“No matter how easy we start,” Richard commented as he shook his head, “the river places her muddy fingers on the boat’s belly and paddles.” He shook his head and said with a warm smile, “Oh well, that’s the nature of Ol’ Miss.”
The Natchez started to pick up speed as Richard pulled down on the thick cord that gave off the steam whistle. Children started running upriver matching her speed for a while, cheering and laughing as they ran barefooted through the muddy flats leaving their footprints along the shoreline.
Clemens smiled as he wrote his thoughts in his notebook as Richard seemed to watch everything as he looked out the high, wide windows opened at the bottom to catch any breeze available.
“Story idea, Sam?” he said.
“Could be,” answered Clemens as his eyes gleamed, “jus’ could be.”
Small rafts were being poled up and down the river, some with small bundles and some with a few people on them who all waved and smiled at the big ship.
“Brown water brings green money,” said Richard, waving back at them. He turned to Tom. “Guess that’s what them New York people think, too, eh, Tom?”
Tom nodded. “Guess so, Richard. Guess so.” He took out the captain’s notebook and handed it to him. “Copied this last night. Can’t thank you enough, Captain.”
“So do you have everything you need for them?” he asked.
“I think so,” Tom answered, “but I’d like your permission to wander the ship. Okay with you, Captain?”
Richard nodded. “I suggest you ask Mr. Clemens to accompany you. I feel no one else could be a better guide aboard a steamer.”
Clemens didn’t wait to be asked. He stood up and said. “Let’s go, Tom, It’ll give me a chance to see all the new trinkets the captain put in her.”
They left the wheelhouse and went below. Tom was mentally checking off each section that they visited. He questioned why the cargo hold was small in size and empty.
Clemens answered as he lead the way, “The main deck is used mostly for cargo. She doesn’t have a deep draft so the hold is rather small and why bother opening hatches to lower cargo into when it can be stacked right up on deck. Besides it’s mostly flat river we travel on and it’s not like she’s gonna lose her cargo in a storm. And if they used the cargo hold more that would mean each port would need a system of booms and cranes. No, down here, Tom, manpower is cheap.” He shook his head, “A sad fact, but true.”
They went throughout the entire ship and Tom was puzzled. There’s no place to store anything explosive here. The cargo didn’t blow up. What could have happened? He was still puzzled as they finished their tour.
The Natchez blew its whistle in a series of short and long notes. Clemens looked at Tom. “We’re arriving at Baton Rogue. What say we walk through town while they unload? They could be a couple of hours and it’s too nice a day to stay cooped up onboard.”
Tom agreed and they went down the gangplank and into town as Richard supervised the unloading of his ship.
Baton Rogue looked much the same as New Orleans, but when Tom mentioned that to Clemens, he got his reply with a smile.
”Hush your mouth, sir. New Orleans is the one and only. Baton Rogue is a pretty town with real nice people living here but, N’Orleans is one of a kind. She lives and breathes as you and I do.” He shook his head. “No sir, there’s no other town quite like New Orleans.”
He’s right, Tom realized, and she’s going to die tomorrow unless I can figure out a way to stop that explosion. He turned to the writer with a look of determination.
“Whoa, Tom. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I jus’ meant New O . . .”
Tom interrupted, “I know, Sam, and I didn’t take it any other way. You are right New Orleans is a city like no other. It’s just that I’ve got a problem and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Clemens pointed to a tree with a thick trunk. An old wooden bench surrounded it. “Sit there, Tom. This here tree is known as the ‘It’s-all-right-to-have-a-problem as long as you say it aloud under her spread it’ll go away tree.’ Now what is it that’s bothering you, my friend?”
Tom looked at him intently, and then said in a low voice, “What I have to tell you is something you won’t believe. But I must. I must tell you because I know you’ll do all you can to save New Orleans.”
Clemens looked long at him. Finally he said, matching Tom’s somber voice, “Sir, you are right about my doing all I can to save N’Orleans. I also see before me someone who has become a friend of mine, and I’ll do all I can to help him. Tell me what horror lurks behind your eyes, Mr. Thomas Madden?”
