Chapter 1

The Nellie Bly Mission

 

DATELINE: MARCH 9, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

Jerry Sullivan sat with his elbows on the long table in the conference room, his chin resting on his folded hands. He inserted a cube into the hologram unit before him and watched as a scene came to life on the tabletop. One of Jerry’s favorite parts of watching a hologram was to try to guess where it was recorded before looking at the information that appeared at the bottom right of the hologram.

“New York, Pier 38,” he said to himself as he watched the Bothina, a large, two-funneled ship that was tied up to the pier as its passengers disembarked. Noting the horse-drawn carriages and cobblestone streets along with the cut of clothes the people wore, he added, “Winter, 1887.” He looked at the information provided in the hologram and pumped his fist as he read the words: “New York City, Pier 38, January 29, 1890.” He shook his head and said with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, “1890! Well, I was close with 1887.”

The hologram panned the area and Jerry saw a large crowd carrying signs and all seemed to be searching for someone.

Well, he thought, that’s what people do on the waterfront; look for friends and family disembarking.

He then noticed that while there were some men in the crowd, there were ten times as many women. One of the signs was turned by the offshore wind and he got his first hint of what the crowd was all about. The black lettering on the white sign said, Elizabeth Bisland: World Traveler!

Jerry mentally shrugged his shoulders, Elizabeth Bisland? Wonder who she was? He adjusted the lens setting and zoomed in on another sign.

Around The World in 76 Days!

He sat back a moment, pushed back his longish, curly brown hair and thought, I always thought that Nellie Bly went around the world in seventy-two or seventy-three days. I wonder who Elizabeth Bisland was?

He got up from his seat and powered up the History Tracking computer that was set up on a large desk at the end of the conference room. He typed in: What female traveled around the world in 1890?

 

Elizabeth Jane Cochrane AKA Nellie Bly

 

A large block of copy appeared.

‘While working for the New York World newspaper, a promotional gimmick was proposed by Miss Elizabeth Jane Cochrane, that one of their reporters should travel around the world as Phileas Fogg did in the fiction book by Jules Verne, Around The World in Eighty Days. However, she would do it faster than eighty days. Miss Elizabeth Jane Cochrane, whose pen name was Nellie Bly, volunteered to go herself and after many nays, got the assignment. However, Miss Cochrane decided to take a short cruise to see if seasickness might affect her and she disappeared while aboard the John M. Stout, a small steamer that left New York City on October 1, 1889 for Virginia. It was assumed that Miss Cochrane became seasick and during the night fell overboard. For the around the world trip, she was replaced by fellow reporter Kevin O’Leone who left at 9:40 a.m. on November 14, 1889. Mister O’Leone boarded the Hamburg American Line’s Augusta Victoria and began his 24,899-mile journey that ended in failure on January 29, 1890 at 3:00 p.m. The winner was Miss Elizabeth

Bisland who was hired by John Brisben Walker, owner of Cosmopolitan, to do the same, but head in the opposite direction. Miss Bisland returned on January 25, 1890 at 3:51 p.m.’

Jerry opened his thermos of hot tea, poured a cup and sat back as he started to read about Nelly Bly.

One hour later he put the cap back on the empty thermos and opened the door to see which member of the Hologram/Drone group was on duty.

It had been set up at the beginning of the History Tracking program that whenever one of the history trackers was on duty checking over the latest batch of holograms brought back by one of the group’s drones, one of the Hologram/Drone or H/D group was stationed outside of the conference room. This time it was Ted, the H/D group leader, and the slim dark haired man looked up as Jerry opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Mister Sullivan. Anything interesting?”

“Not sure, Ted,” he answered with a shrug. “Will you get the group together?”

“On the way, sir,” he answered as he walked down the hallway to the call center as Jerry went back into the room and read more about Miss Elizabeth Jane Cochrane, also known as Miss Nellie Bly.

 

Thirty-five minutes later the other four members of the History Tracking group were seated at the conference table.

Jerry watched them enter and sign in before taking their seats and thought, Wow, what a special group this is. How many times have the five of us faced a possible worldwide catastrophe and got it straightened out wearing a grin? Of course, if they’re like me the grin was just a front.

He smiled as each took no particular seat and ended up facing him from the left to the right: John Hyder, Joseph Sergi, Maryellen Muldey and Alexis Shuntly.

“Hi guys”

All nodded as Alexis said, “Hey, Jerry.” With a small wave as she squinted her green eyes at him through thick glasses, “What have you got?”

With his usual shrug of his shoulders whenever he was uncertain, Jerry answered, “Not sure, Alexis. Have you ever heard of a Miss Elizabeth Bisland?”

He big green eyes became two slits as she shook her head, “No, I can’t say that I have. Is this about her?”

“Her and Nellie Bly,” answered Jerry.

“Nelly Bly?” Maryellen Muldey said as she suddenly looked up from her open laptop. “Great woman. She was one of the first, if not the first investigative reporters and she also went around the world on her own at a time when a woman being unescorted was a no-no.”

“And,” quipped Joseph Sergi entering the conversation, “I believe Elizabeth Bisland did the same thing: circled the world.”

“Why was there a race anyway?” asked John Hyder as he absent-mindedly tugged at his long blond and gray sideburns.

Jerry answered, “In 1873 the French writer Jules Verne published a novel, ‘Around the World in Eighty Days,’ and in it his main character, Phileas Fogg, circled the globe in eighty days. Well, in 1888, Nellie Bly pitched the idea to her boss that she should do it in less time and send in a report every day to increase sales of the newspaper. He loved the idea, but wanted a male reporter to go. She said that if she didn’t get the assignment, she would quit and take the idea to another newspaper and he could watch their sales grow. He gave in and on November 14, 1889 she started the assignment. Still, it was a publicity stunt.”

“And she won?” asked John.

Jerry nodded as he stood, “That’s the problem. But first let me give you the backstory. Nellie Bly was a young, energetic woman who got a job with the New York World newspaper and, according to Wikipedia, the online information site: -She was the first female investigative reporter.

-She posed as a poor sweatshop worker to expose the cruelty and terrible conditions that the women suffered.

-Wrote articles about poverty and government corruption while staying in Mexico for six months; was kicked out for doing so.

-Worked for the New York World.

-First assignment at the New York World was to be committed to the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island and report about the conditions and treatment there.

-Published book ‘Ten Days in a Mad-House’ after her ten-day stay in the insane asylum. 

-Launched the ‘stunt age’ the era when women risked their lives and reputations to get into the world of the press.

-When NYW wanted to send a man around the world in 80 days and report on it she threatened them that she would do it in less time for another newspaper. They let her do it and 72 days, 6 hours, 11 minutes, and 14 seconds after she left Hoboken Pier she was back. During her journey, her experiences were recorded and published daily. She quit the NYW when she got back though, because they didn’t give her a raise, which she thought she deserved since she was the one who increased the paper’s circulation with her worldwide journey.

-1893 she came back to the NYW and wrote pieces about women’s rights and fighting injustice. Here she boosted public awareness of social problems, exposed corruption in public and private sectors, and was the spokeswoman for women everywhere, especially giving voice to unwed mothers and women citywide.

-When she finally married it was to a man 40 years older than her and a millionaire (Robert Seaman). His death meant she had to run his business, (The Iron Clad Manufacturing Company) and was for a while one of the leading female industrialists, until she went bankrupt and left the country due to the financial issues. She went to England and when World War I broke out, she used the opportunity to report it all from behind the scenes.

-Came back to the U.S. because of her mother’s health and wrote for the New York Evening Journal. She died of pneumonia at St. Mark's Hospital in New York City in 1922, at age 57. She was interred in a modest grave at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.”

He looked at the group and added, “She was quite a woman.”

“As was Miss Elizabeth Bisland,” added Alexis as she looked up from her laptop and seeing that she had their attention, continued. “Hearing of the New York World newspaper publicity stunt, John Brisben Walker, who had just purchased the three-year old and still-fledging Cosmopolitan, decided to dispatch Bisland on her own journey, but in the opposite direction. Six hours after being recruited, Bisland departed westward from New York. Meanwhile, Bly left on a steamer headed to Europe.”

Jerry nodded, “It looks like both women are cut from the same cloth.”

“Yes,” added Joseph as he pushed back the lock of black hair from his eyes, “but there was only one winner of the ‘around the world race’ and history tells us that the winner was Nellie Bly.”

All agreed with a nod and Jerry said, “Now for a blockbuster. Our history tracking computer claims that she was never in the race. In fact, it claims that one month before the trip was to begin she took a short cruise to test herself for seasickness and disappeared the very first night. The theory was that she did get seasick and leaning against a railing, fell overboard. So now at least we have a clue to find out what happened to Nellie Bly.” He stood and crossed his arms as he rocked on the toes and balls of his feet.

“Besides winning the race, Nellie Bly put the spotlight on some pretty bad practices with the ‘so called’ insane asylums; the sweat shops that women and children worked in, and as it said online, she boosted public awareness of social problems, exposed corruption in public and private sectors, and was the spokeswoman for women everywhere especially giving voice to unwed mothers and women citywide. So, to me, winning the race made her a household name that opened many doors that would have stayed closed for years. I propose that we get in touch with Bill Scott and the 1800 Club.

Alexis added, “Should be a snap for one of Bill’s people to tag along behind her.”

Jerry nodded and then said, “All in favor of contacting Bill Scott?”

The ayes were unanimous.

He opened the door and motioned the young man in. Tom Wallace was now on duty and had just been briefed by Ted about the possible mission. He followed Jerry into the room.

A quick glance at his name tag and Jerry said, “Hi, Tom, we have a mission for Mister Bill Scott of the 1800 Club so I’ll be giving you a hologram for Mister Scott shortly.”

Tom nodded, “Which I’ll pass on to our representative to the 1800 Club.”

“Correct.”

The young man left the room as Jerry set up the hologram program.

 

DATELINE: JULY 7, 1897 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Bill Scott opened the steel security door that gave him entrance to the club’s garden. As it was July, everything was in bloom and he smiled as he saw the garden’s inhabitants taking advantage of the few months of warm weather by building nests and flitting among the flowers as frogs sat on the flat rock of the pond and goldfish swam in circles beneath the waterfall.

As president of the 1800 Club, Bill spent many hours sitting on one of the garden’s stone benches just smoking a cigar and watching his beagle, Samson, chase butterflies or at night, fireflies. On each occasion he went back to the quieter times of the mid-eighteen hundreds.

He checked his pocket watch, 8:05 a.m. and it was warm already.

Going to be a hot one today, he thought as he used the key around his neck to open the high, wrought iron gate that was the only access from the street into the garden as it was surrounded by high stonewalls. Tucking the key back under his starched white shirt, he fluffed up his wine colored cravat and tilted his tall hat at a slight angle. Bill was glad that he had selected a new lightweight, dark brown jacket and pants as he tipped his hat at a well dressed couple strolling past him. He grinned to himself as he noticed the woman’s nod of approval. It’s my tan spats, he thought quite pleased with his decision to go with them.

At the corner he saw three horse-drawn Hansom cabs standing there hoping for a customer. Bill had to hand it to the drivers, because, as there was no hitching post at the corner, the three men draped their horse’s reins on the street in front of each horse and while one weighted the end of the reins with a rock, another used a brick and the third used his wife’s iron.

The three drivers were standing together going over a newspaper article and, as Bill approached, the driver of the first coach spotted him and asked, as he folded up the newspaper, “Cab, sir?”

Bill nodded and said as he tilted his head at the iron, “Yes, and I compliment you on your choice of the weight you use to keep your horse from wandering.”

“Ha!” the driver replied as he picked up the heavy iron, “I only hope that my wife doesn’t decide to change her habit of ironing at night when the weather is cooler.”

Bill grinned and asked as the cabby reached for the carriage door, “Will you take me to Broadway and 52nd Street?”

The man stopped in his tracks and said, “Glory be! Me an’ my two friends were just talking about that place. Here,” he said as he passed Bill the folded newspaper, “take a read of this. It seems that there’s a new taxi company operating from there and they plan to start operations this very day! Problem is they don’t use horses! They drive them about town with electric devices.” He shook his head, “Me and the boys took a wager that they’ll be outta business in a month. Why, no person with a right mind will trust a carriage without a horse.”

Bill ducked his head to fit his six-foot two inches into the cab without bumping it on the door jamb. “Well,” he answered as he sat back on the almost soft padding and opened the newspaper, “it’s a coincidence that I have some business in that area.”

“Mind ya don’t get run over by one of them electric buggies, cause they say ya can’t even hear them coming. Naw, I’ll stay with the horse.”

Bill stuck his head out of the window and asked, “Cabby, can you pass by 45 East 18th street on the way?”

The cab driver looked down from his perch and tipped his high black hat, “No problem, sir.”

The time traveler sat back and enjoyed his ride through New York City of 1897. The heat was climbing and more than a few men had their collar open and carried their jackets.

Poor ladies, he thought as they went about on their business, some carrying parasols to ward off the bright sunlight while others wore wide brimmed hats. They all have to wear a long, heavy skirt and tightly buttoned high collared blouses and there was no carrying their jackets, as it just was not done in this time period.

Suddenly he heard laughter and the carriage rolled past a group of boys and girls all running around the street with no shoes on and soaked to the skin as one of the bigger boys had opened a fire hydrant and played the water on them. Their elders walked by and, although they were shaking their heads and tsk-tsking, Bill knew they wished to be able to do the same.

