Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club Book VIII

by Robert P McAuley

  “Yes, but it’s not the ‘where you are,’ as much as ‘when you are.’ Get it?”

  “Oh, yes, we can stay in touch no matter what year I’m in. Right?”

  “Yep! However, you must remember that if you need me to come to you, it’s going to take me just as long as it took you to get to where you are texting me from. Understand?”

  He nodded. “So I’m really pretty much on my own, then.”

  “Right. But don’t sweat it, just let the club’s training kick in and you’ll be fine.”

  Matt stepped forward and handed Patty a leather wallet. “Sir, inside you will find identification, seven hundred U.S. dollars, and a round trip ticket aboard the steamship, Servia. She leaves New York on November 25, 1888 from pier 48 at the foot of 48th street at seven in the evening. I took the liberty of purchasing you a First Class cabin and as the shipping line offered selected seating, I placed you at Miss Larsen’s table.”

  “Wow!” quipped Patty as he placed the wallet on top of the closed suitcases. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, I’m ready to go.”

  “Do you have a plan of sorts?” asked Bill.

  “I thought that as a voice coach and her being in a choir, I’d have an opening for conversation. But even if she is a loner, I still know when and where the Ripper is supposed to strike her and I’ll be there to stop him.”

  Bill had a look of concern on his face as he said, “Patty, as you know the rules are that we can’t kill anyone, but can I be assured that you will be able to defend yourself should the need arise?”

  Patty nodded as he reached into his inside jacket pocket. “Yes. I still carry this little guy from the old days when the streets of Brooklyn could be dangerous when you walked alone.” He took out a six inch, leather blackjack and smacked it in the palm of his hand as he went on, “Its just to deter a would be robber and it works great.”

  “Okay, okay, I feel relieved now,” said Bill checking his watch. “It’s 2:15 now and if the three of us dress in period clothes we can have a nice steak dinner at the Pig & Whistle over on 48th street before you depart. What do you guys think?”

  Both Matt and Patty nodded yes.

  “Sir,” asked Matt as he placed a pair of brown shoes, matching socks and cravat along with a well-starched white shirt and collar on the two packed suitcases. “If this outfit is to your liking, I believe you will find it complete.” He pointed to the long coat and continued, “I checked the weather of the day we shall go to and as there is a cold snap as they call it, I suggest you wear the long coat.”

  Patty looked at Bill and shrugged his shoulders, “What can I say, he is the best.”

  Bill nodded as Matt once again shrugged off the compliment and opened a dressing room door. “You may get dressed in Master Bill’s private dressing room, sir.”

  Taking that as a command of sorts, Patty grinned, picked up his outfit and disappeared into the dressing room. Bill went to his bedroom and dressed in the outfit he had picked out when he first entertained the thought of having dinner in the Pig & Whistle.

  Fifteen minutes later both men stepped out from the rooms they dressed in. Matt stood in the same room holding two long coats.

  “Sir,” he said as he held up a gray, long coat with a trimmed leather collar, “I took the liberty of checking out your outfit and suggest that you wear this. It compliments your gray suit and the dark leather matches the black cravat. Also,” he went on as he held up a high, black hat, “as most men on the period we shall be visiting wore tall hats, I feel this shall meet you requirements. Do you agree?”

  “Perfect, Matt. Thanks again for thinking ahead.”

  Matt turned to Patty and offered him a tall, dark brown beaver hat and scarf. “Sir, it is imitation beaver and is designed to not only be fashionable, but useful against the elements. Are they to your liking?”

  Patty placed the hat on and looked into the tall dressing mirror. “This is perfect, Matt. Thank you once again.”

  “And,” added Matt as he passed out the last of the clothing, “leather gloves for all to help fend off the wind.”

  As he put the tight-fitting leather gloves on, Bill noted that Matt had dressed in a pin striped, gray and black three-piece suit with black cravat, shoes and top hat. His black, long coat was tight at the top but flared out fashionably from the waist down. Centered dead on in his cravat was a small pearl stickpin.

