TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book 12

by P McAuley, Robert

  “Ahh!” said the grinning cabby, “Then why didn’t ya say so? Hop in.”

  Bill helped Shirley in and said to the driver as he placed a large bill in his fingerless gloved hand, “Please take them to the 14th Street dock.”

  “Bill,” said Watson, “are you not accompanying us?”

  Bill shook his head and said, “I can’t. I’m afraid I’d stay aboard.” He shook Watson’s hand warmly and said, “John Watson, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope to see you again soon.”

  “As do I. However, I think that I shall refrain from doing any more time traveling. I truly prefer my own time. But, that said I thank you so much for allowing me to do what every boy in London dreams of doing: fight in a sea battle alongside Lord Nelson.”

  Shirley lowered the glass window and put her head out and said, “Goodbye once again my love. I shall miss . . .” she was cut off by Bill’s kiss.

  “Go ahead,” Bill called up to the driver who slapped the reins on the horse’s rump and they were off.

  Bill spent a good part of the day at Paddy Diamond’s Bar & Grill.

  End

  The Union Army’s Debacle At Atlanta

  DATELINE: OCTOBER 3, 2015 PLACE: CAMP BARTOW, POCAHONTAS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA, U.S.A.

  As the sound of cannon fire reached the ears of the men of the 102nd Regiment of New York, Private Dave McKinnon looked up from his prone position to see the gray clad enemy running towards them. The open sketchpad he carried had the empty field sketched on it already and he now quickly sketched in the line of men dressed in gray as they ran towards him and the 102nd Regiment. His comrades raised their long rifles and pistols as he sketched the attack for the regimental archives. The man standing next to him suddenly fell backwards with a grunt as he became a casualty followed by the man on Dave’s left. The rebel line that rushed up the low hill towards them also had men fall down, as they too became casualties. Between the rebel yells and the Union shouts he marveled at the small butterfly that settled on the end of his long rifle laying next to him on the thick grass of the hill.

  Time to use that rifle, he thought as he gently closed his sketchpad, then got up and grabbed his rifle. He sighted in on a heavy-set soldier with a long white feather in his gray cap that was giving the rebel yell. Dave squeezed the trigger and a puff of white smoke came from the fall of the hammer followed by another puff of white smoke from the rifle’s barrel. The smoke cleared quickly by the stiff breeze coming from behind him and he saw the man still charging up the hill shouting the same rebel yell that had brought Dave’s attention to him.

  What? he thought as he started to reload, I could not have missed him at this range. I bet this is the same guy that some of the boys spoke about when they saw him keep coming after they clearly had shot him too. Where are the refs when you need them?

  Just then a man wearing a red baseball cap pointed at the attacking man and then pointed his index finger to the ground as the rebel soldier clenched his teeth and took another step forward before realizing that all were watching his next move. He suddenly staggered, grabbed his chest and took another five steps before falling to the ground. Grand standing all the way, Dave thought as the ref moved on to another section of the battle. Just then a flash of gray jumped up from his left and as the rebel ran past him, Dave felt the man’s hand tap him on his shoulder as he shouted, “Bayonet casualty. Get down Yankee.”

  “Oh well,” Dave said as he dropped his rifle and lay down. He picked up his sketchbook and went back to his drawing as the battle raged around him. Ten minutes later the re-enactment was finished and the rebel forces had once again won the hill and the Battle of Greenbrier River as they had over 150 years earlier. Dave stood and stretched, as did the hundreds of other re-enactment ‘casualties’.

  DATELINE: OCTOBER 27, 1904 PLACE: CITY HALL SUBWAY STATION, NEW YORK CITY

  It looked to Bill Scott like a wall of tall, black opera hats and black three-quarter coats, which was an exact opposite of the beautifully colored subway tiles that decorated the City Hall subway station. So that he would not stand out in the crowd of 1,100 people, he wore a similar outfit: Three-quarter coat over his black suit, white stiff collared shirt with a black tie, black silk scarf, tall opera hat, gray gloves and black shoes with gray spats. As it was a typical October day, being three hundred feet below the city streets in the crush of people, Bill could feel the humidity climbing and even though the outfit he wore was composed of lightweight fabrics from his future, he still could feel the heat. On the pretext of fixing his black necktie he popped open one of the collar stays and loosened the tie a bit.