A sudden tapping on the roof of the cab was followed by the cabby announcing, “Sir! 45 East 18th Street. Shall I continue on?”

“Yes,” shouted Bill as he looked out the window and saw the Old Town, a bar and grill he had dinner at just three nights ago.

Three nights, he corrected himself, and 117 years ago! He watched as the cab passed the beautiful mahogany and glass front of one of the oldest bars in New York City.

The Old Town’s interior gave the feeling of being back in the mid 1800s with its massive 55-foot long, mahogany and marble bar and the 16-foot high tin ceiling. As it had in the past, the men’s room was still on the main floor while the ladies were upstairs. Bill smiled as he thought, Only in New York would the men’s Hinsdale urinals be considered a historical icon along with the oldest active restaurant dumbwaiters. He made a mental note to come back and visit with a few of his time traveling friends.

His carriage slowed and came to a halt and another pulled up on the right as another stopped on his left. He heard grumbling from his driver and the one on either side of his carriage. Bill opened the door to see the reason for the traffic jam and was joined by the passengers of the two cabs and more that joined the jam.

It really didn’t bother the time traveler that he was in a traffic jam as he had built in some time for his arrival and he enjoyed the sights of the area along with the everyday people of the time he loved to visit. He joined the others as they shaded their eyes against the bright sunlight to see what the problem was. Then he saw what the holdup was: a line of at least twenty wagons, each pulled by two struggling horses. To save weight, the driver walked alongside their team holding the reins. Each wagon had dirt and various size stones piled high and the wooden bottoms were actually sagging beneath the loads.

“Big construction going on about six streets over,” said a man as he lit a cigar. Bill nodded and felt an old reluctance to carry on a conversation with someone who he knew was long gone in his time.

The man turned and said as he pointed with his cigar, “Them fellows work all night by the light of oil lamps, then go home and sleep all day.” He shook his head, “A man has to feel for them. When they finally get to see the sun, they feel the heat as they unload their wagons and brush down their horses and get ready for another night’s work.”

“All for a better and bigger New York,” said Bill.

Suddenly one of the wagons stopped as the driver adjusted his horses’ strap and the waiting traffic became like a chariot race all trying to get their passengers aboard to dash through the opening in the traffic. Bill’s driver was happy to see that his passenger was spry and easily slid into the carriage as he slapped his horse with the reins and they were the first through the unexpected gap.

The short trip took longer than he anticipated as traffic was building, but the driver turned onto Broadway and in ten minutes he pulled tightly on the reins as he announced, “Broadway and 52nd Street, sir.”

Bill hopped out of the cab and asked, “How much, driver?”

“Dollar fifty, sir.”

Bill handed him two dollars and as he started to dig into his pocket for change, Bill waved him off. The cab driver tipped his high hat and said, “Have a nice day, sir.”

Bill’s leather heels echoed as they sounded on the large gray, slate slabs that the sidewalks of the city were composed of. He walked along Broadway towards 53rd Street and stopped in front of the ex-armory. The building had two large wooden doors and over them hung a sign that read, ‘Morris and Salom-Electric Carriage and Wagon Company- 1684 Broadway’. There was a single door next to them.

This is it, Bill thought as he took out his pocket watch, 8:40. Perfect.

He walked past the building as a horse drawn cab pulled up in front of 1684 and a man stepped out. As the passenger paid the driver Bill suddenly recognized him as the man he had spoken with at the traffic jam. Bill kept walking away from the building and turned once to see the man enter the building through the single door.

In the next five minutes three more cabs dropped off three men who entered the building through the same door.

A low chime went off on Bill’s pocket watch and he checked the time: Yep! Nine on the dot! He put the watch away as a rumbling sound accompanied the opening of the two wooden doors.

Although he was ready for the sight, he was still surprised at how elegant the vehicle looked as it rolled out of the building’s dark, cavernous interior. Bill smiled as he thought, Wow! The first electric taxicab in New York City. Another surprise was the driver who was the same man from the traffic jam. He had changed his clothes and now wore a dark, Navy blue, jacket and pants along with a dress hat, which gave him the appearance of a military man very much in charge of his futuristic steed.

Photo: The Electrical World

The driver set his brake and got down from his high perch and went back inside to get something giving Bill the opportunity to inspect the taxi.

He was like a little boy with a new toy and although he had read up on the vehicle, he went over the specifications in his mind as he ran his hand along the cab’s smooth lines.

The front bicycle-type drive wheels are 36 inches in diameter with three-inch pneumatic tires, while the steering was done by two slightly smaller rear wheels. The cab itself is a work of art and weighs 3,000 pounds, which includes the 1,200-pound batteries, and, as it was mostly made of wood, had a fine finish for the outside elements. Each hansom cab was powered by two Lundell electric motors that gave 1-1/2 horsepower each allowing the vehicle to drive 25 miles at 12 miles per hour before having to return for a charge or change of batteries. The front passenger section seated two or three if a child was present and had clamshell type doors that helped against the elements. The driver sat on the high rear seat mounted upon the battery box, which gave him excellent visibility over the top of the cab. The wooden cab was a high gloss black with bright red piping and was built by the Charles S. Caffrey Company, of Camden, New Jersey, one of the most respected carriage makers in the country. Bill smiled to himself, There will be eleven more battery-powered taxicabs joining this one today, but I want to be in the first one.

“I see that you admire fine machinery, sir.”

Bill turned to where the voice came from and saw the driver returning and now the time traveler was positive it was the man from the traffic jam. “Yes, I do. It is a work of art,” he said as he offered his hand, “Bill Scott, sir.”

The man suddenly recognized him from the same traffic jam and pumped his hand as he said, “Well, it surely is a small city, sir. I am Mister Henry G. Morris of the Morris and Salome Company.” He turned and gestured towards the building.

“And am I correct, sir to say that you are taking the first electric taxicab out for a test run?” Bill asked.

Morris shook his head, “No, sir, in fact I am taking the first electric taxicab out in hopes of getting a passenger as I want to see first hand if there are any unforeseen problems.”

“Then I would enjoy being that passenger, sir. I also have a strange request: may I just sit back and enjoy the ride wherever you wish to drive and you can drop me off at 520 East Ninth Street when you are in need of returning to your garage for a battery charge?”

The inventor pulled his pointy mustache and answered, “Mmmm, if you wish, but we will be charging the same as a horse-drawn hansom and that’s one dollar the first two miles and an additional fifty cents each following mile. So I would say, seven dollars.”

“Seven dollars it is, said Bill as Morris opened the clamshell doors and Bill stepped up into the cab and closed the door. He smiled to himself, Wow, it has that new car smell and, he thought as he tested the red cushioned seat, comfortable too.

The cab swayed as Morris climbed up and into his seat. He opened the sliding glass window on the roof, looked down at Bill looking up and asked, “All set Mister Scott? All set to be the first passenger in an electric taxicab in New York City?”

“Yes! I’m set, sir.” After all it was what I had planned, he thought, To be the first passenger in an electric taxicab in the Big Apple.

The taxicab suddenly and noiselessly pulled away from the curb and drove down the cobblestone street with hardly a bump or a sound thanks to the pneumatic tires on the wheels and the lack of horse’s hooves meeting cobblestone.

Morris drove down to First Avenue, made a right and drove at a steady clip of nine miles an hour.

Everyone who he passed or passed him gawked at his horseless hansom and the crazy passenger who allowed himself to be transported in such a dangerous vehicle. Morris easily maneuvered his half-as-large electric hansom between and around the standard horse-drawn hansom.

Seemingly unmoved by the cab ride, Bill was actually recording the entire trip with his cell phone camera set on video. He cupped the phone in his hands. Wait until the guys see this, he thought as he pictured John Brand and Rocko Perna, two time-traveling friends from the club, watching it over a few beers.

On 17th Street a large wagon took up most of the wide street and as it was loaded with crates, it was also slow. Morris swung around the wagon and as he got in front of it, another hansom cab appeared on their right. The sudden appearance of the noiseless hansom spooked the horse and as the driver pulled tightly on the reins, his horse reared, making the wagon’s wheel slip into a section of missing cobblestones and with a loud crack, the wooden wheel folded under the carriage. Morris stopped his cab in front of the disabled hansom and both he and Bill ran back to the other cab.

“Are you well, sir?” Morris called to the driver still holding the rein as the horse settled down.

“I-I do believe so, sir. But, pray tell, what is it that you are driving? Where is your horse?”

Before Morris could answer, the door of the disabled cab opened and a slim, middle-aged man, half climbed and half stepped awkwardly out of the cab as he tried to straighten the jacket of his three-piece charcoal gray suit and place his bowler on his head.

“Sir,” asked Bill as he took his arm, “are you fit?”

“Yes. Yes I am. Thank you for your support for I did hit my head.” He removed his bowler style hat, pushed out the indentation on it and rubbed his head as his brown, droopy mustache wiggled back and forth. He stepped uneasily back to his cab, reached in and retrieved a leather writing tablet.

“Sir,” said the driver of the horse drawn cab as he addressed Morris about his hansom, “I for one look about as I guide my hansom about town but I also listen for the sound of horse drawn carriages. If what you drive is to be the future of taxi service, then I fear that there will be many accidents because of the loss of the sense of hearing.”

Bill grinned as found himself agreeing with him as the very same fight was going on right now in his own time. People not hearing the sounds of an automobile engine as they step off the curb have made Detroit think of putting some sort of sound in their very quiet electric cars.

Morris was shaking his head in agreement as well. “Sir, I will send for some of my workers to retrieve your hansom and fix the wheel.” He opened his wallet and passed the man some money, “Please take this and I shall take your passenger to his destination.”

Doing a quick calculation, Bill thought with a grin, Not if it’s over twenty-three miles.

The driver took the offered money and shrugged his shoulders as he addressed his passenger, “Sir, another hansom may be along at any moment should you wish to stay out of that contraption.”

The man grinned. “Sir, before you, stands a reporter for the fine newspaper, the New York Sun and it is my duty to sniff out a story whenever and wherever it may appear and I do believe that fate has stepped in and presented this story to me.” He turned to Morris and said, “If your offer still stands, sir, I shall gladly sit next to this fine gentleman and enjoy this new form of taxi cab.”

Morris offered his hand and said, “Henry Morris, sir, at your service.”

“I am Francis Pharcellus Church and as I said, I sense a story.”

Morris pointed towards his cab, “I’m sure my passenger wouldn’t object to your riding along,” he said as he turned to Bill.

“Not at all,” the time traveler said, “There’s plenty of room, and I’m Bill Scott”, he added as he offered his hand.

“And I am Francis Pharcellus Church, however Francis will do.” He gripped Bill’s hand and both men hopped in and the reporter’s face lit up as the hansom took off without any noise whatsoever.

“Lord! This is like one of those mythical flying carpets!

Bill grinned at the analogy.

The two men chatted and frequently the reporter rapped on the ceiling’s sliding door to ask Morris a question and then jot the answer down in his small notebook.

The hansom went all over the city as Morris was determined to try every type of street and road with his vehicle. He even slipped silently into Central Park and tested the hill climbing ability of the electric cab . . . it was excellent and, Bill thought, It will prove itself to be outstanding in deep snow.

Finally Morris opened the top and told his passengers, “Gentlemen. I’m afraid to say that I must drop you off as my indicators tell me that the batteries are running low and I must return to the charging station of my garage. Shall I drop you off at 520 East Ninth Street”

Bill looked at the reporter and asked as he took out his pocket watch, “Eleven forty. Tell me, Francis, do reporters have a beer with their lunch?”

The slim man’s mustache went up at its ends as a smile crossed his face, “Indeed we do, sir! Indeed we do!”

“Then,” he said as he addressed Morris through the still open sliding ceiling, “would you change that address to 97 East 11th Street?”

The man grinned and said as he turned his machine down a side street, “That would be Paddy Diamond’s Bar & Grill. Correct?”

“Absolutely correct. My favorite watering hole,” answered a surprised Bill to the driver. “Would you be my guest for lunch, Morris?”

“Bill, as much as I would love to, I fear that I must finish my tour to better understand what my drivers will be going through.”

“I understand. Another time perhaps?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He pulled over to the curb and climbed down as the two passengers opened the clamshell doors and stepped out. Bill handed him the agreed price and they all shook hands as Morris said, “Mister Church, I look forward to your article.”

“I hope it makes this Sunday’s paper, my friend.”

They all shook hands and Bill and Francis watched as the electric cab rolled away with a group of young boys running along side of it.

Bill turned and felt at home as he gazed on the bar that he visited in every year since it had opened in 1860. As the bar was passed down in the Diamond’s family, he was careful to never come in when there was a young Paddy tending bar and his father was around. It would be too awkward trying to explain how he drank with the father and now the son without visibly aging.

He held the door for Francis and followed him in. Bill grinned as he saw the very same bar that he hung out in, in the 21st Century. He took one of the two backless stools at the end of the forty-foot long wooden bar and Francis took the other. Patty Diamond Jr. was behind the bar and spotted him immediately. He pulled a tall cold beer and in a few steps the big bartender placed it in front of Bill as he said while offering his hand, “Bill Scott! How’ve ya been?”

“Great Paddy,” he answered as they shook hands. Bill turned to Francis and introduced the two men to each other.

