The time traveler walked slowly up a wide street named Broad Way as it was the broadest street around. Wow, he thought with surprise, the street is paved in cobblestone. The wagons that went by seemed to be shivering as each wheel went up and down on the uneven stones. Ballast, he remembered, The British ships carried the cobblestones across the Atlantic Ocean in their hull for ballast and sold them in port as they needed the space in the ship’s hull for the goods they would bring back from the new world.
Looking up some of the side streets, which were much smaller than Broad Way, he saw that while some were hard packed dirt others had wooden planks on top of the dirt. He also saw that a few business owners had taken the time to place stones in front of their establishment to make it easier for their patrons to enter their shop.
He passed a group of young blonde haired ladies all dressed in casual dresses with a sash around their waists. They wore white bonnets that tied under their chins and carried baskets that held food. Bill grinned to himself as he noticed that they wore no shoes and three of them had dust up to their ankles. As he got closer he heard them laughing at something and realized that they were Dutch girls who worked for one of the many well-to-do English families and they all walked around barefoot which was something they did in their homeland.
As he walked, Bill was reading the rectangular sign attached to the building on the corner of each street. He saw John Marshall’s Inn before he spotted the sign that told him it was Mount Pleasant Street. It was a two-story red brick building that had a shingle swinging over the single wooden door. The shingle had an artist’s painting of a mug of beer that was flowing invitingly over its lip while beneath the illustration was written, ‘John Marshall’s Inn.’
Bill entered the Inn and became one of about fifteen male patrons. A tall thin man with black hair pulled back into a ponytail smiled as he said, “Drink, sir?”
“Yes, ale would suit me fine, sir,” Bill said as he placed a coin down on the wooden bar. The bartender walked away and returned with a tall glass of dark ale and change.
“Thank you, sir,” said Bill as he took a long pull on the slightly chilled drink. “I heard there might be a parade of sorts this day. Have you heard of that happening, sir?”
“Aye, I have. Supposed ta start out of the fort and there is word that it might end right here.”
“Then I am in the correct place at the correct time!”
“It would seem that you are, sir,” the man answered as he did what every bartender does as they have a conversation with a customer: wipe away at an imaginary damp spot on the bar top.
“Please excuse me, sir. I must attend to the fellows down the end.”
Bill took another sip and was impressed with the drink. Boy! he thought, This would give any of the big brewers in my time a run for their money.
A young boy worked his way down the bar and when he got to Bill the time traveler heard his pitch, “Some sausage, sir? No charge as you are drinking in this fine establishment.”
Bill took a slice and asked, “Do you work here my friend?”
“I do sir. My mom slices the meat in the back an’ I offer it ta customers.”
“Well, it tastes great and I insist that you take a coin for your thoughtfulness.”
The boy’s eyes lit up as he pocketed the coin. “Another, sir?”
Bill shook his head, “No, thanks anyway.”
The boy worked his way back down the bar as Bill got a chance to see the place. It was about fifteen by thirty feet with the main piece of furniture being the twenty five foot long oak bar. There were no seats and one stood with one foot on the brass rail that was attached to the base of the bar. The open windows were small compared what Bill was used to, but he knew that the glass was expensive. He noticed that the glass was tinted a slight yellow and was wavy. The walls were painted an off-white, which helped reflect the light from the wall mounted oil lamps and small windows. The ceiling was white but had a black smudge above each of the four oil lamps that deposited the black oily film from their wicks. The floor was made of wooden planks that Bill knew people of his time would pay an arm and leg for and it was almost covered in sawdust that absorbed any spillage.
“Here they come,” said someone.
Bill turned to see a chubby man standing in the open doorway. The time traveler now heard fife and drum marching music. Seeing that the other patrons took their drink outside, he did the same and joined the crowd on the small wooden sidewalk.
Coming up Broad Way was a group of about sixty British soldiers keeping in step to the cadence called by one of the biggest men Bill had ever seen. They all wore their red coats, white trousers and tall hats and carried their long rifles over their shoulders. Children ran alongside of them and many a young girl tried to catch their eye.
Bill knew that the Irishmen of the regiment had asked for and gotten permission from their commander to march on their homeland’s patron saint’s day, St. Patrick. This was the first recorded St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York and he was part of it.
The parade stopped at the appointed spot in front of the Inn and after being dismissed by the large man, most of the men entered the Inn. All seemed to call for drinks at once and the ponytailed man did an outstanding job of keeping up with them. Bill had a second beer and happened to look out the window and saw a group soldiers standing outside.
“Happy St. Patty’s Day,” Bill said as the large sergeant stood next to him.
“And to you too, sir.” They touched glasses and as the sergeant downed his, Bill felt that he had to do the same.”
“Two more, please,” he said over the din and the ponytailed bartender shoved two in front of him. Bill took one and passed it to the big man.
“For me, sir?”
“Sure. It’s a great event that you have started. While I’m not a betting man, I would bet anything that this is the first of hundreds of St. Patrick’s Day parades in New York.”
“Do ya really believe that, sir?”
“I do.” He looked at the men outside and asked, “Tell me sergeant, why are those men standing outside? Don’t they enjoy a drink or two?”