  His height of 6 feet 2 inches gave him an advantage over the crowd of New Yorkers as they stood watching for the city’s first subway train to open its doors. At 2:25 p.m. a murmur from the rear of the crowd told all that New York’s Mayor McClellan and his entourage entered the station from the glass, wood and steel kiosk at the top of the steep stairwell. Police officers cleared a lane for them as all clapped for their mayor who had backed the plan of building the subway system. As the mayor entered the head car, the police allowed the crowd to enter the rest of the train.

  The group of passengers all had a special pass to ride along on the first official subway ride and Bill was no different. However, he got his ticket by finding it on e-bay in 2015. He purchased it from a young woman who had found it when she was renovating her kitchen. For some reason it was stuck behind an old radiator. Bill paid forty dollars for the pristine ticket and decided to be on the first train that left City Hall Station on Friday, October 27, 1904.

  As he took a window seat Bill remembered reading that Mayor McClellan would receive a mahogany box from Mr. Hedley, General Manager of the company and in it was a silver control handle upon which was inscribed, Controller used by the Hon. George B. McClellan, Mayor of the City of New York, in starting the first train on the Rapid Transit Railroad from the City Hall station, New York, Thursday, Oct. 27, 1904. Presented to the Hon. George B. McClellan by August Belmont, President of the Interborough Rapid Transit Company.

  Up in the front or ‘head’ car the mayor inserted the control handle into the opening and after a moment and getting the ‘All doors closed and all clear signal,’ moved the handle, which fed power to the electric motors and the train inched forward. Standing next to the mayor was Hedley with one hand on the brake and the other on the whistle. Standing behind both men was motorman/instructor George L. Morrison who was to drive the train after the mayor had performed the symbolic start of the train.

  However, Bill read that the mayor enjoyed the short start so much that he would not give up the control handle and drove the train from City Hall station to 103rd Street and Broadway! Both Hedley and Morrison fed the mayor all the information he needed as the train rode the rails.

  Although Bill knew that a novice was at the controls he also knew that the trip was completed safely. He sat on one of the rattan seats looking out the window as the dark of the tunnel suddenly exploded into a section of brilliant light that reflected off of the multi-colored subway tiles that decorated each station.

  Too new to be covered by soot, dust and grime, he thought as the beautiful murals of cut tiles told the passengers what station it was, along with geometric designs. Bright arches composed of gleaming tiles showed where the ticket agent sold his five-cent tickets while others arched over the red brick stairs that would bring the thousands of New Yorkers down to the platform each work day and back up at the end of the day. The beautiful station suddenly disappeared behind the speeding train and the dark tunnel took over until the next station appeared. Bill got up and his seat was occupied immediately as he headed towards the train’s vestibule at the front of the car where he leaned against the wall and watched the scenes go by. He grinned, as he thought, No panhandlers, or singers looking for a coin yet. But that will come soon enough. He spotted a well-dressed man standing a little too close to another man and suddenly remembered reading about a man losing his $5
00 horseshoe diamond stickpin on this very train. He shook his head as he tried to remember the man’s name and it suddenly came to him. Henry something, he thought as he stepped out of the vestibule and into the main section of the swaying car.

  “Henry!” he shouted as he approached the two men. Henry Barrett turned to see who had called him and, finding himself interrupted, the other man turned and walked away minus the stickpin.

  “Do I know you, sir?” Barrett asked as he flicked his jet-black mustache.

  Seeing the pin still intact, Bill said as he shook his head, “Sorry, sir. I thought you were a friend of mine.”

  “Quite alright.” He looked about and continued, “Rather unique mode of transportation. I have my doubts about its success.”

  “One must give it a try,” answered Bill.

  “True, true.”