“What’s your drink, Francis?” asked Paddy as he automatically wiped the dry bar in front of them.

“A beer will be fine, Paddy. It’s a hot one today.”

Bill watched as his six-foot plus, white haired friend walked down to the center of the bar and pulled a beer for Francis. Wow, thought Bill, he looks exactly like his father and his son will look like him as will his son’s son. Guess that’s why I feel so at home in here no matter what the year is.

“What is that aroma, Paddy?” he asked as the barman put the mug down in front of the reporter.

“That aroma, my friend, is Corned beef and cabbage. Marge is right downstairs cooking up lunch. Care ta try some, gents?”

Francis mimicked Bill’s nod.

“Two corned beef and cabbage dinners coming up, lads,” Paddy said as he walked down the bar.

“Oh boy,” said Francis as he looked around the bar, “My office is over on 20th street and I never saw this bar before.”

Bill took a long pull on his beer and said, “It was built in 1860 and from what I understand it looks the same now as it did then.” He gestured at the huge moose head hanging from the arch at the end of the bar, “If you look closely at the Moose’s chin, you can see the long cobwebs that have been there for years and I’ll bet they’ll be there fifty years from now.”

“So,” asked the reporter after having a long slug of his beer, “What is your line of work, Bill?”

Bill tried to hide a grin as he said, “Well, you could say that I’m in futures, Francis.”

“A speculator? Are you with a large firm?”

“No, I sort of work from my apartment. You know, sort of a private enterprise.” He hefted his beer and asked, “So, how long have you been in the newspaper business?”

Francis wiped the white froth from his very long and droopy mustache and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Sir, I have been in the publishing business for most of my sixty-years of age. My brother William and I started The Army and Navy Journal, then Galaxy magazine and I am now the lead editorial reporter on the Sun newspaper. So, my friend, I have a fairly good idea as to what story to present to the public and I do believe that the electric taxicab is such a story. And, you shall be in it as whether you know it or not, you have become the very first passenger in New York City to flag one down.”

Bill feigned surprise, but congratulated himself that his plan of being the first passenger, had not only worked but was recognized.

Their meals arrived and both men enjoyed it with another beer. When they had finished, Bill provided the cigars and they enjoyed them with a cup of coffee.

“I imagine,” said Bill as he tried to blow a smoke ring only to have it disappear as a breeze came through from the open front door to the open rear door, “that you must come across many stories that you can’t use because of a lack of a source. Am I correct?”

“Yes, indeed. And many others that I would like to see printed, but are turned down by the newspaper’s owner.” He grabbed his writing tablet and as he removed a folded letter, said, “Bill, I shall now bring you into the world of the newspaper business and show you a typical letter to the editor. This came to my office a short time back and now I ask that you read it as I did.”

Bill took the note and read it.

Dear Editor, I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.”

Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanion

115 W. 95th St.

Bill read the letter and something clicked in his head, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“This is different than what we usually get,” Francis said as he flicked a long ash into the large round glass ashtray set on the bar between them. I wrote an outline that I would like to have printed in The Sun but I feel it may be too whimsical or too frilly an answer for the newspaper.”

“You mean that you are afraid that your editor will laugh at your answer?”

Francis blushed slightly as he admitted, “Yes, that too.” He turned and asked as he fished through his tablet, “Would you like to read my answer?”

“Absolutely!”

He passed it to Bill who opened the folded sheet of paper. Seeing that the paper had been folded more than once and the crinkled edges, he knew that Francis had read and reread it more than a few times. He moved slightly to catch a shaft of sunlight entering the bar between a window advertisement for Ballantine beer and another for Three Feathers Whisky and started to read.

 

Is There a Santa Claus?

We take the pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith, then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10 thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

 

Bill gently folded the response and handed it back to Francis, who just looked at the quiet man, then said, “I fear that you found it too frilly for such a highly respected newspaper. Am I correct?” he asked as he put it back in the writing tablet.

Bill shook his head, “Francis, I’m afraid that you have misinterpreted my quiet response as a negative answer, when in fact, it was because of my being overcome by the beauty and innocence of your answer.”

“Then you believe I should have it printed in The Sun?”

“As soon as possible, my friend! Fret not over how it is received by your editor, for I believe that he shall grant it space in The Sun and it will be read and enjoyed many times over.”

Francis smiled and said, “Bill Scott, you have made up my mind for me and I shall offer it to the paper this very afternoon.” He took out his pocket watch and flipped the cover open. “I’m afraid I must be off now as I want to catch my editor before he leaves for home.”

He put his hand in his pocket when Bill said; “I insist that you allow me to pick this up, my friend, as it was I who enticed you into this establishment.”

“Then I insist that we meet here again in one months time and I return the favor. Say, twelve thirty?”

“Twelve thirty is fine! I’ll be sitting right here.”

The two men shook hands, left the bar and walked in different directions.

Stepping over some horse waste in the street, Bill smiled as he thought, Well, Mister Scott, your goal was to be the first passenger to ride in a battery powered taxi in New York City and in that you have succeeded. And as a plus, you met the reporter who answered a little girl’s letter that has become famous and reprinted more times than any other editorial column in history. Not too shabby at all. Now it’s time to go home and feed the dog.

Using the key attached to the chain around his neck, Bill entered the club’s garden and, though it was one hundred and seventeen years in his past, he felt as one does when they see a familiar place on their return home from a trip. Enjoying the serenity of the garden, he walked slowly to the security door that would lead him upstairs to his apartments in 2014. Using the same key that he had used on the front gate, the time traveler opened the steel security door and stepped in to see the dancing light and hear the soft hiss of the gas lamps that illuminated the stairwell. He took the small Time frequency Modulator from his inside pocket and typed in March 9, 2014 and walked up the stone steps.

 

DATELINE: MARCH 9, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Once on the landing and before he slipped the key into the lock, he heard the sniffing and scratching as his beagle, Samson, sensing he was home. Bill unlocked and opened the door and the beagle went straight to sniffing his pants pockets knowing that Bill usually carried a treat there for him.

“Well you guessed right, Samson.” He took out a doggy treat and immediately the beagle sat. “Here you go, fella,” he said as he gave the beagle a treat.

A tap on the apartment door was followed by his right-hand-man, Matt entering. In one hand the club’s manservant carried a silver serving tray with sandwiches and a mug of hot chocolate on it, while with the other he carried an overcoat and fedora. “Good afternoon, sir. I thought perhaps I’d take Samson for a walk and pick up some cookies, say black and whites?”

Bill’s eyes squinted as he tried to remember something and then asked, “1902?”

Matt slipped the leash on Samson and answered, “Yes, sir, 1902, when the Glaser’s Bake Shop first started making the black and white cookie and perhaps some Manhattan Special sodas as well.”

“That’s great, Matt. I’m just going to wash up and change. I’ll be ready for another snack by the time you return.”

“Very well, sir.” Matt’s blue eyes flashed as he looked in the full length mirror, put the overcoat on over his valet uniform and, after patting down his thinning reddish brown hair, placed the fedora on his head and was ready to stroll in 1902.

Five foot 8-inches tall and lean, Bill thought as he watched the fifty-something Matt get ready for a trip back in time. And loaded with energy!

Matt took his own Time Frequency Modulator and entered: NOVEMBER 25, 1902, 1:00 p.m., opened the door and with Samson leading the way, stepped out of the room and entered the stairwell.

“He’s the best,” Bill said to himself as he took off his 1897 style clothing.

Bill showered and put on a pair of tan slacks and matching short-sleeve linen shirt and flip-flops. He went to take a sip of his warm chocolate when there was a knock on the time portal door.

He smiled and thought as he went to the door, Matt has his own key so this means that it’s my grandchild, Edmund visiting from 2070.

Bill was right! He opened the door and was greeted by his future grandson, Edmund Scott.

“Edmund,” he said as he hugged the tall, slim, dark haired young man, “what a treat. How’ve you been?”

“Just great, Gran. . . “ Remembering that Bill wished to be called by his name, rather than Grandpa, Edmund switched to, “Just great, Bill. How about you?”

“Great too. Come sit,” he pointed out one of the leather easy chairs as he took the facing one. “Before we go any further, how do you feel? Do you have those new nose filters in?”

The young man from the future nodded and said, “Yep! They’re in and they work fine. However, I can’t stay for dinner like I did last time on account of I’m subbing for a fellow inter-group communicator as his wife is due to give birth.”

“So, are you here on a mission or just to see your old grandpop?”

“A bit of both. I do have a mission,” he said as he handed Bill the silver cylinder that contained a hologram from the History Tracking Group for which they both worked.

“Mister Sullivan was checking up on something during his watch and came across the news that a Miss Elizabeth Bisland beat Miss Nellie Bly in a race around the world. The problem is, Miss Bly had won that race, not Miss Bisland.”

Bill sat back in his chair and rubbed the slight stubble on his chin as he said, “And I take it that the group wants someone to go back and make sure that Nellie Bly wins?”

“Yes, and Mister Sullivan will explain it all in the hologram.” He looked at his watch and said as he stood, “I really hate to leave but I promised my co-worker that I’d take his shift.”

“No problem, Ed, let’s set a date for dinner soon. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Their handshake turned into a hug.

Bill closed the door behind Edmund and set the cylinder on the coffee table.

 

Meanwhile:

DATELINE: NOVEMBER 25, 1902 PLACE: NEW YORK CITY

Matt tried to walk Samson as other dog owners walked their pets: simply stroll along and the dog did the same thing. He had discovered early on however, that beagles don’t do the usual stroll; rather, they stop and smell everything around them. Their super-sensitive sense of smell tells them that another dog or cat had passed this way before and they had to investigate it. Though there was a brisk wind blowing that didn’t seem to stop the beagle from picking up the scent.

After making sure that the dog had used the outside facilities (as Matt called them), he hailed down a cab. The one horse carriage pulled over to the curb and Matt asked, “Do you mind the pup, sir?”

The very heavy man shook his head and said as he removed his tall hat and scratched his bald head, “It is fine with me, sir. Just clean up after him.”

“No problem,” the time traveler answered as he scratched Samson’s ears. “Would you be so kind as to take us to 1670 First Avenue?”

“Will do, sir. Sit back and relax it’s a twenty minute trip through Central Park.”

Matt placed Samson on his lap and opened the downward sliding window, allowing the dog to stick his head out the window. Though Matt had taken this trip a few times before, he found himself vying for space with Samson as they both tried to see New York City of 1902 go by.

The driver drove up Broadway and at 59th Street, entered Central Park. Suddenly the sounds of the city fell behind them. The street vendors hawking their goods, shouts of the latest news from the newsboys, the bell of the trolley, the laughter of the children playing in the cold streets and even the odor of horse waste were all left behind and were suddenly replaced with the song of winter birds, the crunch of gravel as the carriage wheels rolled over them, the babble of the downward flowing waters of the small lakes, and the light scrape of stiff leaves falling on top of the carriage. Fall in New York City, thought Matt, nothing could be better.

Rounding a curve in the road the Metropolitan Museum of Art came into view. The road took the carriage along the building’s rear and Matt could imagine the three great entranceways in front loaded with visitors as they stood or sat on the massive staircase. Many of the people that sat on the cold granite steps were school children waiting for their turn to enter the great establishment. Others were tourists and artists with their sketchpads all hoping that some of the old masters rubbed off on them.

A few blocks later the cab driver took the 85th Street exit and drove over to First Avenue, made a left and went to 88th Street and called down to Matt, “Sir! Do you have an address?”

“1670. It’s a cake shop.”

The cabby slowed the horse down as they went along 88th Street and suddenly pulled back on the reins. “Whoa!” he said as he set the manual wooden brake. “I do believe we have arrived at your destination, sir.”

Matt climbed down and lifted the beagle from the cab and the dog went directly to a tree and inspected it with his nose.

“That’ll be three dollars, sir.”

Matt peeled off three dollar bills and added another as he said, “If you wait a few moments, I’ll ride back with you, thus guaranteeing you a fare.”

The man tipped his hat, “You take your time, sir. I’ll rest ol’ Hoppy for the trip back.”

Matt strolled over to the storefront, which consisted of two large glass windows separated by a single glass door. He stepped in and a small bell tinkled as the top of the door tipped against it announcing that a new customer had entered the store. Seeing that the owner was busy with a customer, Matt took the time to look around. The bakery had four glass display cases filled with old-fashioned cakes and pastries, lemon meringue, apple turnovers and cookies of every description, including black and white ones. Designed by the owner, the cookies were simply round with half vanilla and half chocolate icing on them. Opposite them were brown wooden display cases showing larger cakes, pies and cupcakes.

Though Matt had been here more than once, he never really had the chance to study the place as a history-loving person would, so, casually looking up he saw that the store had a tin ceiling embossed with various patterns and two hanging gas lamps while the floor was composed of hexagonal shaped, one half-inch, white tiles with a black and blue, star pattern set it in to break the white pattern up. A blue dental design, not unlike what was found in early Roman ruins, ran around the proud owner’s name: JOHN GLASER INC.

The ringing of a hand-cranked cash register sounded and Matt stepped up to the glass display case as a customer left the store carrying a white paper bag. Behind the counter the young, dark-haired man with a full mustache smiled and greeted Matt with, “Hello, Matt. Nice to see you and Samson again. Are you in the mood for black and white cookies once again? I just put out a fresh tray.”