  “Quite the fashion plate, Matt,” he said with an approving nod. Matt simply nodded as he picked up the valises and headed toward the Time Portal door.

  “No,” said Patty grabbing one of the valises, “I get at least one. I insist.”

  “Very well, sir,” said Matt relinquishing the lighter of the two and opening the door. “Sir,” he said to Bill, “I made sure that Samson was walked and has water. Also I entered the date we wish to be at while you two gentlemen were dressing.”

  The three men went down the redbrick walled stairway as the highly mounted gas lamps elongated their shadows. Once at the bottom Matt opened the heavy security door and they stepped out into the garden.

  DATE: NOVEMBER 25, 1888 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK

  As usual stepping into the garden in another era didn’t signal the travelers that they were back in time, it was just the tingling sensation inside them knowing that they had done what the world said was impossible: Traveled back in time. It was their playacting while being members of the club that stopped them from being overwhelmed, and fitting in as one of the everyday folks they encountered. Nobody knew this better than Bill and Matt and they both watched for any sign of an anxiety attack from the club’s newest time traveler. They both relaxed as Patty took to it, as they did, like ducks to water. He smiled and casually followed them to the garden gate. Bill fished out the key and opened and locked the gate behind them. Once outside of the enclosed garden the three men felt the chill Matt had predicted and all three walked into the wind with heads down and one hand holding their tall hats.

  “Boy,” said Bill against the biting wind, “one wonders why these guys wore such tall hats during the windy days.”

  “Fashion, sir, fashion,” answered Matt as he strutted ahead evidently used to this time period.

  Bill smiled to himself as he thought; Matt is a very, very deep person. Much more than meets the eye.

  As if to punctuate that thought Matt waved down a cab before the other two men even saw it. He held the door for them as he said to the driver, “48th street and 6th avenue, please, sir.” The short, barrel shaped man put a finger to his hat and nodded as Matt entered and closed the wooden carriage door behind him as the cab pulled away from the curb.

  “Did you notice,” asked Patty, “that the driver wore fingerless gloves in this weather?”

  Matt nodded. “Better to have chilled fingers and have a better grip on the handle of the four-foot long stick he sits on, sir.”

  “Why does he need a long stick?” asked Bill.

  “To discourage would be robbers in the seedier sections of town, sirs.”

  Both men nodded to one another and sat back and watched New York of 1888 go by. They were happily surprised that even in this cold weather children played in the streets. They ran and played tag and other blood warming games that seemed to thwart off the cold. They also cringed as fleeting shadows darted between stacks of garbage. The time travelers knew that the city was forever fighting rats but although garbage removal was the largest answer, as soon as it was removed many tenants simply tossed their refuse out of their windows no matter what floor they lived on. It hit the slate sidewalks and exploded in a crescendo of potato peels; carrots, rotten lettuce and cabbage to just name a few. Luckily, glass containers were considered reusable or else the crowded hospitals would be even more crowded and that would add to the disease that the rats and garbage spread.

  The cab slowed and pulled over to the curb signaling the end of the ride and the three men exited. Matt looked up at the driver who shrugged and more as a question said
, “Fifty cents?”

  Matt smiled and passed him a dollar fifty and once again the man tipped his well-worn hat to them as he pulled away from the curb, his never ending search for another fare uppermost on his mind.

  “An enterprising man,” said Patty. “That’s great to see.”

  “That’s why I enjoy these times so much,” said Bill as they walked up 48th street. “The people seemed to want to work and were proud of it.”

  The Pig & Whistle was in the middle of the street and going down three stone steps, the men entered the warm restaurant. A thirty foot long bar ran down the left side of the very Irish establishment while down the center of the room ran a waist-high, wooden wall dividing the bar section from the dining area which had twenty tables, each with four wooden chairs and all empty at this time.

  A tall young, sandy haired man greeted them with three menus. “Gents, will ya be stayin’ fer dinner?”