Tom went on, “Sam, as a writer, I know that you can see what not many others can see. I know you have an open mind. I also know that I must burden that mind with what I have to tell you. I just ask that you remain open to what I have to say.” He looked closely at Sam. “Will you do that for me, Sam? Stay receptive to all I say?”
Clemens looked around, “Are we not sitting beneath the ‘It’s-all-right-to-have-a-problem as-long-as-you-say-it-aloud-under-her-spread-it’ll-go-away tree?” Once again he matched Tom’s tone of voice. “Yes, my friend, I’ll keep an open mind for you. Please confide in me so that I may be of service to you.”
Tom nodded. “Samuel Clemens, I come from the future. In fact I come from 2011.”
Clemens nodded. “Go ahead.”
Tom looked at him, wide-eyed. “I said I come from the future and all you say is ‘go ahead’?”
“Tom, you asked me to stay open-minded and I am. Go ahead.”
Tom looked down. “It’s true, Sam. I come from 2011, and I’m here to stop an explosion that will take place tomorrow morning. The explosion comes from the Natchez and wipes out the levee system she’s docked at, flooding the entire City of New Orleans.”
Now Clemens eyes went wide. “The Natchez blows up? Tomorrow? But how? What you say is utterly fantastic, that is assuming it’s true, which is very hard to believe. But I’m keeping an open mind as promised.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, Sam, but go along with it for at least one day. That’s all I ask.”
Clemens sat back and lit a cigar. He blew a long puff of smoke and said, “Then you really aren’t here to buy a steamboat for some northern company are you?”
Tom shook his head no.
“And if I’m to believe you,” Clemens continued, “you went aboard the Natchez to try and find out why she blows up, correct?”
Tom nodded, yes.
Again he took a long pull on his cigar, then looked Tom in the eye and said with a twinkle, “Well as I said, this is the ‘It’s-all-right-to-have-a-problem-as-long-as-you-say-it-aloud-under-her-spread-it’ll-go-away tree.’ I have to believe that you either came from the future, or you believe you came from the future, and either way I have to help you. Now, if you are just dreaming that this happened, at least we’ll have a laugh about it, and if it’s true, we’ll be able to stop it from happening.”
“Sam,” Tom said, “as long as you help me, that’s all I can ask. Now let me ask you, when all nine of the Natchez’s boilers are up and running, what’s the chances of them all blowing at the same time?”
Clemens shook his head. “Just about nil. I know Captain Richard Owens and he watches over her like no other captain on the river. You saw the list he had. He redid everything needed, and then some. Even went and got some new planks. You got them notes you made?”
Tom took out the copy he made from the master notebook Richard had loaned him the night before.
Clemens read out loud, “Nine Pressure-Relief valves: Jamison Marine Parts Incorporated; New anchor: Stevens Anchors Incorporated; Nine main water pumps, one for each boiler: Charles Marine Parts Corporation; One coal-burning stove: Heat Fixtures Incorporated; Planks, GoodWood Corporation and Nobel Incorporated; Brass fittings: Bright Works Company; Sixty-six gallons whitewash paint: Pettersons Paint.” He looked up. “Like I said, the Natchez is clean and I know tomorrow she’s carrying
a load of cows and fifty-two passengers. Not likely they’re gonna blow up.”
Tom suggested, “Maybe there’s something on the dock that blows up. Something so close to the Natchez it only looks like the ship was at fault.”
Clemens flicked off some ashes. “Naw. There’s a law against any kind of explosive material being stored on the docks and as I said, Richard Owens is carrying livestock so they’ll be nothing explosive getting ready to ship when she’s there.” He looked at Tom with that same twinkle in his eye, “Now, assuming you are from where you say you are from, and this is going to happen, I think we have eliminated any possible way the Natchez would blow up. Do you agree?”
Tom opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders, “I guess so. What should we do?”
“Go get an early drink before we get on board?” Clemens said with a smile voting for his own approval.
Tom smiled and they stood, and as they walked away said, “Guess the tree’s name is apropos, isn’t it?”
Clemens laughed. “Ha! Then that’s what it will be known as from now on. I have to admit, it was a pretty good one. But when ya got to get a friend talking, sometimes ya got to invent a story to make it happen.”
Tom laughed and patted his friend’s back.