“Hello, John. It seems that I have come at precisely the right time then. “May I have six black and white cookies, please?”

The man nodded and took a small round cookie from a case and said as he passed it to Matt, “May I reward your dog with a cookie? He sits so obediently for you.”

Before Matt could answer Samson did his best whine and the time traveler broke the cookie in half and passed the vanilla half to the dog. “I once heard that chocolate is bad for a dog.” Needless to say, it was finished in one bite.

The baker laughed and said as he wrapped up Matt’s order, “Funny how you ask for black and white cookies and your dog is mostly black and white.”

“Yes, it is indeed. Everything smells so good I’ll just look around and see what else I might bring home.”

“Please do, my friend.”

The small bell sounded again as the front door opened and a man came in carrying a stuffed pillowcase. He was portly with a thick black and gray mustache and his dark gray fedora, suit and overcoat gave him the appearance of a businessman.

“Ahh, John,” he said to the baker, “good to see you again.”

“Hello, Morris. Yes, it’s been a long time,” the baker replied as he peered over the glass display case. “What do you have for me this time, my friend.”

Morris looked at Matt and then back at the baker who smiled and said, “Please feel free to talk, as Matt is a friend of mine.”

The man smiled and said as he offered his hand to the time traveler, “Morris Michtom, Matt,” he said, “a friend of John’s is a friend of mine.”

“Matt Worthington. Pleased to meet you, Morris.”

John came from around the counter and said as he shook his friend’s hand, “Morris brings me toys that he makes at home and I help him by displaying them in my store. He also displays them in his own store, but better to have them in two different stores miles apart than just in one store.”

“And if this one sells, it will be the first one,” quipped his friend.”

“So,” asked John as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, “what have you brought me today, Morris”?

Morris reached into the pillowcase and pulled out a brown, stuffed bear cub with buttons for eyes. “This,” he said setting the toy bear on the display case.”

John grinned like a little boy and said, “Morris, this is different than anything you’ve done before. What do we call it?”

Morris shrugged and said, “All I called it, was the toy bear.”

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought, Morris Michtom. There’s something about that name. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and said, “Sir, am I correct in saying that you have been inspired to make the toy bear after seeing a cartoon of President Theodore Roosevelt in the newspapers?”

The man’s mouth opened in surprise as he answered, “Yes. He was hunting and his friends found a black bear exhausted from being chased by hounds and knocked the poor animal out, tied it to a tree and offered it to Roosevelt, who refused to shoot the tied-up animal as it was unsportsmanlike.”

Credit: Clifford Berryman, The Washington Post

 

Matt offered, “My friend, if I may be so bold as to propose a different name for the toy.”

Morris shrugged and asked, “And, pray tell, what would that be, sir?”

“Why not simply call it a ‘Teddy Bear’? It’s a play on Theodore.”

“Teddy Bear,” mumbled Morris as he looked at his toy, “It is right to the point, sir. What do you think, John?”

“I think Matt has named your toy, Morris. Especially since the cartoon has been seen all over the newsstands. It’s almost like the newspapers have done all of the advertising for you.”

Morris looked at the toy then at Matt and with a big smile said, “Teddy Bear! Yes, I like that. How can I thank you, sir?”

“May I purchase this one?”

“Please,” said the toy maker, “take it free of charge. In fact,” he added as he stuffed the toy back into the pillowcase, “carry it home in this case, lest people think you to be sleepwalking.”

“I shall place it for all to see,” Matt said as he turned to the baker, “John, I now have all I can carry and still keep Samson from chasing birds. How much?”

“72 cents, sir.”

Matt paid the baker, shook hands with both men and left the store with a bag of black and white cookies and the first of hundreds of thousands of Teddy Bears. He motioned to the cab driver that he was stopping in the candy store three doors down and, getting a nod of understanding, he walked to the small store on the corner and entered. Sitting at the short marble counter was the seventy-four year-old owner, David Baiser. He was sipping on a Vanilla Egg Cream soda.

Looking in the mirror the owner saw that it was Matt who entered. “Greetings, Matt.”

“Good afternoon, David,” said Matt as he pulled the door closed behind him. He grinned to himself as the outside wind easily slipped under the old wooden door and blew some candy wrappers down the length of the store. Past the tin, ice-filled soda cooler at end of the store was a set of curtains that the breeze parted to show Mrs. Baiser sitting at a small table cutting up a piece of Gefilte fish.

“David,” she called out without looking up, “you must fix that door. We’re losing heat.”

David shrugged and said to Matt, in a low voice, “I tell her to put a sweater on, but I think she’d rather have something to talk about.”

Matt smiled and offered some advice; “Back in London my mother would wet a sheet of newspaper and jam it between the spaces. Being wet it filled the space nicely and when it dried it was form-fitting in the space.”

The elderly man shrugged his shoulders, “She’ll find something else for me to do, but thank you, my friend. I’ll try it out.” He turned the round stool he sat on, pulled the threadbare button-front sweater tight and said as he faced Matt, “So, my friend, what can I get for you today?”

“A bottle of Manhattan Special soda.”

David walked to the cooler, lifted one of the two doors on top, reached in and pulled out a quart-size bottle of the dark brown, espresso coffee soda. He wiped the wet bottle off with a towel that was tied to the bottle opener on the side of the icebox and put the bottle in a brown paper bag as he shuffled back to the front of the store where Matt and Samson stood.

“My biggest seller,” he said as he handed Matt the bottle and added, “And the soda that’s been around since 1895.”

“Am I correct,” asked Matt as he handed the storeowner a dollar bill, “in saying that it is manufactured right here in Brooklyn?”

“Yes. In the Williamsburg section.” He gave Matt the change.

Samson suddenly spotted an alley cat and tried to drag Matt right through the glass door to chase it.

“Best we be off, David. Good seeing you again.”

“Come back soon, my friend.”

Matt opened the door and smiled as the curtain at the end of the store flew open with the breeze. He pulled his overcoat tight and returned to the waiting cab. Looking up and seeing an empty seat, he looked around and saw his driver talking to a cab driver of a 1902 Baker Torpedo. As it was the first car to have an aerodynamic body that enclosed both the driver and passengers, it was quickly getting a crowd, one of which was Matt and Samson.

Matt knew that at a later point in time this model reached 80 miles-per-hour in a speed test before crashing and killing two spectators. It was later clocked as high as 120 mph, but with spectators not invited this time. His driver saw him and they walked together back to their carriage.

“Do you think that it will catch on, sir?” the driver asked.

“They absolutely will, sir,” answered Matt, “Are you are a man that takes advice easily, sir?”

“I am as I must be for I have a wife and a five-year old daughter and as I drive as often as I can, I have no time to dwell on my future.”

“Then hear me out for what I tell you will happen as sure as the sun rises. Take driving lessons, get yourself a license and switch to a battery-driven cab and when the internal engine is perfected, take driving lessons once again and switch to that type of vehicle.”

As they pulled up to the garden of the 1800 Club Matt paid the driver and added a twenty-dollar bill. “Sir, if you truly wish to learn how to drive a motor vehicle, take off tomorrow and use this tip to take the driving instructions.

And,” he said as he passed him the pillowcase with the Teddy Bear in it, “Take this and give it to your little girl. Believe me when I tell you that it is the very first Teddy Bear and you will soon read about them in the newspapers. I suggest that you have a photograph taken of it with today’s newspaper that shows the date so you will have positive proof that it was the first of many. This one is going to be worth lots of money very soon so ask her to keep it in good condition and when she has grown out of playing with it, look into selling it for you and your family.”

The driver was speechless and Matt saw that the stiff wind caused his eyes to tear up. He grinned and opened the gate to the 1800 Club and 2014.

 

 

DATELINE: MARCH 9, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Bill Scott depressed the thumb indent at the end of the silver cylinder and placed it on the 1854 Victorian Parlor table, which he referred to as his coffee table. The cherry wood, oval shaped table always seemed the best place to activate the hologram as the white and light blue veined marble insert always gave the hologram the look of a stage. As a six-inch Jerry Sullivan appeared standing on the cool marble top, the door behind Bill opened and Matt and Samson entered. Seeing that Bill had a hologram activated, Matt escorted the beagle out of the room.

“Greetings from the Time Watcher’s Group, Bill,” said Jerry as he started to pace the tabletop. “Bill, I’m sure that you’ve heard of Nellie Bly, well this case is about her and her trip around the world. Because she disappears before the race, she loses the race and if this glitch in time is allowed to become a reality, not only will she disappear, but she will never do any of the wonderful things that she did in her lifetime.” The small figure stopped, pushed back his long curly hair and went on, this time pacing the opposite way.

“Bill, at the end of this hologram is her timeline: things that she did to change the world for the better. We feel that she is worth sending someone back because her trip around the world made her a household name and because of that, people listened when she talked about programs that needed changing and a host of other things. We’ve narrowed her disappearance to a trip she took aboard the Coastal Steamer, Brooklyn on October 20, 1889 leaving from Pier 21 at 10:00 a.m. She was going to get off in Georgia and take another coastal steamer back to New York. She wanted to see if she got seasick before boarding the Augusta Victoria, which would take her on the first leg of her around-the-world trip. The theory is that she got seasick and leaned on a railing that gave way ending her life.” He looked down at his notes as he continued, “We would like you to set up a rescue mission and prevent her from falling overboard. As usual, Bill, anything you need, just ask. Good luck from the group uptime.”

Bill sat back, looked at the large bookcase that covered one long wall of the den, got up and started to scan the books. He ran his finger down one of the columns and stopped at a book, which he pulled out and returned to his seat. The cover illustration showed two women dressed for a trip: Bly and Bisland. It was titled: Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elizabeth Bisland’s History-Making Race Around the World by Matthew Goodman.

After scanning the back cover, Bill opened to the first page as a tap on the door announced Matt with a tray of black and white cookies and a large bottle of Manhattan Special along with Bill’s Donald Duck mug.

“Perfect timing, Matt.”

“A mission, sir?”

“Yep! Edmund left not too long ago.”

“And have you decided to take this one yourself or assign one of the club members?”

Bill shrugged and answered as he picked up a cookie, “Well it has to do with a steamer and as an ex-SEAL I should take this one.” He took a bite, rolled his eyes and said, “Matt, please take one.”

“Actually, sir, I have a few for later.”

Bill grinned, “Good for you.”

Matt inquired, “Do you know what season and year you have to travel to?”

“Bill nodded, “October 20, 1889. I have to get a ticket for the coastal steamer, Brooklyn that leaves at 10:00 a.m. from Pier 21 in Manhattan.”

“Very well, sir. When do you wish to leave here?”

“Tomorrow morning should do it.”

“You are scheduled to have dinner with Messrs John Brand and Rocko Perna this evening so I’ll outfit you after they leave, sir.”

“That’s great, Matt,” he said as he pointed at the book, “I’m going to read up on the mission before dinner.”

Matt started to leave, turned back and said, “Sir, the menu you requested for this evening: do you wish to change it in any way?”

Getting nothing more than a smile and a shake of Bill’s head, Matt shrugged and said as he left the room, “Very well, sir. Dinner at eight.”

 

As Bill got dressed for dinner, he reflected on his friendship with club members John Brand and Rocko Perna. Both of them had gone back on a tough mission for Bill and the club and both had completed their mission. It seemed natural to become more than just club members with them as all three shared the same secret: time travel. At the club dinners the three acted as though they were nothing more than club members chatting with the club’s president, however, after the club members who had not made a trip back on a mission went home, the three time travelers dropped their guard and chatted about their personal trips back in time including a vacation they went on together to Europe.

An hour later, Bill, John and Rocko sat at the table centered in the apartment’s alcove, which gave them a spectacular view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn and New Jersey. Because the moonless night was so dark, the lights from the thousands of windows blended with the lights of millions of stars which gave the impression of there being no horizon at all just a sky full of stars that filled their windows.

The light that fought back the darkness in the alcove was an antique Tiffany kerosene table lamp that sat in the center of the table. The round shade was decorated with flowering plants, curving branches, delicate leaves and almond shaped petals of many hues, which glowed like jewels when illuminated from within. The bronze base depicted sprouting flowers that rose up to the delicate neck where it was covered by the round shade. The flickering of the kerosene flame guaranteed a constant change of color and drew everyone’s attention to it. The table it sat upon was an 1880 Victorian Four Sided Drop Leaf with turned pedestal and arched tripod legs.

 

“Bill,” asked John as the light of the lamp gave his blond hair a touch of red and yellow, “the lamp is beautiful.”

“Yes. It just arrived from the factory three days ago.”

“It’s a Tiffany, right?” asked Rocko as he ran his finger along the base.

“Yep. Matt ordered it a week ago . . .” Bill paused and said, “Wait. Let me start at the beginning. Matt was shopping back in 1898 and saw an advertisement for a mail-order lamp. The company’s name was Tiffany and he recognized it as one of the best in the world. Anyway, Tiffany had started a mail order catalog, called the Blue Book, way back in 1845 and he found the lamp he thought would be perfect for this room and ordered it. The advertisement stated that it would take seven work days for it to arrive and Matt simply went back seven days later and waited on the club’s front stoop for the horse-drawn delivery.”

