours.”

  Nemo sat forward with a furrow on his brow, “Are you not afraid then?”

  The man was still shaking as he answered, “Sir, I am very much afraid. But, this story must be told and I do believe that I will shake off this fear for the story. That is sir, if you would have me. As you can see, sir, I am a slight man and do not eat much at all, it fact I’ll even help clean and cook and as I speak French, English and Spanish I can translate items for you, should you need that done.”

  “Captain Land,” Nemo said, “What say you about this turn of affairs? I mean the man is a passenger of your ship. What course do you think I should take? I mean, what would I do with a writer aboard my vessel?”

  “I think I know the answer to this, Captain Nemo,” said Bill as he grasped what needed to be done to make sense of this quirk in time. “You need some good press. By that I mean, say this gentleman stays with you aboard the Nautilus and writes about what you do. Why, when he writes his story, the world will know the good you have done trying to keep war from being transported to foreign shores for profit. Whether your means are correct or not, the world will know that you are not the type of fellow to murder the crews of ships carrying munitions. Does that make sense to you?

  Nemo’s face had the look of a man pondering a decision he had already made. “Well then, sir, the answer is, yes, you may accompany me on my journeys. But, remember the journey could be a long one. Even I don’t know where or when it will end for you to tell the world your story. So, if that bit of information doesn’t deter you, then welcome aboard the Nautilus. And, pray tell, sir, what is your name?”

  Bill smiled as he answered before the little man could, “His name is Jules Verne.” Turning to the newcomer Bill asked, “Correct, sir?”

  The man smiled as he put his glasses on and squinted at Bill, “Have we met, sir? Perhaps aboard the Delphi?”

  Bill grinned as he told a little white lie, “No, Mister Verne, but I once heard someone say your name and I have a good memory for names.”

  Nemo looked at the timepiece on the wall and announced as he stood, “Gentlemen, it has been my pleasure to lunch with you, but I do believe your ship is once again sea worthy and I simply must find that munitions ship that left Liverpool. Now, I ask you both a favor. Would you be so kind as to tell the passengers that the Nautilus was nothing more than a navy rescue ship, and that Mister Verne decided to join the navy?” He put out his hand showing the way. “Sirs, if you will allow me to lead you to the main deck.”

  Once on deck, Captain Nemo led them to a launch with four seamen manning the oars. As they were about to get in he offered his hand to Ned.

  “Captain Land. Please accept my apologies for stopping your ship and scaring any passengers.” He then turned and offered his hand to Bill and quipped, “Good memory for names, you say, Mister Scott? I say you are more than that, yet I cannot place it. Perhaps you are a government man with knowledge of a craft such as mine, and perhaps even my deeds. I know not the answer, but, I ask you this, sir, if you know of me and the Nautilus, how shall I fare?”

  “Captain,” Bill said as he grasped and shook Nemo’s hand, “I do believe that if you keep to your promise not to kill, you shall fare well. And,” he said trying to remember the story’s ending, “stay away from where giant squids may be lurking, and if you should have an island that serves you as a home base, and it has an inactive volcano on it, leave for another spot.”

  Nemo’s eyebrows arched in surprise as he answered, “Sir, you are deeper and more informed than I imagined. An island with an inactive volcano! I must admit you have a very good intelligence network. And, if I did have such a home base as you call it, I shall leave at once. Thank you again, my friend. God speed.”

  As the launch pulled away toward the Delphi, Bill heard the start of a conversation between Captain Nemo and Jules Verne.

  “Captain, how deep can this vessel go?”

  Nemo put an arm around the small writer’s shoulder, and, as he escorted him to the hatch, said in a proud tone of voice, “Mister Verne, the Nautilus can dive to 20,000 leagues under the sea.”

  The rest of the trip was uneventful and Bill used it trying to figure out what happened the past few days. He got the idea to go through the ship’s library and see if they had the book, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, but mentally slapped his forehead as he thought, Stupid! The story is not even written yet. He walked to the rear of the ship and leaned on the railing as he watched the ever-changing designs of the white foaming water being created by the Delphi’s screw. Time travel is fantastic, he thought, and I love it. But, it opens up so many questions. What came first, the story or the fact? He started a slow stroll along the deck. Submarines are not even invented yet, and yet, we just left a submarine that is more advanced than any submarine built in World War Two! And, although Jules Verne was alive in this time period, and did write 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, wasn’t it fiction? Or, perhaps Verne wrote it as fiction knowing that nobody would believe him anyway. Or, did Captain Nemo convince him to do it that way to keep the world’s navies from chasing him. He shook his head in confusion, And, I have nobody to ask these questions.

  Four days later the Delphi docked in New York harbor. Although it was two days longer than expected, it was within the estimated time of arrival and no one questioned the matter.

  Before leaving the ship, Bill went to Ned’s cabin.

  The captain opened the door and with a big smile said, “Bill, I was just coming to see you before you left my ship. Please sit,” he poured two drinks and after both had a drink in their hand, said as he raised his glass, “To a friendship that only comes out of danger and adventure on the high seas.”

  “Cheers, Ned.”

  Both drank up.

  “Ned, let me ask you: What are you going to tell people about what transpired on this trip?”