  “Yes,” answered Bill as he took off his hat.

  “Would ya like ta sit at the bar or have a table?”

  “A table would be fine, sir.”

  The man guided them to a table not too close but not too far away from a small wood burning iron stove. “Is this to yer liken?”

  “Fine with me,” said Bill looking at Matt and Patty who agreed with a nod. They sat and the man placed the menus in front of them.

  “I’m Fitz. Just call me when yer ready. Would ya like a beer or somthin’ stronger ta fortifier ya against this chill in the air?”

  Bill nodded and said, “A tall beer for me.” Matt and Patty nodded again and Fitz left to get their drinks.

  “Gents,” said Bill, “I’ve been here twice before and the steaks are thick and delicious and they pride themselves with having the best mashed potatoes in the city.”

  Fitz returned with three tall mugs of beer on a red tin tray and deftly placed one in front of each as he said, “Have ya made up yer minds for dinner or do ya need more time, gents?”

  Bill answered for them, “No, we’re ready. We’ll have a steak and potato dish each, two rare and one medium.” The tall young man collected the menus and with a warm smile left and went to the kitchen.

  Twenty-five minutes later he returned and set the plates down indicating the medium steak, which was passed to Patty. He left and returned with the red, tin tray holding three more beers. “I know ya didn’t order them, sirs, but ‘tis on me.” The smiles from his three customers told him that his instincts were correct.

  The three time travelers lit up a Cuban each and enjoyed them with a cup of coffee. “Bill checked his watch and said, “Hate to break up a good party but its 5:45 and we still have to get over to the docks so I think we should be on our way.” He waved and Fitz came over.

  “Yes, sirs. Was all to yer likin’?”

  Bill patted his stomach as an answer. “It was outstanding, Fitz. However right now we need the check and grab a cab.”

  Fitz left and returned with a slip of paper, placing it strategically in the center of the table and went back to the bar.

  Bill grinned and said in a low voice as he looked at the bill, “Three dollars and sixty cents for three steak dinners, one beer and one coffee each. Can you beat that?”

  Matt smiled a knowing smile as they watched Patty’s reaction.

  “That’s fantastic! Plus the steak was fantastic and the beer had no preservatives.”

  Bill grinned and said as he opened his wallet, “As you once said, Patty, ‘What a great gig.’”

  They stood and put on their hats and coats as Fitz did what bartenders did for hundreds of years as they were killing time: Wiped down the already clean bar.

  Bill went and passed him a ten-dollar bill and as Fitz turned to make change, he said, “Fitz, the service was as good as the food and drink. Please take the change for the great service.”

  A smiling Fitz offered his large, open hand and as they shook said, “Sir, you an’ yer friends are welcome any time in the Pig & Whistle. Have a pleasant and safe trip an’ come back an visit even if ya don’t feel the need ta eat. Come have a drink with me, my friend.”

  The three time travelers walked down 48th street and ended up at the dock at 6:15. They stood at the dock looking up at the immense steel ship as a cacophony of sounds drowned out the chance of having a normal conversation. An endless line of carriages of all shapes and sizes pulled by teams of one, two, three and four horses jammed the drop-off area, their drivers deftly maneuvering for the best position to deposit their passengers and luggage. The main reason behind their eagerness to please, was knowing that the less their passengers had to drag their luggage, the larger the tip they’ll receive: hence the drive to get as close to the ship as possible.

  Patty smiled as he heard curses and yelling from some of the drivers and he thought, New York 2013 or 1888, the cabby rules!

  The three men scooted between carriages and large wagons still delivering food and drink to the ship, to get to the passengers line. Looking left as he leapt over a mound of horse waste, Patty slipped on the urine soaked cobblestone but was saved from an embarrassing spill by Bill’s steel grip on his arm. Once across the main street they stopped and got their breath.

  “Well,” said Bill, “this is where your mission begins.” He tilted his head towards a blue, red and white building at the foot of the long pier where the passengers gathered as their credentials and luggage was checked.