The door to the room opened and Matt entered carrying a silver platter. On it was a large covered soup tureen and four smaller covered porcelain bowls. ”Dinner is served, sirs,” he said as he placed the tray on the table. He stood back and said to Bill with a rather smug look, “Perhaps, sir, you would like to remove the covers?”

John and Rocko looked at each other as Bill said, “Great idea, Matt. After all, I did push for this special New York dinner.”

“That you did, sir. That you did.”

Bill lifted the cover and almost immediately the room smelled of frankfurters.

“Dirty-water dogs!” said John wide-eyed. “My favorite!”

Matt looked surprised as Rocko added, “Man, Bill, this is a great surprise!”

Matt watched as Bill opened the other covered deep dishes and said: “Mustard, onions, relish and hotdog rolls.”

John was the first to place a frankfurter on a split roll, smear it with mustard, relish and onions and take a bite. He closed his eyes as he savored the frank on a roll that has been known as a New York Dirty-Water Dog for years.

“Matt,” John said, “can you give me the recipe?”

“Sir,” asked Matt, “Am I correct in saying that the name came from the fact that the wieners are cooked in water rather than on a grill?”

Bill shook his head yes, “Yep. The fast food vendors in New York City push their pushcarts around as they cook the wieners in water. As they sell one they replace it with another in the same water and after a while the juices and fats from the earlier ones give them a certain flavor. Using the same water all day is how they got the nickname, ‘Dirty-Water Dogs’.”

“But,” added Rocko as he took a bite of his, “there is nothing better tasting that a lunch at a New York City pushcart that serves Dirty-Water Dogs.”

“And,” added Bill as he reached into a small cooler hidden behind the curtain of one of the windows, “what’s the best way to wash them down?” He placed a case of Rheingold beer on the table much to John and Rocko’s delight.

Matt opened three cans and was shocked when the three men turned down the long-neck Pilsner glasses he offered and instead drank straight from the cans.

He shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the door. “Should you gentlemen need anything, please call. I have to set up a trip,” he closed the door behind himself.

It was Rocko who first caught what Matt had said. He looked at Bill and said, “He has to set up a trip? Is there a mission happening, Bill?”

“I was going to tell you guys tonight. Yes, there is a trip back to New York City in 1889 but everything points at me going on this one. It might take some swimming.”

“Hey,” said John with a fake look of hurt on his face, “Doesn’t it say in my file that I can swim?”

“And,” added Rocko, “You know that I can swim too.”

Bill looked sheepishly at his two time traveling friends, “Guys, this might be an ocean swim at night pulling a woman along.” He shook his head, “Naw, I have to go on this one. This is one area that being a SEAL gives me the best possible chance to complete the mission if we go into the ocean at night.”

Both of his friends grinned and John said for both of them as he raised his can of beer in a toast, “Hey, Bill. You know we’re fooling with you. If you think that, should you go on a mission, the odds will help save someone, then we both agree.”

“I knew that you would. But let me show you guys the hologram.”

Twenty minutes later Rocko nodded, “Seems straight forward, Bill. Just follow her and keep her away from a railing.”

A tap sounded at the door and Matt entered with another covered tureen, went to the empty one on the table and put the fresh wieners into the ‘dirty-water’.

The three guys laughed and Matt handed John and Rocko a piece of paper before leaving the room.

Rocko read his note aloud:

‘1800 Club’s New York City Dirty-Water Dogs’

2 quarts of water

1/8 tablespoon of ground nutmeg

Pinch ground cumin

Favorite hot dogs, not skinless!

Large yellow onion, peeled and coarsely sliced.

3 tablespoons of cooking oil.

Pinch of crushed red pepper and hot sauce to taste, optional.

1 tablespoons of red vinegar

1/4 can of tomatoes sauce or ketchup for a sweeter version.

Cooking instructions

In a covered, 4-quart saucepan, bring water to slight simmer, stir in vinegar, cumin and nutmeg.

Add up to two packs of wieners and cover for at least ten-minutes.

 

They all laughed as both men pocketed the recipe.

The grandfather clock chimed ten times and both visitors decided that it was time to go. “I’m sure you’ve still got some planning to do,” said Rocko shaking Bill’s hand. “If you need anything, just call.”

“Same here,” added John as they shook hands.

Bill walked them to the door, “Take care, guys. I’ll give you both the full story on the mission when I get back.”

Bill went back up to his apartment and Matt entered right behind him carrying a valise in one hand and a long coat over his other arm.

Bill grinned as he said, “I believe that dinner was a success, Matt.”

“I agree, sir. Not that I understand it because they could have been served the finest steak available yet you somehow knew that they would enjoy the wieners.”

Bill winked, “Just a gut feeling, that’s all.”

Matt placed the brown leather valise on an ottoman and held up the long black coat as he said, “This is a light-weight dress overcoat, sir. Very warm yet light and comfortable. Next he opened the valise and took out a dark brown two-button suit and draped it over the couch. “Dark brown, sir, as the mission is in October and one wearing light colors would be looked upon as uninformed in the style of the day.”

He opened the jacket to show the waistline of the trousers, “Permanently stitched crease, sir. These trousers will never lose their crease.” He picked up two more suits, one black the other sharkskin gray. “These two may be shared: the jacket of one goes well with pants from the other. All have white shirts and starched collars along with accessories such as black glass buttons, string ties and cravats with stickpins. Two pair of low-cut, wing tip shoes, one black, the other dark brown. This was the year that the low-cut style of shoe was preferred over the high top, sir, because of this,” he said as he picked up a pair of men’s socks.

“Men’s hosiery were designed to be shown rather than hid by the high-top shoes.” The socks he held up were black with luminous stripes of green, blue and cherry with fancy figures running up and down the ankle.”

Next he picked up a pair of workout gym clothes along with white canvas deck shoes. “Should you feel in the need of exercise, sir, these are the latest fashion in the cruise wear of 1889. The rest is your underwear, sleeping garments, toiletry and lastly,” he said as he wacked a round, flat pancake shaped item against his hand and with a pop, it immediately became a dress hat, “a satin collapsible top hat made from black bridal satin with a grosgrain hat band and a leather interior sweatband.” Matt handed him an envelope, “Inside is a round trip ticket aboard the coastal steamer Brooklyn and three hundred 1889 dollars and some coins.” He took out the final item: the brown wooden hairbrush/communicator and passed it to Bill.

“Sir, at the suggestion of our friends upline, we have incorporated a password to operate the communication device. I set yours to be ‘Samson’. Simply enter your password into the communication device and then press the newly added unlock button followed by your message. Should the unit be lost and found by someone in the past, it would never work for them.”

Bill pressed down on the wooden handle while giving it a twist. It immediately popped open to show a small screen and keyboard. He typed ‘Samson’ and pressed the unlock button, typed a message, pressed the send button and the communicator in Matt’s jacket pocket buzzed as it vibrated. He took it out, opened it and read the message out loud: “Hi Matt!” . . . Bill’s communicator was in perfect working order.

“What time do you plan on leaving tomorrow, sir?”

The Brooklyn leaves at 10:00 a.m. from Pier 21 which is close by so I’ll get up at 7:30 and still have plenty of time.”

“I’ll arrange for a cab to be in front of the garden at 8:45, sir.”

“Perfect, Matt. And once again, thanks for all of your help.”

Matt simply nodded at his statement and said as he went out the door, “I’ll bring up a mug of hot chocolate for you, sir.”

 

After taking a shower, Bill sat on the thick rug at the bottom of his bed facing the unlit fireplace. He smiled as he thought of the nights he shared here with Shirley Holmes. He took a sip of his hot chocolate, then lifted the mug to his fiancé so many miles and years away, “To you my sweet, Shirley Holmes,” he took a sip and thirty minutes later climbed in bed and found Samson sharing his pillow.

“Hey, old buddy, I’m afraid some things might have to change around here.” He was answered with a snort as his beagle claimed even more of the pillow.

 

The next morning, Bill sat at the table in the alcove watching raindrops as they slid down the window’s glass. He was dressed in the brown outfit that Matt had provided and sipped his cup of coffee as he looked at his pocket watch. Eight thirty, he thought, time to leave. He sat back and stretched as he thought, I know I can sleep late and still catch the ship by simply setting the time I want to arrive at, but that sort of takes the fun out of traveling in the past. I love feeling the full effect of an average man as I step in the same steps that others back then did.

The door to the time portal opened and Matt entered with Samson shaking rainwater off his coat. “Nasty day, sir. Will you need an umbrella?”

Bill shook his head, no, “Thanks anyway, Matt, but I checked the date I’m going to and it’s clear. A bit nippy, but no rain or snow. Besides, I’d just leave it somewhere. If the cab is out front I’m set.”

“It is, sir. He is parked in front of the gate.”

Bill wiped his mouth, stood and flicked some toast crumbs off his jacket as Matt popped open his hat and handed it to him before helping him put on the long black overcoat. Bill squatted down and scratched his beagle’s ears.

“You be good while I’m gone. Hear me?”

Samson gave a woof, jumped up onto one of the leather seats and curled up.

Bill grabbed his valise and shook hands with Matt. “See you in a few days, Matt. I hope you use the time to relax.”

“I do relax at times, sir, but with you away, I will take the opportunity to steam clean the rugs of your rooms.”

Bill shook his head and with a smile said, “There’s a great Men’s Club in Brooklyn, 1957, on Ninth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues that gives a great massage for two dollars. You should give yourself a treat.”

“I shall keep that in mind, sir.”

Bill opened the door at the rear of his den, took out his Time Frequency Modulator and entered: October 20, 1889. He looked at his watch and seeing 8:40 a.m., entered 8:40 a.m. in keeping with his habit of setting the time that he was going to, the same time he was coming from and in this case he was leaving 2014 at 8:40 and arriving in 1889 at 8:40 a.m, rested and fed.

Matt and Samson watched as Bill opened the steel door and entered the time portal.

Man, he thought as he went down the stone steps of the enclosed stairway, I never cease to admire the transition from 2014 to the 1800s. From bright electric lights to the gentle flickering flame of the gas lamps of old.

He stopped in front of one of the hissing lamps and looked at it up-close for the first time. Bill remembered reading an article on them in the file of items that belonged to the club. Each item was recorded with when and where they were purchased and any upgrades they might have had done on them. He closed his eyes and snapped them open as he recalled the information on the string of gas lamps that ran down the length of the red brick stairwell: Purchased in London, England in 1887; made of cast brass with an iron turn key; and intricate fine, cut glass shades. He grinned with self-satisfaction as he took the stairs two at a time, pressed the activate button on his TFM and opened the security door to October 20, 1889.

DATELINE: OCTOBER 20, 1889 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Bill stepped out into the partially slumbering, fall garden. Once again he smiled as he thought of Shirley stopping short as she entered the beautifully landscaped area. “Glory be,” she muttered as she looked around the walled-in garden, “tis a scene from the best of an English garden.” They both sat on one of the stone benches and he listened as she described what the club’s gardener had created.

“Up against the far wall,” she said, pointing to the tall plant that Bill had thought of as weeds, “the Eupatorium’s mauve flowers have been mistakenly thought of by many as nothing more than weeds while the true gardener, who planted them here, uses them as a background for other, shorter flowers such as,” she pointed at the red, pink and white flowers that resembled a turtle’s head and continued, “the Chelone. It loves to grow in dense clumps for shade from the sun and thus avoid any excessive dry heat.” She pointed to the large cluster of gray-green foliage capped with blue buds and went on, “The Caryopteris or Blue Mist Shrub, blossoms in August and attracts the butterflies and bees.” She next pointed to pink, purple, blue and white daisy look-alikes and went on, “The Aster, or Michaelmas Daisy, start opening in August and continues until the first frost. They tend to creep throughout your garden, but their airiness allow them to blend particularly well with other flowers, giving an appearance of being denser than they truly are.” She looked around before pointing at the ground cover surrounding the mini pond set in the corner of the garden. “The Bearberry is one of my favorite ground covers: an evergreen with hardy foliage that is low maintenance and provides beautiful fall color. They creep over and around obstacles such as boulders or, in this setting, the fish pond.”

“I’ll never remember all of this,” he said and was rewarded with a peck on his cheek, “If human beings took the time to look deeply into the ways of nature, I believe they would not be so fast to destroy all about them . . . including themselves.”

Bill decided then and there to read and learn all he could about the club’s garden and found himself many times sitting on the stone bench and going over the various plants, shrubs and flowers as he puffed on a cigar and enjoyed a glass of red wine.

He stood, sighed and walked to the gate. Once outside of the enclosed area, Bill felt a cool breeze and pulled up his coat’s collar as he walked to a carriage parked at the curb. The breeze, he thought, will help clear the air of horse waste.

A thin man with a very long black mustache tipped his shabby tall hat and said, “Are you the gentleman going to Pier 21, sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Climb on up, then, sir. You’ll find a warm blanket folded on the seat should you feel the need of it.” He winked proudly as he added, “My wife washed it herself just yesterday.”

Bill stepped on the steel step that protruded from beneath the carriage door and climbed into the cab. The driver whistled and the horse pulled away from the curb. Bill looked at the blanket and was happy that he had his overcoat on.

The time traveler sat back while holding the worn, leather grip attached to the side of the wooden cab. Bill truly enjoyed taking a ride in a carriage, as almost every trip was a different experience. This time the driver sat up front and guided the horse along the cobblestone streets while other carriages had the driver sitting high up at the rear of the cab. Bill saw that many times the driver who sat behind the carriage clipped something like a pole or another cab as the view from back was not as good as a carriage that was operated from the front.