  The captain shrugged his shoulders and said with a grin, “Pray tell, sir, what can I tell people? That I was aboard a ship with the capability to descend to the bottom of the ocean? All ships can descend to the depths, but none can come back to the surface!”

  He shook his head as he went on, “I shall do as Captain Nemo asked: state that we had a collision at night and a British Navy ship helped us repair the Delphi. These past few days I have pondered what I would say, and have come to the conclusion that my masters would not care much for one of their ship’s captains to think they were aboard such a fantastic vessel as the Nautilus.” He stared at the bottom of his empty glass and his eyes suddenly had a faraway look in them.

  “Bill, if I was a man without a wife and two children, it would have been my dream to stay aboard the Nautilus and learn the technology available on her.” He looked Bill in the eyes, “And you, my friend. What story is it that you will be saying of our adventure?”

  Now it was Bill who had a faraway look in his eyes. “Like you, Ned, I was pondering what story I would give if asked, and came to the very same conclusion. Honor Captain Nemo’s wish for his and the Nautilus’ veiled identity. Besides, why remove the honor of Mister Jules Verne writing the story. I’m sure he will do it better justice than I.”

  “Well said, Bill. Well said.”

  Ned looked at his pocket watch and shook his head again. “My, how time seems to fly by. Does it not, my friend?”

  Bill’s answer was a smile as they shook hands.

  The time traveler hailed a cab and after giving the address, sat back and opened his shoe brush. He pressed and turned the wood base and out popped the small keyboard and screen. Quickly Bill typed in a message to Matt: MATT, IT’S TWO PM JULY 31, 1868 AND I’M BA
CK IN NEW YORK. IF YOU ARE FREE AND WANT A BURGER AND BEER, MEET ME IN DIAMOND’S BAR & GRILL. I’LL BE THERE IN ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. BILL.

  One minute later a vibration told him a message was coming in. The screen glowed as it appeared. SIR, I AM FREE AND WOULD VERY MUCH ENJOY A BEVERAGE AND SANDWICH IN MISTER DIAMOND’S ESTABLISHMENT. I WILL DRESS AND JOIN YOU THERE. MATT.

  Bill called up to the driver and the man opened the square sliding door in the roof and looked over his shoulder and down into the cab’s interior.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Driver, will you change the destination to 97 east 11 street?”

  The driver nodded and closed the top opening. Bill felt a change in direction and twenty minutes later the carriage stopped in front of Paddy Diamonds Bar & Grill, Bill’s favorite watering hole of any time period he’s visiting. He paid the driver and doubled it with a tip making the workingman a happy man.

  Diamond’s Bar & Grill was situated on a corner with two doors, one on either side of the corner, both of which led to a common vestibule, which led to a single door opening to the bar. The wooden bar was a beautiful piece of furniture over forty-feet long against the right-hand side of the establishment. Opposite the bar were three, wooden tables, each bracketed with two overstuffed, bench-type seats facing in. Next to the tables were two very large windows that looked out upon the people as they hurried by and horses and wagons that used the busy two way street. The windows helped immensely in the daylight to brighten the bar’s interior, while, at night, they became mirrors of a sort, reflecting all that transpired in the bar’s interior. At the end of the bar and above the door to the back was a stuffed moose head mounted on a huge plaque. Long wisps of dust trailed from the chin and at the right angle, they could be seen dancing in the breeze every time the door was opened.

  Bill entered the bar and was immediately spotted by Paddy Diamond, the proprietor since he opened the place in 1860. The mid-thirtie’s man stood over six feet tall and had a build that matched his height. His thick mane of hair was prematurely gray and matched the white apron he wore high above his wide waist.

  “Bless me,” he said in his thick Irish brogue as he offered his huge paw of a hand to Bill, “Bill Scott, himself. Now, tell me, Billy boy, where ya been fer the past few weeks? Out ta the sticks ‘o New Jersey again?”

  Bill shook his hand, laughing as he saw his own disappear in the big man’s hand. “Actually, Paddy, I was on a quick trip to England. Short vacation, that’s all.” He sat on one of the tall stools at the end of the bar.

  “Good. Then yer probably thirsty, ‘cause them pubs o’er there don’t serve chilled beer and I got me brew on ice all day.”

  The time traveler nodded, “A tall one it is, Paddy.

  The door opened behind Bill and Matt pulled over a stool and joined him. He wore an all black ensemble with white spats matching his white shirt and carnation. His derby was set at a jaunty angle on his head.

  “Good afternoon, sir, I trust your mission went well?”

  “Hi Matt. Mission completed and the Boeing Aircraft Company should be as history said it would be. There were a few glitches along the way and when we get home and I write up the debriefing, I’ll let you in on them. Believe me, they make good reading. Now, what are you drinking?”

  “A Scotch and water, sir.”

  Bill placed a five-dollar bill on the bar and asked, “Anything new, Matt?”

  “Actually, sir, we received a hologram from our friends in 2068. As I left the club to join you here, I saw it on the landing in front of our door. I thought it prudent not to bring it here.”

  “Good. We’ll enjoy our lunch then go back and check it out.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To the 1800 Club and all it allows us to do.”