“Aye, they do. But they sent their pay across the ocean to their moms an’ dads.”
The man and Bill tapped glasses and downed their drinks.
“Two more,” shouted the sergeant.
“No,” said Bill. “Unless you allow me to buy it.”
“I can’t allow that . . .”
“Wait one moment,” Bill said as he opened the door and called out to the men in the street, “Gentlemen, please come and join us in a glass of beer.”
The men just stood there looking back.
“Sir,” yer not plannin’ on buyin’ all of these lads a drink are ya? Cause it’s gonna cost ya a bunch.”
Bill turned to the sergeant and said, “Sergeant, will you be so kind as to order them inside out of the sun. I’ll take care of the rest of it.”
“Very well, sir.” He turned to the men and shouted, “Attenshun!” They snapped to attention.
Fall in!”
They lined up in parade formation.
“Forward, march. Hut, hut hut . . .”
They marched into the Inn and the cheers from the rest of the men shook the rafters.”
“Sir,” said the sergeant in Bill’s ear. “What do we do next?”
Bill took out a pocketful of coins and put them in the man’s large hand. “I make you an honorary member of the upcoming group that will be known as the Ancient Order of Hibernians and pass you the money for enjoying the first St. Patrick’s Day in New York.”
The sergeant looked at the money and said, “Sir, this is much too much. We can stay here for two days on this amount.”
“Then I wish to have the change split up amongst the men and hope that they send it back home.”
With a slap on Bill’s back that almost sent him across the room, the sergeant shouted, “Attention troops. This fine gentleman would like ta buy all of you
heathens a drink or two. Give him a rousing cheer.”
The room was filled with cheers as the bartender did his best to start serving the drinks.
Bill offered his hand and said loud enough for the sergeant to hear, “”I’ll take my leave now. I hope you all enjoy yourselves and if you’re still stationed here next March 17, I’ll be here to join in the festivities with you.”
“Take good care of yourself, my friend and ‘Erin go Bragh.’”
They touched glasses and Bill retorted, “Slainte, my friend.”
Both men drained their glass. And Bill walked out the open door. He stood on the sidewalk feeling slightly tipsy as he looked for a carriage. Seeing a black, two wheeled carriage coming his way he was set to wave the cab down but there was no need to as it pulled over to the small curb and a well dressed man hopped out. Bill caught the cabby’s eye as the man paid his fare and soon was sitting in the cab as the man entered the Inn.
The cab driver turned and asked, “Where to, sir?”
“Sir,” Bill answered, “I need to drive as far north as the roads permit for I am to meet a merchant there.” He sat back as the driver tapped the horse with the reins and they drove up Broad Way. Bill was happily surprised to see that families gathered outside of their homes and danced as others played bagpipes, violins or simply banged on a drum as they sang old Irish songs.
Yep, he thought, St. Patrick’s Day is here to stay.
The time traveler knew they were getting close to where the business and commerce section of New York ended and what was called ‘the country side’ began. The first hint was the road reverted from cobblestone to hard packed dirt. The second tip was that large beautiful homes started showing up along the route. Although the trees were cut down for them many were left to provide shade and beauty for the landowners.
He knew that his ride was coming to an end as the coach really started swaying as it rode over the hardly ever-used section of road. The trees that had been there for years still stood tall which prevented the sunlight from penetrating down to the road caused Bill to think, Soon these trees will be cut down to make way for a bigger and better New York where the tall buildings will also prevent the sunshine from coming down to many of the streets.
“Sir,” the driver said as he stopped his carriage, “”My wheels will give out if I drive much more on this nasty bit of road.”
“This is close enough, sir.” Bill climbed down, paid the fare and as usual gave the working man a large tip.
“Are ya sure that a friend will be coming, sir? I’ll stand around for a spell if ya wish.”
Bill shook his head, “No, thank you for your offer. He’ll be here in a bit.”
The driver shrugged his shoulders and turned the wagon around. Before Bill left the 1800 Club he measured the distance from the club’s door to a marshy area that he knew would become Tompkins Square Park in 1834. The 1800 Club was 250 feet from the edge of the marshes and using a small compass he walked northeast and after a bit he came to the almost treeless section of the woods. He walked to the northwest corner and walked west for 250 feet and spotted the three stones he had arranged in front of the door. The time traveler kicked the stones away, took out his Time Frequency Modulator and typed in his security password, ‘SAMSON,’ and after the small keyboard lit up he typed in, JUNE 1, 2015. He then slipped his hand between the two trees that were on either side of the doorway and grasped the unseen doorknob, pulled it open a sliver and with a last look around, stepped into the stairwell and pulled the door closed behind him. He then pressed the activate button and walked up the stone stairs to his landing.
DATELINE: JUNE 1, 2015 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
“Always good to get home,” Bill said as they entered his den. Samson, his beagle, leaped off the couch, gave him the sniff test and not smelling any treats, went back to the couch. Sitting on Bill’s 1854 oval, cherry wood Victorian Parlor table, which he referred to as his coffee table, was a silver covered tray. Lifting the lid Bill saw a Donald Duck mug of hot chocolate next to a round black and white cookie. The oval silver tray reflected off of the table’s white and light blue veined marble top. That’s Matt for you, he thought as he took a sip, putting out a snack for me before I realized that I wanted one.