Suddenly three horse drawn carriages came running out of a side street, their driver’s eyes open wide as they looked behind them and slapped their whips on the horses’ rumps. The few passengers that had their heads out of the cab’s windows were white as ghosts as they looked behind them. Bill’s driver stopped so suddenly by pulling back on the reins and stomping on the mechanical brake that, had he not been holding the grip, the time traveler would have been thrown forward. Another cab flew out of the same street, made a sharp left turn and finally stopped where Bill’s cab would have been had his driver not been on the ball. Next to run out of the street were about a dozen children. But rather than having a look of fear, they wore smiles as they looked back.

Then Bill saw what caused the cabs to flee and the children to enjoy the run: a red and gold, four-wheeled carriage burst out of the street drawn by three huge white horses with bulging eyes and froth coming from their mouths as they beat the cobblestone street with their massive hooves. Howling at the top of their voices for all to give way were two men driving the rig: one constantly pulling the large brass bell as the other held the reins in a commanding way. Behind them a brass steam engine belched flames and white smoke that streamed in a long ribbon behind them and every now and then Bill could see two more men holding onto the rear for their lives. All four of the men wore black rubber coats, which covered their blue pants and red shirts, and past-the-knees rubber boots. On their heads were black, hard leather, helmets with a company number drawn on a badge and mounted on the front of their helmets. They all seemed to be shouting to clear the way and the roar of the steam engine plus the large wheels bouncing on the uneven cobblestones along with the thud of the horses’ hooves created such a din that Bill understood the panic in the faces of the other carriage drivers and passengers. He also understood the glee of the children who followed them to the fire. He grinned as he thought, Wow! Even way back here firemen all seemed to sport long curled mustaches.

As quickly as they appeared, the controlled chaos of the fire wagon disappeared down another street and all of the traffic closed up behind them as though the event never took place at all.

Bill’s driver made up for the lost minutes by taking a narrower street that the larger wagons had a hard time driving through. They pulled up in front of the pier with plenty of time to spare. Bill paid the fare, gave him a generous tip, grabbed his valise and walked over to the boarding area.

Pier 21 was a typical New York pier: a wooden structure with paint that was being chipped away by the elements, jutting out into the Hudson River. At the street side of the pier stood a wooden building, sixty-feet by thirty-feet that was also being attacked by the elements. Bill stepped inside and had his ticket punched by a middle-aged man who never looked up when he said, “Follow the white arrow.”

Bill followed an almost scuffed away white painted arrow that led to a door at the far end of the building. He opened it and saw a line of passengers going up an enclosed wooden gangway. Some carried their smaller luggage and Bill did the same. At the end of the gangway, a young man collected the tickets, tore off the stub that had the cabin number on it and gave it back to him.

Cabin 64, he noted as he pocketed the stub, and Nellie Bly is in cabin 63, both one deck down.

Bill went to his cabin and found the door open. He entered and spotted the key on the bed. Well, he thought as he looked around, it’s certainly not first class, but it’s what the mission calls for: get as close to Nellie Bly as possible.

The cabin was clean and efficient with whitewashed walls and ceiling, the white walls were broken up with paintings of ships at sea and the ceiling sported a single, slow moving fan over the bed. The bed was smaller than a double and had just one bedside table with a pen and ink set on it. The floor was a black and white zebra style linoleum . . . much easier to clean than rugs, he thought. Oh well, guess I was spoiled by going first class most of the time, he thought with a grin. Next to the bed was a small closet followed by a small round table and two straight-backed wicker chairs. Opposite the closet was a white, four-drawer dresser with a washbowl and pitcher that was kept from sliding off by a one-inch high wooden lip that ran around the edge of the dresser top. A small round mirror above the dresser made it look as though there were two washbowls and pitchers. Another door led to a very small washroom that contained a toilet and bath, one overhead electric light and a rack with three white towels; the floor had the same zebra pattern as the main room. I think a friend of the ship builder had lots of zebra linoleum in stock, he thought as he stepped back into the main cabin. Turning, he now saw an 8 1/2x11 inch frame attached to the cabin’s door and in it was a sheet of manila colored parchment that had printed at the top: NEWS AND ACTIVITIES OF THE DAY, MONDAY OCT. 20, 1889. Bill read on;

Dear passengers: Greetings from Captain Lathem and the crew of the steamship, Brooklyn! As you know we sail at 10:00 a.m. and our destination is Norfolk, Virginia where we will eat in the Lobster House and head back to New York. We will dock at Pier 21. I hope to greet you all in the main dining room at 11:00 a.m. today and toast to a nice cruise. Lunch will be at 12:30 and dinner at 6:00 p.m. While I sign off now, the ship’s chef follows with lunch and dinner menus.

NOTE: Passenger(s) in cabin 64 are assigned table 15 for the duration of the trip.

LUNCHEON

Shrimp Salad

Bismarck Herring

Cole Slaw

Salami

Pearl Onions

 

SOUP

Scotch Mutton Broth with Barley

 

FISH

Broiled Mackerel, Sauce Creole

 

ENTREES

Baked Pork and Beans, Boston Brown Bread

Braised Short Ribs of Beef with Vegetables

 

GRILL

English Mutton Chop and Bacon

 

COLD BUFFET

Corned Brisket of Beef

Pickled Lamb's Tongue

Prime Rib of Beef

Boiled Ham

 

VEGETABLES

String Beans

Mashed Turnips

Baked and Fried Sweet Potatoes

 

SALAD

Lettuce and Sliced Tomatoes, Mayonnaise

 

DESSERTS

Baked Apple Dumpling, Hard Sauce

Raisin Cake

Ice Cream

 

CHEESE

English Cheshire

American

 

AFTER LUNCH BEVERAGE

 

Coffee

Tea

Soda Pop

Beer or Wine

NOTE: SPECIAL DIETERY NEEDS WILL BE PROVIDED IF THE CHEF IS NOTIFIED 2 HOURS BEFORE THE MEAL IS SERVED.

 

“Nice,” Bill said to himself, “they assign tables to cabins and Matt made sure that I’m at the same table as she is. That makes it easier. No wandering around trying to find a seat at a table.” He opened the valise and removed the communicator. After popping it open he typed in ‘Samson’, pressed the unlock button and typed, HI MATT. SAFE ABOARD THE BROOKLYN. BUZZ ME BACK FOR A COMM CHECK. BEST, BILL.

Two minutes later the unit beeped low as it vibrated and the time traveler opened it to see that he had a message coming in. He pressed the ‘read’ button and read Matt’s note. COMMUNICATIONS CAME THROUGH CLEARLY, SIR. ALL IS WELL AT HOME. GOOD LUCK. MATT AND SAMSON. PS SAMSON ATE THE LEFTOVER DIRTY WATER DOGS FOR AN EARLY LUNCH.

Bill grinned and closed the brush/communicator and put it back in the valise. He stepped out into the corridor just as a pretty woman of medium height walked towards him. She looked at each door she passed and then at her ticket. She had a small carrying valise made of a material, probably wool, tucked under her arm and a long brown coat over her arm. The long black and gray feather sticking in her hat seemed to have a mind of its own as it bobbed up and down with each step she took.

Bill politely tipped his hat and said, “Good morning, m’am.” She smiled and nodded as they passed each other, looked at the door he came out of, then at her ticket and finally shook her head and stopped short.

Bill stopped and looked back. “May I be of assistance, m’am?” he said removing his hat.

“Uh, oh, no, thank you anyway. I see my cabin now.”

Bill smiled and said, “They all look so alike it’s easy to walk past one.”

“Indeed it is, sir,” she answered with a smile as she opened the door right across from his.”

Don’t push it, Bill, he thought to himself as he replaced his hat and walked on. According to Matt, she’s assigned to the same table that I’m at and, if Matt says it, you can bank on it. His research is meticulous!

Bill walked down the carpeted corridor and up the short flight of stairs he had come down earlier. As was his habit when taking a cruise he lit a cigar and stood by the railing to watch the dockworkers and deckhands remove the thick manila ropes that secured the liner tied to the pier. At exactly 10 o’clock sharp, the ship’s whistle sounded and many of the passengers appeared on deck to wave to family, friends or New York City itself.

A slight shudder was felt throughout the ship as the engines started to turn the huge brass screws at the ship’s rear. Mud mingled with the white froth that told all that the Brooklyn was backing out. As she was a coastal steamer and about half as large as the ocean crossing ships, the Brooklyn didn’t need a tug to get her moving out into the middle of the waterway. The captain easily backed her out and once in the center of the Hudson River, ordered the helmsmen to turn the bow of the ship down towards the Atlantic Ocean. Finally, on its way, the captain blew his whistle telling all that he was a free man once again, the master of his ship.

Bill stood and watched as New York City slowly glided by. He could never get over the view of a much lower silhouette that he saw every time he went back in time. After a bit they slowly cruised past the Statue of Liberty and Bill was happy to hear the ship’s whistle sound in a salute to the gift from France.

He finished his cigar and went back to his cabin to read the newspapers of the time he was in. Reading the newspapers had become a standard in his trips back as he knew they had just happened rather than reading them on a computer over one hundred years in the future. There was a small pile of reading material in a wooden magazine holder next to the bed and he went through them quickly, selecting a few. “Finally”, he said as he picked out a newspaper, “Ahhh, the New York Journal American, March 2, 1889. Let’s start with this one.” He lay back on the bed and opened the thin newspaper to no particular page and read.

 

New York Journal American.

Well, dear readers, it seems that our president, the esteemed President Grover Cleveland, has heard the plea of this and other New York City newspapers as well as New Jersey newspapers and signed the legislation which sets aside the first public lands protecting prehistoric features at the Casa Grande ruin in the Arizona Territory on March 2, 1889. These lands could not be settled or sold as many wish to see the territory, as it was thousands of years ago. Bravo!

 

Bill opened another and read:

Land Rush Start

On March 23, 1889 - President Benjamin Harrison opened up Oklahoma lands to settlement, beginning April 22, when the first of five land runs in the Oklahoma land rush start. More than 50,000 people waited at the starting line to race for one hundred and sixty acre parcels. This great country of ours is expanding at a wonderful rate!

A June 6 issue read:

The deadliest flood in American history occurred in Johnstown, Pennsylvania when 2,200 people perished from the waters of the South Fork Dam after heavy rains caused its destruction on May 31, 1889. More than a few groups of citizens have called for an investigation so that this type of calamity might never happen again.

 

The electric wave of the future!

On June 3, 1889 - Running between the Willamette Falls and Portland, Oregon, a distance of fourteen miles, the first long distance electric power transmission line in the United States was completed. One wonders when this will be applied to other states?

 

A brother newspaper is born!

Welcome to the world of reporting and investigations. On July 8, 1889 - The first issue of the Wall Street Journal was published in New York City. While it is a competitor of ours, we of the Journal American are pleased to see another newspaper in our great city.

 

Bill dropped the newspapers and opened a slick flyer advertisement for a Women and Designer’s Guide book:

Directoire Revival Fashions 1888–1889 by Frances Grimble

ISBN: 978-0-9636517-9-2

Contains patterns, instructions, fashion plates, and adaptation suggestions for:

13 ensembles with bodices, skirts, and draperies. Parts of all ensembles and dresses can be mixed to create different styles

12 ensembles with polonaises and skirts

6 dresses

1 separate bodice

2 skirts with overskirts

2 lawn tennis costumes and 1 riding habit

1 jacket, 1 capelet, 1 dolman, and 3 coats

1 pair of drawers, 1 chemise, 2 nightgowns, and 1 morning dress

8 wrappers or tea gowns

1 sunbonnet

Only 86 cents per pattern! Far more economical than buying separate patterns for each garment in an outfit (consisting of an ensemble, undergarments, and outerwear).

Next, the time traveler saw a folder with the picture of the Brooklyn on the front and opened it. As usual, there were pictures of the head of the ship company and his officers. Beneath that was what he really wanted to read about: the ship’s specs.

The SS Brooklyn is a single screw steamer of 3583 tons. She was built in 1888 by W. Doxford & Sons Ltd, Sunderland, for the Shaw, Savill & Albion Line. She is an open ocean, coastal steamer that sails along the coastline of a given area. (Information from `Ships with New Zealand Association’, Vol 4, 5)

Bill’s alarm was set on vibrate and he felt it at the same time that he heard some of the passengers walking past his door.

“Lunch is served, Bill,” he said as he looked in the small mirror over the dresser. He looked at his hat and decided to leave it on the bed, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Bill cringed slightly as he joined the crowd heading towards the dining room.

The old feeling of knowing that they are all in his past always made him feel sorry for them and because of that he was reluctant to make friends with anyone. Silly, he thought as he walked along with his eyes on the floor, these are real live people going about their everyday chores: eating, sleeping and laughing as they intermingled with others of this period . . . including me! As the past president of the 1800 Club had said when he broke me in: ‘It’s not them who are out of place, Bill, it is you who have entered their time frame . . . don’t feel sorry for them as they still have the rest of their lives to live, whether you are in this time period with them or back in your own time’.

At the end of the corridor a staircase ascended from their deck and a young man dressed in blue with gold piping on his sleeves and white gloves on his hands, smiled as he repeated over and over as he pointed: “The dining room is up and to your right.”