  Bill offered his hand and they shook. “Good luck, Patty and remember to have fun. Any problem, remember your club training and let it flow. When you return just hop a cab to the club and text me that you are at the garden gate and I’ll come down and open it for you.”

  Patty nodded, turned to Matt and they shook hands. “Thanks again, Matt. See you guys on the way back.”

  He picked up the two valises and walked to the long building with the white lettering stating that it was the Cunard Line and entered. He walked down the wood flooring that creaked and noticed that the large holding room smelled of salt water, mildew and sweat.

  That’s right, he thought as his club training kicked in, deodorant was an almost unknown luxury item back here and the heavy, wool clothing made people sweat easily. Oh well, it’s a small thing to bear to be here.

  The holding room ran the length of the pier abutting the ship and there were ten lines with ticket agents checking the passengers. He picked the one that seemed to be moving fastest and soon was walking up the covered gangway with two tickets for his luggage claim. He entered the open door in the ship’s side and was greeted by a young man who tipped the hat of his white uniform as he checked his boarding pass. Patty couldn’t help but notice the three men standing near the ticket checking young man, as they were older and much bulkier. They had the same smile on their faces but their eyes did a body check on the passengers as they entered their ship.

  Security, he thought. Nothing wrong with that at all.

  Cleared by the young man returning his ticket and a tip of his hat, the newest time traveler stepped into the interior of the ship. Signs directed the passengers to the deck they were quartered on and Patty followed the arrow up to the topmost deck and once in the center of the deck opened cabin 107 and entered. The two porthole shaped windows were closed and locked against the cool evening air but as his room was on the portside of the ship, they allowed a great view of upper New York.

  Its not the lights of the Big Apple yet, but it’s still my New York no matter what year, he thought proudly as he gazed uptown before pulling the red velvet ties allowing the thick red velvet drapes to cover them.

  A slight tap at the door and a burly man tipped his hat when Patty opened the door.

  “Luggage, sir. Have ya a ticket ta claim them?”

  Patty dipped into his pocket and came up with the baggage claims and a twenty-five cent tip which brightened the man’s smile even more as he brought them into his room and deftly placed them on his bed and placed the cabin keys on top. “Anything else, sir?”

  “
Nope, thanks again.” The man left and Patty took the keys, locked the door and put the keys in his pocket. Finally alone he stood and looked around the room.

  He whistled to himself as he thought, Impressive! The floor was a deep reddish teak with a round rug in the center. Mahogany wood went from the floor to the height of the back of the tallest chair of which there were two, well-stuffed easy chairs flanking a large writing table made of white rattan. The bed was what he would call a double but it was higher than any Patty had ever slept on. Attached to and draped casually on either side of the bed were one-foot wide, velvet ties so one could tie themselve in bed during a rough crossing. On either side and against the headboard of the bed stood a white, rattan table, one of which held writing utensils and paper with the Servia’s logo on the letterhead. The other had a, very modern for the time, electric lamp screwed down to keep it from tumbling during rough weather. Four straight back chairs surrounded a round card table that sat beneath a non-swinging chandelier.

  This is fantastic, thought Patty as he surveyed the cabin. These were some first class designers.

  The walls were an off-white with some of the most beautiful, hand carved woodwork running around the entire cabin where the walls met the ceiling. Over the bed was beautiful oil painting of an English countryside with a full troop of men and women dressed in red and black and riding horses as they followed hounds in what was most probably a Fox Hunt.

  A set of double doors with crystal grips opened to show a large closet with a full-length mirror on one door and a small dresser with drawers for his shirts and underwear. Above the dresser was a bar with wood hangars for hanging his clothing. On the closet floor were five sets of wooden objects that perplexed him until he picked one up and read the instructions. He sat back and had a laugh as he realized they were shoetrees, which the well-dressed man of the 1880s slipped into his shoes at night to help them keep their shape as well as to stop them from shrinking if the shoe wasn’t used for a period of time.