They walked to a small tavern in the middle of town, the Southern Belle. Entering they found they had the place to themselves.
“At the bar Tom,” Sam asked, “or take a table?”
“I’m happy with the bar if you are, Sam,” Tom answered.
Sam took a seat facing the tall mirror behind the long wooden bar and Tom sat next to him.
The bartender was a short burly man with red hair parted down the middle. He was wiping down the bar and asked when he got to them, “What’s your pleasure, gents?”
Sam put a silver coin down and said, “Some of your nicest bourbon, sir,” and turning to Tom, “and whatever he wants.”
Tom pulled Sam’s coin back and said, “This drink is on me and Bourbon will be fine, thank you.”
The bartender opened a new bottle and looked at them, “Four fingers?”
“Okay with me, sir,” Clemens said.
The barman held his hand next to the empty glass and poured until it reached the height of his four fingers. The small amount he spilled on his thick fingers, the bartender licked off. He looked at Tom questioningly.
“Four’s good for me, too.” He got the same and the bartender took a coin and walked over to the cash register.
Tom watched as he punched in the price of the two drinks, and then turned the long crank on the side of the register to show the sale and open the drawer. The electric cash register is way off in the future, Tom thought.
Sam’s question shook him out of his dreamlike state, “Tom! Where do you go every now and then? I swear you drift off.”
Tom smiled. “Sorry, Sam. And yes, you’re right, I do drift off. I know you probably think I’m daft, but as I said I am from the future and as I look around, I’m seeing history. It’s utterly fantastic.”
“Ol’ buddy,” Sam said, lifting his drink in a toast, “if you say you’re from the future, tell me, do we have another drink after this one?” He laughed and continued, “To the health of N’ Orleans.”
Tom raised his glass and said, “To N’ Orleans. And yes, we do have another drink after this one.” They took a drink.
Sam put down his glass and looked serious. “Tom, if what you say is true, and I don’t doubt it is true, then we got to get down to really figuring this one out. Agree?”
Tom nodded his head. “Heck yeah, I agree. But I’m out of ideas as to why this happens. We eliminated any chance of something blowing up, so what do we have left?”
Sam looked off out the window, thought for a second, then turned back to Tom and said. “If this happens, it’s because someone makes it happen. It just can’t happen by mechanical failure or some mishap ’cause we eliminated all of those.” He took a long drink of his drink. “No, it’s got to be a man-made explosion.” The writer looked at his almost-empty glass. “But how?”
Tom shook his head. “As I said, I’m all out of ideas.”
Sam pushed the now-empty glass toward the bartender and caught his eye. The man came back with the bottle as Tom drained his. The barman filled both with more than four fingers.
After he walked away, Sam looked at Tom in the mirror with his customary twinkle. “You really from the future, Tom? I mean, for real?”
Tom smiled. “Yes. I’m a New York City police detective in 2011. I joined a club that imitates the 1800s because I loved these times and sort of got drafted to come back and stop this explosion.”
Sam shook his head. “Danged if that don’t sound real.” He reached out his hand with his palm open and said, “Not that I don’t believe you, Tom. I do. But it is incredible. Tell me, do they know about ol’ Sam in your times?”
“Heck yes!” said Tom emphatically. “Everyone knows of you. You are a legend, Sam, and movies have been made about you.”
“Movies?” Sam asked with his eyebrows arched. “What’s that?”
Tom responded, “Just, well just like . . . like . . . Thomas Edison’s Kinescope. But much, much better.”
Sam laughed. “I swear, Tom, you either come from some other time, or you’re just as much as a storyteller as I am. Maybe even more so.”
Tom toyed with his drink as he shook his head. “You know, Sam, you make me look bad as a police detective. You came up with the only real way this could happen. I mean, after we filter out all the mechanical and mishap possibilities, it all points to a crime. But what’s the motive?”
“I don’t know. Revenge maybe? Why would someone kill all them people? Money? How would they get money out of killing a city?” They both glanced in the mirror opposite them and caught each other’s eyes.
Suddenly they both said simultaneously, “Insurance?”
They turned to face each other. “Insurance money,” said Tom. “It’s got to be insurance money.”