Following the man’s instructions, Bill found himself facing two large glass doors held open by two more young men dressed the same as the first man one level down. The dining room was the width of the ship and long enough for twenty round tables with ten chairs each. He quickly went to table 15 and by checking the seating arrangement cards, saw that he was seated between two men. He switched the name cards, which placed him next to Miss Elizabeth Jane Cochrane, also known as Miss Nellie Bly. He walked away from the table and easily fit in with the two hundred passengers that were looking for their table.

He now took note of the dining room and thought, Well, it’s not like any of the ships that I’ve been on before but it is tasteful.

Lighting was supplied by the replica city street lamps that were attached to the floor-to-ceiling columns, which ran down the center of the room. The wall at the end of the room had a large mural depicting the (then) city of Brooklyn on it. From what he could see it seemed like every street was shown, even the one he had grown up on: Tenth Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues in the Park Slope section. Bill knew that the ship company had two more ships: the Bronx and the Manhattan and he wondered, Bet each ship has a mural of their own borough as well. The other walls sported historical scenes of troops parading under the arch of Grand Army Plaza next to Prospect Park.

Seeing that many of the passengers had found their tables, he strolled back to his. He sat and greeted all with a smile and a tall man with a full black beard and mustache stood and said as he showed his seating card, “Hello all, I’m Fred Monroe and according to the note on the back of my seating ticket, I’ve been selected as the table monitor.” There was a small amount of laughter from the others when another man said, “Better you, sir than I.”

Monroe shrugged his broad shoulders and said with a grin, “I’m not sure what a table monitor does, but I’ll start by asking that we all say a little something about ourselves. As I said my name is Fred Monroe and this is my wife, Jenny and we are on vacation.” He nodded at the next man and the fellow stood and said, “Tim Housing and,” pointing to the woman sitting next to him, “my wife Elsie and we too are on vacation.” He sat and the next man stood and smiled as he introduced himself, “Jack Mack and my wife, Christine and the reason for this trip is that I start a new job next week in Georgia.” The next man stood and followed the others with “Hi, all, I’m Kenny Reilly and my wife Anne and like most of the table we’re on vacation.” He sat and Bill stood and shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m Bill Scott and I’m alone on this trip.”

“Are you on vacation?” asked Monroe as he did his monitoring duties.

“I wish,” he said as he saw a way to become friends with Miss Elizabeth Jane Cochrane, “but in truth, I want to take a vacation in Italy this year and am using this short trip to see if my stomach can handle a seagoing voyage.” He sat and nodded his head to Elizabeth Jane Cochrane to give her the floor. She stood and he knew she was shocked by his reason for the trip as it was hers and she couldn’t possibly say the same reason without everyone at the table taking it as a white lie.

“Ah,” she muttered as she tried to come up with another reason for being aboard the ship, “I-I’m also on vacation and as you see I am traveling alone.” She sat and Bill felt her glance at him.

The group chatted amongst themselves as they went over the lunch menus. Bill casually asked her as they both looked at the food available for lunch, “Perhaps, Miss Cochrane, you can tell me if herring might disagree with my stomach? I know that when I visited New Orleans and had some herring, they definitely disagreed with it.”

She looked at her menu and thought, I wonder what the chances are of sitting right next to a man that has the same ailment as me and is on this cruise for the very same reason as I? She was genuinely interested in finding out what to eat and what not to eat.

“Sir, if I were you I’d keep away from anything that had a bad effect on you in the past.” Seeing that the others at the table were engrossed in either conversation or their menus, she leaned close and said in a low voice, “Sir, I dare say that I too am using this trip to gauge my tolerance for taking a sea voyage and I have just struck anything to do with herring off my menu.”

Feigning surprise, Bill smiled and said, “Please call me Bill and one wonders how many others aboard this ship are using it for the very same reason as us?”

She cocked her head as she wondered if he was making fun of her, but he winked and they both laughed.

“If what you say is true, Bill, then this ship should be under the jurisdiction of the Red Cross.” They both broke into laughter and she added, “Please call me, Elizabeth, Bill.”

Bill took a stub of a pencil and underlined his selection, then offered it to her to go over. Looking at both his and her menu she followed his lead except she chose tea over coffee and when the waiter arrived they passed him their marked-up menus.

LUNCHEON

Shrimp Salad

Bismarck Herring

Cole Slaw

Salami

Pearl Onions

 

SOUP

Scotch Mutton Broth with Barley

 

FISH

Broiled Mackerel, Sauce Creole

 

ENTREES

Baked Pork and Beans, Boston Brown Bread

Braised Short Ribs of Beef with Vegetables

 

GRILL

English Mutton Chop and Bacon

 

COLD BUFFET

Corned Brisket of Beef

Pickled Lamb's Tongue

Prime Rib of Beef

Boiled Ham

 

VEGETABLES

String Beans

Mashed Turnips

Baked and Fried Sweet Potatoes

 

SALAD

Lettuce and Sliced Tomatoes, Mayonnaise

 

DESSERTS

Baked Apple Dumpling, Hard Sauce

Raisin Cake

Ice Cream

 

CHEESE

English Cheshire

American

 

AFTER LUNCH BEVERAGE

 

Coffee

Tea

Soda Pop

Beer or Wine

 

After lunch and knowing that she was a person who enjoyed a good walk to stay in shape, Bill said as he pushed back his chair, “The day is still young, Elizabeth and I intend to walk rather than sit and let the food dictate my waistline.”

“Well said, Bill.”

“Would you do me the honor of strolling the deck with me and getting fresh air?”

“She smiled and stood, “I do believe that I’d enjoy that very much.”

Addressing the table Bill said, “See you all this evening.”

They walked to the top deck and strolled around the entire ship and she never once mentioned her upcoming trip. She spoke of politics, women’s voting rights, the inequality of men and women in the workplace and other topics that were not spoken of by many women in this time period.

Wondering why she didn’t mention the upcoming trip, Bill thought, Traveling by steamship is such a huge part of her up-coming journey I bet she doesn’t want to give her boss a reason to stop her from being the reporter that takes the trip. Her step told Bill that it looked like seasickness would not be a factor.

“Bill,” she said with a smile, “the walk was invigorating and now I feel the need for a nap and to get ready for dinner.”

The couple went down the staircase and then the corridor and stopped in front of her door. She offered her hand and they shook as she said, “If you wish, we can meet right here at eight p.m.”

“I’ll be right here at seven fifty-five.” He entered his cabin and checked his watch to see that he had five hours before dinner.

Finally, he thought as he popped open his valise, I have time to start Jules Verne’s book, ‘The Purchase of the North Pole’ He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed with his book. After two pages he felt himself drifting off to sleep so he took his pocket watch and set the alarm for seven o’clock . . . and promptly fell asleep.

Back in her room, Elizabeth opened her tight corset and as the fifth and last button was opened she sighed in relief. She washed her face with cold water and brushed her teeth as she tried to get rid of the tinny taste in her mouth. Maybe it’s just something I ate and not the beginning of seasickness, she thought hopefully. She lay back on the bed and felt the room start to spin. No, she thought as she sat up, I must defeat this. I must not let it be known that I am susceptible to motion sickness as my boss will send a man on my trip. I’ll just sit here, she thought as she sat in one of the two wicker chairs. Five hours to relax before dinner, “Ulp!” She almost threw up at the thought of food, took a deep breath, sat back and closed her eyes only to get dizzy. Quickly reopening her eyes, she stared at the wall straight ahead.

 

The small watch she had pinned to her blouse told her that it was time to get ready for dinner. She stood, shook her head and suddenly wished that she hadn’t, I’ll just go and claim that I’m not hungry or that I have a headache and can’t eat and must leave early. She thought of Bill, I wonder how Bill is making out? Maybe it’s just something we both ate that’s bothering me. She shrugged her slim shoulders and confessed to herself in the mirror as she pulled back a few strands of out-of-place hair, Elizabeth Jane Cochrane you know that you have seasickness, as this is not your first bout of it. If you remember you got sick in your cousin’s rowboat a few years ago and again on that ferryboat you took from Brooklyn to New York last year. Face it, you are prone to motion sickness or whichever you wish to call it and that is that! Just do not put that stupid corset back on.

Bill put on a black jacket and brown pants along with his low-cut wing-tip shoes that showed the thin, almost transparent socks with a light blue arrow running up the side. He wore a white shirt and black string tie. At seven fifty-five he stepped out into the corridor to find the usual small crowd of passengers dressed for dinner, all heading towards the stairway at the end of the corridor. I have to admit that I’m used to going down to the dining room rather than walking up to it. He grinned, Memo to Matt: I owe you a drink for the many first-class rooms you have placed me in.

He watched for the door of the room across the way to open and when his watch showed that it was eight o’clock, he stepped across the way and rapped on the door. It didn’t open until he knocked again.

Bill was shocked as she was pale as a ghost.

“Elizabeth! Are you feeling well?”

She shook her head and said in a low tone of voice, “No, not really. I do believe that I’m suffering from seasickness and am glad to see that you are in good spirits.”

“Is there anything that I can do?”

Once again she shook her head, “No. I intend to get some fresh air after awhile.”

“Not alone, I would hope. Please allow me to walk with you.”

She seemed to shudder as she said, ”I am afraid I will be a bother to you. No, better I walk alone.”

“There is no way that I can allow that to happen. It’s dark on deck and there are many places where the waves actually reach the deck.”

“Well, if you don’t mind being seen with a-a well, a wretch of a woman I’ll attempt a walk at nine o’clock.”

He grinned and she forced a grin of her own. “I’ll knock on your door at eight-fifty five. Good?”

She nodded again and he walked down the corridor.

 

Back at the table, he was greeted by the rest of the group and Monroe said as he looked around, “It seems that we are missing Miss . . . uhh,” he looked at his card and went on, “Miss Cochrane. Has anyone seen her?”

“I have,” answered Bill, “she said she would see us at breakfast.”

Once again the group read through their menus and Bill did the same and used his pencil.

DINNER

Barley Broth

Beef Steak & Oyster Pie

Spaghetti in Cream

Roast Pork – Stuffing -- Apple Sauce

Haricot Ox Tail

Boiled Cabbage

Boiled Potatoes

Apple Tart

Small Pastry

Sago Pudding

 

Ice Cream

Roasted Pea Nuts

Dates

Cheese

Crackers

Coffee

Tea

Beer

 

Bill had to eat fast as he had to get back to Elizabeth and his mission. He was in the middle of his vanilla ice cream dessert when his silent vibrating alarm went off. It was eight fifty when he made his good nights and bolted out the door and down the stairs to the corridor. Knowing that she could not pass him without him seeing her, he slowed down and walked to her door. He took a deep breath and knocked as he thought, Tonight is the night that she disappeared according to the folks up-time, so I’ll have to keep an eye on her until tomorrow. Wonder how I’m going to pull this off. He knocked again, checked his watch and tapped on the door as he called out loud, but not shouting: “Elizabeth. It’s me, Bill. Are you alright?”

“She left her cabin, sir.”

Bill turned to see a crewmember walking towards him with an armful of white towels. “She’s up on deck . . . at least that’s where she seemed to be heading as I passed her room about ten minutes ago.”

Bill’s eyes squinted tight as he muttered to himself, “Damn, Bill, why weren’t you here?” He turned and ran down the corridor and after taking the stairs two at a time, made a left turn towards the main deck. He shoved open the door and stepped out onto the deck. The ship was sailing through a fog bank and while the deck lights were lit, the electric lights of this time period were nothing more than dim and left pockets of darkness and fog. Frantically he called out as he walked quickly down the length of the deck, “Elizabeth! Elizabeth, where are you?” It took no more than three minutes to cover the port side of the ship and as Bill swung around the front of the deck, he slipped on a wet spot hidden by one of the many shadows. He went from a trot to a fast pace and peered as deeply as he could into the dark spaces as he kept calling out for her. Bill was three quarters down the starboard side of the deck when he spotted the silhouette of a figure leaning over the railing at the end of the deck and he broke into a trot.

“Elizabeth, get back from the railing,” he shouted.

She looked up at him as he approached and with a groan suddenly turned sharply, her head once again facing the rear of the ship as her body convulsed and she threw up. In his haste to grab her, Bill didn’t see that at one point she didn’t make it over the side and all at once he grabbed her, slipped in her vomit and as she convulsed over the railing, they both went flying over the railing and into the dark sea.

She didn’t even scream as they hit the water. Bill had her arm in a vice-like grip as the large propeller sucked them under. He knew they had to get away from the turning prop as it drew them closer and closer. He used his feet and his one free arm to strike away from the ship. He did all of this automatically as his Navy SEAL training kicked in and inside of one minute they were bobbing on the surface as the ship disappeared into the foggy night.

She blinked and said as she held onto his arm, “Wh-What happened? We’re going to drown. Why did you . . . ?“

“I thought you were going to go over the railing and tried to help you.”

Bill tried to keep calm. Well Bill, this is it, he thought as they tread water, the water temperature is about 70 degrees and I figure we can last a couple of hours if we don’t exhaust ourselves before we get rescued.

“What do we do?” she asked as she pried his fingers off of her arm.

“First,” he said as he reached for the hem of her dress . . . “

Her eyes flashed in the dark as she said with fear in her voice, “Wh-What are you doing? I thought you were a gentleman!”