  Matt answered as they touched glasses, “To the club, sir.”

  An hour and twenty minutes later, Bill opened the gate to the Club’s garden and both men entered. After locking it behind them, he opened the large steel door set in the wall at the rear of the garden. They stepped in and he took out his Time Modulator and looked at Matt.

  “Matt, what’s the date in 2012?”

  “Sir. Actually it’s no longer 2012 at all, it’s 2013. The date I left was January 10, 2013, and a happy New Year to you, sir.”

  Bill smiled and said as he typed in JANUARY 10, 2013, “A friend of mine just recently reminded me how time seems to fly. Happy New Year to you too, Matt.”

  DATELINE: JANUARY 10, 2013 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK

  Both time travelers went up the gas-lamp lit interior stairway and stopped at a landing facing the heavy mahogany door. Once again Bill used the same key to open the door and they entered his den in the 1800 Club. His dog Samson, who tried his best to leap up into his master’s arms, immediately accosted him and Bill kneeled down and scratched his dog’s long, floppy ears. Samson sensed that his master was going to sit and jumped into Bill’s favorite, overstuffed leather chair. They both jostled for space as Bill removed his high-buttoned shoes and Matt left the room. Sitting on the coffee table was the hologram and Bill picked up the light, six-inch steel cylinder. He unbuttoned his starched collar, removed his cravat and sat forward as he set the hologram container back on the table. He pressed his thumb on the cylinder’s top and as it recognized the thumbprint, it came to life.

  A small man appeared standing on the coffee table, replacing the cylinder. Bill recognized Joseph Sergi of the Time Watchers Group from the future.

  “Greetings, Bill. I’m sure you remember me, Joseph Sergi, and just as a precautionary measure, we of the Time Watchers Group would like you to familiarize yourself with Jack The Ripper. We will follow this closely and get back to you.”

  Mmmm, thought Bill as he got up and thumbed through the books in his extensive library, Jack The Ripper was one of the most notorious killers of England and I don’t believe he was ever caught. He came to a thick, leather bound book titled, ‘Jack The Ripper: Madman of Merry ‘ole England’ and brought it down.

  “Oh well,” he said to himself as he sat on the couch and opened the large book, “might as well brush up on the one of the oldest ‘cold-cases’ in history. He laughed as Samson, noting that he was alone in the leather chair, leaped across the distance between them and snuggled up next to his master. Bill pressed the intercom for Matt to bring him a Donald Duck mug full of hot chocolate.

  End

  CHAPTER 2

  JACK THE RIPPER

  DATE: 2069 PLACE: TIME WATCHERS GROUP, NEW YORK CITY

  He had three hours left in his tour and Joseph Sergi’s mind started drifting away from his task and settling on the meatball hero sandwich he had in his refrigerator at home. The tall, dark haired man sat at the center of the long, highly polished mahogany conference table. He was looking at a hologram of the foot traffic along Fleet Street in London, England. As usual his favorite music played in the background to keep him company and when the Drifter’s 1956 song, “Night Owl” played, he stretched his tall frame as much as he could without getting up. The notations that ran along the bottom of the hologram stated that it was, Sunday, December 4, 1888. On the street corner a group of people surrounded a young boy selling the Times of London newspaper as he shouted: “Extra! Extra! Jack The Ripper strikes again! Victim number six found dead. Read all about it!”

  Joseph shook his head and moved on to the next hologram. This is better, he thought as he watched a large sailing ship tie up at a London dock. The data scrolling along the bottom of this hologram stated that it was Monday, December 5, 1888 and the sun was almost touching the horizon as the sailors started walking down the gangways and the seagulls floated and dove as a seaman dumped garbage over the side.

  “Tsk! Tsk! Early pollution,” said Joseph as he tipped his chair back and studied the hologram. He pushed his thick, black lock of hair away from his eyes as he scratched his chin. He knew from past experiences that scratching his chin was an unconscious response when something didn’t seem right to him. He s
at forward and stared at the last few holograms brought back by the time probes into the past.

  The big man mumbled to himself, “What is it, Joseph? What’s wrong?”

  He removed the hologram and slid in the previous one that showed the young newsboy hawking his newspapers. The Time Watcher grabbed a pen and notebook and jotted down the information he wanted, then got up and walked over to the computer at the end of the conference table. He entered: How many women did Jack The Ripper kill, what were their names and what was the last date he killed?

  Instantly the computer displayed: Jack The Ripper killed five women in the seedier areas of London, England. They were:

  Mary Ann Nichols: discovered 3:40 a.m. on Friday, 31 August 1888 in Buck's Row.

  Annie Chapman: discovered 6 a.m. on Saturday, 8 September 1888 near a doorway in the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields.

  Elizabeth Stride: killed in the early morning of Sunday 30 September 1888. Stride's body was discovered at about 1 a.m., in Dutfield's Yard, off Berner Street in Whitechapel.

  Catherine Eddowes: killed in the early morning of 1:30 a.m. Sunday 30 September 1888. Stride's body was discovered at about 1 a.m., in Dutfield's Yard, off Berner Street (now Henriques Street) in Whitechapel.