  Bill stayed aboard the train until it returned to City Hall Station and all got off. Well, Bill Scott, he thought happily as he walked up the stairs to the street, Are you happy to have done another first? He grinned as he admitted, Yep! Add this to my being the first person to cross the Brooklyn Bridge and a few more firsts. Of course nobody will know of this hunt of mine to be the first to do things, but it is fun to do.

  A mixed line of automobile and horse drawn cabs stood ready for the crowd exiting the subway station and as Bill decided to walk he was glad to have worn his three-quarter coat as the night was chilly.

  He walked the streets devouring the many sights and sounds that cannot be captured in a history book. Crossing one street, he happened to look up and see a hawk silently gliding above the city roofs. In his time seeing a hawk over New York would be a rare sight but in 1904 there seemed to be plenty of them around. He then glanced at the many telephone poles and their long lines that ran throughout the city and he knew what the hawk was there for: Pigeons! There were hundreds of pigeons sitting on the telephone poles and lines and to the hawk it was an endless meal. The hawk tucked his wings tight to his body as he dove on his selected victim. It was at that moment that the hundreds of sitting pigeons took off in fright leaving hundreds of their white sloppy waste to fall on any unsuspecting person who happened to be under them at that moment. Yells and screams came from the pedestrians with ruined hats, jackets and dresses as they bumped into one another trying to escape the bombardment. Bill grinned as he remembered that a single New York City Rock Pigeon drops twenty-five pounds of waste a year.

  He spotted the small coffee shop on the corner of Saint Marks Place and Second Avenue that he stopped at now and then and as he wanted to go over the brochure he got from the subway he decided to go in and have a cup of coffee as he read it.

  He took a table near the large glass window that had a view of the street and when the waitress came over he ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of crumb cake. She placed it on his table and he suddenly remembered that he visited this same place when it became a Horn & Hardart restaurant.

  He remembered that the large cafeteria had an extremely ornate wall of eight-inch by eight-inch brass and glass doors that allowed a person to see what kind of food was behind each one. After dropping a coin into the door’s slot the patron would turn a key that opened the door allowing them to remove their selection. That day Bill got change from the lady behind the main counter and selected a dish with a slice of apple pie on it and put it on a tray as he got a coffee from an urn near the cashier whom he paid ten cents to.

  I really have to go back and visit the restaurant again and remember to bring a fist full of coins, he thought as he took the subway brochure out of his inside jacket pocket and opened it as he took a sip of his coffee.

  The colored brochure had a picture of a typical subway car like the one he just rode on. The caption beneath the photo read:

  The cars length is 51 feet and provides seating capacity for 52 passengers. This length is about 4 feet more than those of the existing Manhattan Elevated Railroad cars.

  The enclosed vestibule platforms have sliding doors instead of the usual gates. The enclosed platforms will contribute greatly to the comfort and safety of passengers under subway conditions.

  The car has anti-telescoping car bulkheads and platform posts. This construction is similar to that in use on Pullman cars, and has been demonstrated in steam railroad service to be an important safety appliance.

  There is a steel underframing of the car, which provides a rigid and durable bed structure for transmitting the heavy motive power stresses.

  The numerous protective devices against defects in the electrical apparatus consists of:

  Window arrangement, permitting circulation without draughts.

  Emergency brake valve on truck operated by track trip.

  Emergency brake valve in connection with master-controller

  .

  He finished the brochure at the same time he finished his coffee and cake, paid the bill and exited the shop. At the corner he saw two horse drawn wagons and a single automobile taxicab. He elected to take the horse drawn and asked the driver, “Sir, would you be so kind as to drop me off at the rear of 520 East Ninth Street?”

  “Yes, sir. Please step in,” he answered.