“Elizabeth, please believe me. All I want to do is try and help us stay afloat.” He lifted her dress and in one motion, flipped it up out of the water and capturing air in it, pulled it back down into the water. She saw that he had created a float of sorts as the wet material of her dress kept the captured air from escaping.

“Let me tie this tightly around you, and it’ll help you to stay afloat.” Before she nodded her answer Bill had the dress tied around her waist and the floating skirt helped her as she treaded water.

Bill spoke his thoughts, hoping to keep her calm. “I’m sure that we’ll be missed, but in all honesty that won’t happen until breakfast time and maybe even lunch time. Meanwhile we must stay calm and tread water.”

“Take this,” she said calmly as she passed him the end of her long, wrap around sash, “Tie it around your waist so we don’t drift away during the night.”

Suddenly Bill felt more confident as he realized she too was a fighter and filled with determination to survive.

 

One hour had passed and both conserved their energy by not speaking and Bill was glad that Elizabeth had not been sick since they went overboard. Good, he thought, she needs to keep her strength up. He cringed as a he fought off a cramp in his leg. If we get out of this I swear I’m going to start exercising just like when I was with the SEALs. Twice he saw Elizabeth slow down her treading as her eyelids dropped in sleep and twice he yanked on the sash to wake her. He lost some of his confidence when an abrupt pull on the sash from her, woke him.

The fog stopped them from seeing past the end of their outstretched arm and both strained to hear a ship’s engine. Bill was going through the club’s bookcases as he mentally named each book to keep his mind occupied. He was on the ‘Ns’ when he saw Elizabeth’s eyes squint and close as she rubbed them before reopening them. She seemed to be staring at something over his shoulder and as he started to turn, she said in a dry voice, “Ship! A ship and it’s coming this way.”

Bill turned and saw a large sailing ship and it was coming almost straight at them.

“Ahoy!” he shouted and was shocked by the weakness of his call. They both shouted at the same time and Bill thought he saw a slight change of course. Before they called out again, the ship seemed to slow and in the thick fog figures could be seen peering at them with long glasses.

 

 

“We’re saved!” she shouted as she started to untie the bottom of her dress and release the trapped air. She immediately started to sink as the heavy material pulled her down. Bill pulled on the sash and she came into his arms and held on tightly.

“Easy now,” he said, “don’t drop your guard until we are rescued.”

A rope and wood ladder was lowered along the starboard side and although the ship had slowed considerably, she was still moving when Bill grabbed the rung.

It felt as though his arm was going to be pulled out of it’s socket as he held tightly and tried to get Elizabeth onto the first wooden rung of the ladder. He finally succeeded and with her standing on the first rung, he stepped up and guided her from behind as they went up one step at a time. Finally, at the top, a sailor took her hand and helped her over the side and onto the deck. She sat down exhausted as another sailor helped Bill up and onto the deck. He sat beside her exhausted as well. A group of sailors stood before them and Bill said, “Thank you all. I’m Bill Scott and this is Elizabeth Cochrane, may we speak with your captain?”

The sailors looked at them, then at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“They don’t understand English,” Bill said.

“But I do,” said a deep voice behind them.

Both tried to stand and turn at the same time when the voice continued, “Please stay seated. It is obvious that you both have been in the ocean for a long time.” He stepped in front of them and said as he stood with his hands behind his back and feet spread apart as he looked down at them, “I am Captain Hendrik van der Decken and this is my ship, Vliegende Nederlander.”

Both Bill and Elizabeth just stared at the man. He was well over six feet tall with a long gray beard and mustache. His hair was the same color and tied back into a ponytail. He wore a black tri-cornered hat with silver piping along the edge and his long black coat was kept tight around his waist by a thick, black leather belt that had a long cutlass stuck in it and a dagger tucked into his high leather boot.

Suddenly the captain and his men seemed to disappear as the fog covered them. It took a moment for them to be seen and the captain was speaking to the crew in their native language. A short stocky man came over and motioned for them to follow him.

Bill stood wobbly and helped Elizabeth to half-stand and half-lean on him as they followed the sailor to a door at the end of the deck. He looked up at the fog and through a small opening in the gray mist, saw that the ship’s sails were all up and full with the wind. That’s funny, he thought, I can’t feel even a slight breeze or hear the wind needed to fill those sails.

He stepped over the raised threshold and entered the interior of the ship. Although there was an oil lamp swinging from a wooden beam, the interior looked the same as being on deck. A gray, moisture-laden fog seemed to lie about one foot high along the narrow corridor reminding him of the fog seen in the graveyards of old scary movies. The decking seemed mushy to their step and here and there he swore he saw moss growing. The sailor stopped and pointed at one door and stepped aside.

“For both of us?” Bill asked.

The man simply shrugged and walked away.

Bill tried the latch, but the door was closed tightly so he pressed his other hand on the door as he pushed. It opened with a creak and he looked at his hand.

“It’s wet! The door is wet.” He looked down at his feet and moving his foot back and forth, dissipated the fog in one section. He bent down and touched the gray wooden planking.

“Wet!” He felt the walls and ceiling and exclaimed in a low voice, “They’re all wet. How can that be?” He led the way into the small room, saw an oil lamp on a table and took it to the single lamp outside of the room and, using its flame, lit the one from the room and went back inside.

Elizabeth looks terrible, thought Bill as he set the lamp down, and so must I. The room was as gray as the outside and the wooden decorations chiseled into the foot of the bunk bed had moss growing out of it.

He quickly pulled down the colorless blanket from one of the two bunk beds and threw it over her shoulders.

“Elizabeth, you must get out of those clothes so they can dry. Use the blanket as a towel and wrap it around yourself.”

“Bill, please ask if they might have clothes as I dare not remove my clothing. It is not the right thing to do.”

Bill shook his head as he thought, I forgot the age she’s from. Women would never even show a shin never mind strip and use a blanket for clothes. “Listen, I’ll go and see about clothes for you, but for now, please get out of those wet clothes.”

“And what about you?” she asked as she shivered beneath the blanket.

“I’ll ask for clothes for me too,” he said as he grasped the wooden door latch. He opened the door and seeing the corridor empty, headed towards the stairs that led to the main deck. He shook his head as he put his hand on the stairway’s banister and thought, Damp too. I wonder how long they’ve been in this fog?

The door at the top of the stairs was damp too, and he shivered with a chill as he opened it and stepped out onto the deck. Bill looked around and saw that the deck was empty. He looked up again and seeing the full press of sails he thought, not even a breeze on deck yet the sails are full. Weird. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw somebody leaning against the ship’s rail. He walked closer and was happy to see a man in his sixties smoking a pipe as he rested his elbows on the rail. He turned towards him and Bill saw a smile on the six-foot plus tall man with a mop of blonde hair and mustache.

“Hello!” he said as he tapped the embers out of the bowl of the pipe. “Are you the chap who came aboard today?”

“Yes. Myself and a lady friend.” He offered his hand and went on, “Bill Scott from New York.”

“Chad Williams. My wife Gloria is still in our cabin.”

“As is my lady friend, Elizabeth.” He looked around and asked, “How come there are no crewmen on deck?”

The tall, slim man shrugged his shoulders and said, “Afraid I know nothing of the sailing game, Bill. Sometimes I see one or two and Gloria said that she once saw ten or twelve at one time. However the captain, who is a fine fellow, seems to arrive whenever we want something.” He tapped his pipe once again on the railing and went on, “Sort of odd if you think about it.”

“Where are we heading and do you know when we are scheduled to dock there?”

Chad raised his eyebrows and put the stem of the pipe in his mouth, as he seemed to think over the question. Finally he said, “Not sure, old man. The captain always speaks of docking, but never really says where.”

Bill stared at him for a moment and then asked, “He never really says where we are going to dock? When you purchased your ticket, where were you heading?”

“Oh, no, I never purchased a ticket. You see we were on a sailboat that a friend of mine owns and went for a quick sail out of Galway Bay in Ireland while on holiday, and a storm came up and the boat capsized. Quite frightening it was too! Anyway, out of nowhere this wonderful vessel appeared and they dropped a ladder over the side for us and, well, here we are.”

“Just you and your wife?”

“No. My friend James and his wife Etta Woodrow who owned the sailboat are here as well.”

“How long ago were you picked up?”

Chad rubbed his chin in thought and said, “Ummm, that was 1865.”

Bill’s eyes opened wide as he said in almost a hiss, “What? You were rescued in 1865? But, that was twenty-four years ago!”

Chad nodded in agreement, “Yes, yes, twenty-four years ago.” He shook his head and smiled as he went on, “Well, they do say that time flies.”

Bill couldn’t believe his ears. He must be mentally unbalanced, poor man. He sensed another person on deck and turned to see a short, dark haired woman wearing a long dress with a high pinched waist, long white gloves and carrying an open parasol.

“Well,” said Chad as the woman went to his side and gave him a peck on the cheek. “My dear wife, Gloria, this is Mister Bill Scott. He and his lady friend, Elizabeth have just joined our cruise this very day.”

She offered her hand and Bill shook hands with her as he thought, Her gloves are damp!

“Are the Woodrows’ about?” she asked her husband.

“Any moment now, my dear wife.”

Bill had to ask, “Chad was just telling me how you and your friends were rescued in 1865 and I wondered if perhaps he has his dates wrong.”

“Mmmm, yes, August 15, 1865 is correct. I know that because it was our tenth wedding anniversary and our friends, the Woodrows, wanted to take us out on their new sailing boat.” She turned and looked at her husband and went on, “That was a memorable outing, don’t you agree, dear husband?”

“Ha! Yes indeed it was. We were lucky that Captain van der Decken came along.”

Bill shook his head and asked, “Wait! How can that be? Are you saying that for over twenty years you four have been traveling with van der Decken? You stay aboard every time he docks? I’m sorry, but his sounds preposterous!”

“But why?” asked Chad, “why get off if everything you want is right here?”

“Chad,” asked his wife as she creased her brow in thought, “do you remember us ever docking?”

“Mmm,” he answered as he furrowed his own brow in thought, “Come to think about it, my love, no! I can’t recall us ever docking.” He patted her shoulder and went on, “Once again, quite funny, is that not so?”

“Oh, look, Chad,” cut in Gloria as she pointed at another couple coming up from below deck. “It’s the Woodrows.”

A couple stepped on deck both dressed in white. She wore a wide brimmed hat with a red feather in the hat-band, a long dress with a red sash around her waist, a pair of deck shoes and carried an unopened parasol while he was dressed in an open neck shirt, a pair of slacks, and canvas deck shoes.

“Good day, all,” said the man. “Looks to be a stunner!”

“You really should open your parasol, Etta,” said Gloria.

“James and Etta Woodrow, this is Bill Scott and his lady friend is in their cabin,” said Chad introducing the couple.

Bill shook their hands and thought; I’m just going to go with the flow for now. I need some clothes for Elizabeth and myself. “I wonder if there are any clothes that Elizabeth and I may borrow until ours dry out?”

The four looked at each other before James said as he looked down at his clothing, “Clothes?” He looked up and shrugged his shoulders, “Never thought about them. These do me just fine.”

Chad nodded, as did the two women leaving Bill to wonder, Can it be? Can they be wearing the same clothes all the time? This is utter madness. I must find the captain.

Chad looked at Bill and said as he offered his arm to his wife, “Care to walk the deck with us, old man?”

Now Bill nodded and joined them in their walk around the deck. They saw neither seamen nor the captain. The sails were still full although there was no breeze and although the fog was still as thick as pea soup both women had their parasols open.

“Will you point out the captain’s cabin?” he asked.

“Twenty-four more steps and we shall be in front of it,” answered a smiling James and exactly twenty-four steps later, Bill could just about make out a cabin door with a dim light showing in its small round window. He stepped to it and knocked on the door.

Damp as usual, he thought as he knocked again. He heard a noise like a chair scraping on the floor and the door opened slowly to show the captain standing there looking down at him. Although he had been in his cabin, the captain was dressed in his long coat and hat. On his large wooden desk, Bill spotted a map that was weighted down at all four corners, a sexton and a pair of dividers were next to a large ruler. Now up close, Bill saw that the captain had gray eyes, which seemed to fit in perfectly with the environment and his clothes were tattered and sewn many times over.

“Good day, Captain van der Decken. I wish to thank you for rescuing us and wondered if perhaps you or your crew could lend us some dry clothing and perhaps some food and drink?”

The man just stared at him then said in his thick Dutch accent, “Go back to your cabin.”

“First, can you tell me when we will be in port, and what port would that be?”

“My quest is to dock in the Port of New York.”

Suddenly Bill’s hopes rose! “That’s great! When?”

His answer was a shrug of his shoulders. “One day, maybe two or perhaps ten. Whenever they let me do it.”

Bill thought, One thing at a time, Billy-Boy. “Okay, I’ll go back to my cabin. I hope you can dig up some clothes for us.”

The big man closed the door and the conversation.

Bill went back to the cabin and found Elizabeth sitting on the bottom bunk still with the blanket around her.

“No clothes?”

“I asked the captain and I think he’s going to provide us with some. I asked for food as well, so we’ll see.”

She shook out her long brown hair and quipped, “Why do I feel that we were better off in the water?”

“You could be right. Let me tell you about the two couples I met on deck.”