Sam nodded and ordered two more drinks. “That’s it. If the city sinks under mud and water . . . ”
Tom cut in, “and it looks like an accident, the insurance companies pay off big time.”
“Big, big time,” said Sam, “very big, big time.”
The bartender sauntered over and tilted his head to the empty glasses. “Yep,” said Tom, “we deserve one more. We just cracked a case.”
Sam leaned close to Tom and said in a low voice, “In your case, an old case . . . a very old case.” He winked.
Once again it was Sam who perked his ears up and said, "Natchez is calling us back. Hear her?"
Tom could faintly hear the deep-pitched whistle. "Yes, now I can. Guess it takes a little time but it does get in your blood." He tilted his head toward the door, "Shall we go?"
Sam answered by downing his drink. Tom followed his lead and they walked back toward the Natchez . . . slightly wobbly.
A few hours later they were docked in New Orleans and in Captain Owens’ cabin.
“So,” said Richard, looking at Tom, “you have information that the Natchez is going to be in the center of an explosion that will be most probably be set off by some maniac?”
Tom nodded, yes.
“Are you with the government or something? How do you know?” Richard asked.
“Richard, at this time I really can’t divulge my sources,” Tom answered.
Richard nodded. “Okay, that’s not important. I should move the Natchez then. Right?”
Tom and Sam looked at each other. Tom said, “I guess so. Never really thought about moving her.”
Richard wiped his brow as he said, “We have to wait until morning though. Boyce is doing some repair work on the main gearbox. Says it’ll be ready by sunrise.” He looked at both men, “Sure hope you have some wrong information. New Orleans lives in a fragile area. The river is always looking to cover her up and the levees keep holding it back. One big blast and it all comes to an end.” He tu
rned back to his paperwork, shaking his head.
Clemens gestured toward the wheelhouse door and he and Tom left.
They went to Sam’s cabin and Sam flopped on his bed while Tom sat on a wicker chair at a small round wicker table. Sam frowned.
“Don’t know what to say, Tom,” he remarked, looking at his pocket watch. “It’s seven o’clock and will be dark soon. We have about fourteen hours left and not a clue outside of a possible insurance crime, and all the insurance companies are closed now. Heck, even if they would tell us who insures what, they’re not open till tomorrow morning.”
Tom suddenly sprang to his feet. “Come on, Sam, follow me.”
Sam jumped up, startled. “What do you have, partner?”
Tom opened the door and hurried Sam out. “To my place. I think I might be able to get the answer to this.”
They left the boat and walked quickly up the main street to the hotel. They hurried up the stairs to Tom’s room and when they were inside, he pointed to a chair and said, “Sit down, Sam. What I have to do will knock you over.”
Sam sat and took out two cigars, offering one to Tom. Tom took it and Sam lit both. He sat back and watched as Tom tossed his suitcase on the bed. “You fixin’ on getting out while you can? I think you oughta leave on the Natchez with us in the morning. At this time of the night . . . ”
Tom took out what looked like a hairbrush. He twisted it and the wooden handle swung to the side and revealed the mini-keyboard. “Watch this.” He typed and Sam’s eyes went wide as the words appeared on the screen.
BILL. I HAVE A PROBLEM. THERE’S NOTHING COMBUSTIBLE ABOARD THE NATCHEZ, AND NOTHING OF AN EXPLOSIVE NATURE STORED BY THE DOCK. WE FIGURE THERE’S GOING TO BE SOMEONE TRANSPORTING EXPLOSIVES TOMORROW MORNING TO THE DOCK AREA. WE ALSO FIGURE IT’S AN INSURANCE CRIME. CAN YOU CALL SERGEANT WILLIAM REID AT THE 78 PRECINCT. 718-488-9000. ASK HIM TO CALL RECORDS DIVISION IN WASH. DC. TELL HIM TO FIND OUT WHO TOOK OUT LARGE INSURANCE POLICIES IN THIS AREA IN THIS TIME FRAME. TELL HIM I OWE HIM BIG TIME AND WILL RECIPROCATE WHEN NEEDED. PLEASE GET BACK TO ME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I HAVE ABOUT TWELVE HOURS BEFORE THE BIG EASY GETS THE BIG BOOM. THANKS LOTS TOM.
Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club. Book III Page 6