  Bill placed his foot on the well-worn iron step that protruded from beneath the door. He gripped the also well-worn wooden handle attached to the side of the door and pulled himself up and into the cab. As he always did when he traveled around New York City back in time, he rubbed a spot clean on the window ensuring that little of the past would escape his view. As it was 4:50 in the afternoon there was plenty of traffic and his driver weaved in and out of it expertly. Bill grinned, as the horse-drawn cabs all seemed to bottle up their automotive brother cab drivers and keep them from racing ahead of them. They all seemed to not hear the horn and curses that the driver shouted at them. As Bill loved the horse and carriage rides of early New York he found himself rooting against the automobiles. Suddenly a form shot between his cab and another in front of them. Another followed it and Bill realized it was two young boys on roller skates who were taking advantage of the slowed automobiles by hitching onto the rear of the taxi allowing it to pull them along. They wore big grins on their faces as the driver shouted back at them to get off. He couldn’t stop without losing more time and had to accept the fact that he was now the driver pulling more and more kids along as others joined in on the ride.

  Finally Bill’s cabby pulled over to the curb and Bill got out. “Thanks. How much?”

  “Two dollars, sir.’

  Bill passed him a five-dollar bill and said, “Keep the change, sir.”

  The man gleamed at his luck and tipped his hat many times.

  Bill walked up a few city blocks and as he crossed East 11th Street a sudden blast from an ‘Oooga horn’ made him jump as a quiet, battery powered truck went by. The driver was not so quiet and shouted, “Get outta the street ya nut!” He watched as the truck carrying barrels of pickles sped by noiselessly.

  The hazards of time travel, he thought. While the horse’s hooves alert you to an approaching wagon, the battery-powered vehicles are quiet. Funny how some things never change as the electric cars from my time have the same quiet problem.

  Finally at his destination, 97 East 11th Street, he stood a minute in front of Paddy Diamond’s Bar & Grill, his favorite watering hole. This building will last forever, he thought as he touched the large stone front and peered through the glass upper half of the double doors. He saw that Paddy Diamond, the owner, was tending bar and it took him a minute to remember which Paddy Diamond it was as he had drunk with the entire line of owners and they all looked identical. Besides knowing which one is working today I have to make sure that I don’t walk in when the younger Paddy’s father is visiting. It would be tough explaining how I stay young as they age. He entered and the odor of warm beer, pig’s knuckles, cigarette and cigar smoke flooded him with the many memories he had of drinking in the same bar for over a century.

  The establishment was half crowded, but he found his favor
ite section at the end of the forty-foot long bar empty. The time traveler took off his hat and gloves and placed them on the high backless seat next to his and sat down.

  Paddy Diamond used the large mirrors behind the bar to see all who entered his establishment and as he stood near the taps at the center of the bar, called out as he held up an empty beer mug, “The usual, Bill?” At Bill’s nod he poured a full mug of Schaeffer beer and headed towards the time traveler. The beer’s white foamy head stood a good inch higher than the glass and Bill thought as he looked at the six-foot plus big man coming towards him, The foam looks like his head of hair: thick and pure white.

  The bar owner placed the beer in front of him and with a big smile offered his huge paw of a hand.

  “Bill, how the heck are ya?”

  “Just great. Paddy, and you?”

  He patted his ample stomach and answered as he pulled up his slipping white apron, “Well I had ta get a larger apron this week so I guess I put on a few pounds since I saw ya last an Margie is after me ta cut back on my beer drinkin’. Other than that, I’m fit as a fiddle.” He took a bar rag from under the bar and wiped the area in front of Bill. “Would ya be eatin’?”

  Bill nodded, “Do you have any pig’s knuckles?”

  “Yep! Got a case in yesterday. Be right back with some.”

  Bill nodded and took a long pull of his cold beer. Boy, he thought as he looked around, I love the fact that no matter what the year is the bar never seems to change. He grinned as the door behind him opened and a breeze came past his back. One, two, three, four, he thought as he watched the moose head mounted over the opening at the end of the bar. Five, and the breeze reached the stuffed animal causing its chin hairs and long cobwebs to sway in the breeze.

  Paddy came back carrying a chipped plate with six pickled pig’s knuckles on it. He placed it in front of Bill. “Here ya go, Billy. Enjoy!”