There was a tap on the door followed by Matt entering the room. He was dressed in a tan suit, white shirt open at the collar and dark brown shoes that sported slightly darker brown wingtips.
“Stepping out, Matt?” asked Bill.
“Yes sir. I thought that I would take a stroll with Samson and purchase some jelly donuts for tea. Is there anything you wish to add to my short list?”
“What year are you strolling in?”
“1993, sir. There is a donut shop that creates the best jelly or cream donuts.”
“”Not that I can think of. Enjoy your stroll.”
Samson saw the leash and ran to Matt who slipped it on the beagle. At the door Matt opened his TFM and entered: 11:00 a.m. June 6, 1993, opened the door and stepped out before pressing the activate button. He let go of Samson’s leash as the beagle flew down the steps to the ground floor only to have to wait until Matt got there. He picked up the leash and using his key, opened the security door.
DATELINE: JUNE 6, 1993 11 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
The early morning sun seemed to have pushed any clouds that were in the sky, away, creating a beautiful slate blue sky. The sounds of birds singing in the garden intermingled with the soft flutter of humming bird and butterfly wings in motion, along with the steady trickle of water as it ran over the rocks and into the pond from the waterfall. Samson trailed his leash behind him as he started his daily quest of sniffing out every creature that happened to pass through his garden as Matt sat on one of the stone benches and took out a note from his inside pocket and read it again.
Dear Matt. This short note is to inform you that one of our drones shows that on June 6, 1993 there will be an altercation in front of a donut shop on 7th Avenue and 9th street, Brooklyn, New York. A much younger Bill Scott may be hurt and we would like to have someone go back and make sure that that never happens. We are purposely going around Bill on this touchy mission and asking that you help insure his continued good health.
Best regards, The Time Watchers Group, 2070.
Matt refolded the note, put it away and stood. He took hold of Samson’s leash, opened the garden’s gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He looked for a taxi as he locked the gate behind him and the beagle. Within five minutes they were in a cab heading to the Brooklyn Bridge. The ninety’s were not Matt’s favorite time period, but for Samson it was time to look out the open window as they sped downtown. Matt moved away from the window so the beagle could stand on the seat as he looked out. He had to grin as the dog’s long ears were flapping around in the wind and seemed to almost take flight. Once over the bridge, the cab shot through the streets cutting at least three almost-red lights. Matt checked his watch and seeing that they were early, stopped the cab five blocks earlier. After paying the fare, Matt and the beagle did a leisurely stroll along the Brooklyn streets until they reached the corner that the Time Watchers said the trouble would happen. The time travelers stood at the corner so that Matt could look along 7th Avenue or down 9th Street at a glance. He saw four teenagers walking along the avenue and suddenly he spotted a younger Bill Scott stepping out of the donut shop. Matt knew that he would step directly in front of the four young men coming his way.
“Come, Samson,” he said as he started to walk towards the converging group.
Bill stepped out of the shop and one of the teens bumped into him. Immediately the four surrounded young Scott.
“Hey, who do you think you’re bumping into?” one shouted.
“Whatta ya want the whole sidewalk to yourself?” quipped another prepared to gang up on the lone teen.
Matt walked behind them as Samson, sensing the trouble, started to show his teeth as he added a low growl.
/> “Boys, I’m afraid my dog feels threatened and will bite the first person to start trouble.”
“Well maybe you should walk away with him,” said one of them.
Matt frowned and said almost in a whisper through set teeth, “Move out now or feel the wrath of a teacher of Kalaripayattu.”
Not knowing that Kalaripayattu was an ancient form of martial arts from India but taking no chances the tallest boy said, “Hey, mister we were only fooling around.” He turned to his three friends and said, “Come on guys, we don’t need this crap.”
Matt watched as they walked away looking back over their shoulders.
“I don’t know what their problem was, mister, but thanks.” He bent down and scratched the beagle’s ears and Samson licked his face. “Beautiful dog. What’s he a beagle?”
“Yes, sir, he is. Samson is his name. Now I’m afraid we must be off. Take care of yourself Master Scott.” He entered the donut shop and left a perplexed Bill Scott wondering how the stranger knew his name.
The trip home was not fast enough, as Matt had to constantly keep Samson from tearing open the bag to get at the donuts.
Matt locked the garden gate behind them, opened the security door and stepped into the cool stairwell. He entered June 1, 2015 into his TFM and pressed the activate button and released Samson’s leash as the beagle dashed up the stairs with Matt following.
DATELINE: JUNE 1, 2015 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
He unlocked the door to Bill’s den and him and the beagle entered. Bill sat at his desk working on the club’s newspaper for tonight’s dinner. “Would you like a donut, sir? Perhaps with a glass of milk?”
Bill sat back and asked as he patted his stomach, “From the Steven’s donut shop on 7th and 9th?”
TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book 12 Page 3