Book X Page 2

  “Joseph, that’s worth many millions in today’s money,” said Jerry as he cleaned his already clean glasses.

  Joseph shook his head, “Jerry, I don’t want the wealth, I want the treasure to be distributed amongst the many hospitals of the third world.”

  “Very noble,” said John Hyder. I, for one, am all for doing all we can to help you out but what can the 1800 Club do that you can’t?”

  “I’m not sure but the club has members that can easily slide into and out of places without raising any questions. Plus if a member goes back to the late 1800s, he or she would be closer to the time that the treasure was moved.”

  Maryellen rose and asked, “Why not just send back a probe and see where they moved it to?”

  “That would be the easiest way, but we don’t even know what year to start with. All we know is that it was moved to a large and heavily forested area high in the Carpathian Mountains.”

  Alexis asked, “Joseph, what can you tell us about the castle?”

  From what my family says it was built in 1309 on the site of a former 12th century wooden fortress. The castle was enlarged between the 15th and 17th centuries and was the strongest fortifications in Transylvania. It was surrounded by a deep moat, which, in times of war, could easily be filled with water from a nearby mountain brook simply by opening a floodgate. The only way in or out was by a drawbridge that was made of wood and could easily be cranked up and locked before an enemy could cross it. The castle was three floors high with a large basement.

  Jerry stood and said, “Hey gang, things are quiet at the moment so why not let the 1800 Club try and find the treasure? That much gold and silver will help a lot of hospitals.”

  All agreed and Joseph said, “Thanks, gang. I’ll do up a hologram and get it to Bill Scott at the 1800 Club.” He sat and started to write up what he wanted to say in the hologram.

  DATELINE: MAY 23, 1883 PLACE: PINEAPPLE STREET, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  The weather was perfect: not too cold and not too hot. Bill Scott sipped his coffee in a small diner just off of Pineapple Street in downtown Brooklyn. He glanced at his pocket watch and thought, 10:30. I hope James isn’t late. He took another sip and through the streaks on the window saw a man crossing the cobblestoned street. He wore a red coat with tails and brass buttons that stood out sharply against his white shirt and black bow tie, a pair of tight, black pants that were tucked into his knee-high black boots and a tall black hat. On his hands he wore a pair of pure white gloves and he carried a short, ornate leather whip. Bill was happy: James Whiteman was on time.

  He smiled to himself as the man came into the shop, ordered a cup of coffee, sat next to him and both men looked out onto the street traffic of Brooklyn. In the reflection, both men looked like twins as Bill wore the exact same clothing as James.

  “Pretty soon the traffic jams will be much less,” said James.

  “Yes, the bridge will help both Brooklyn and New York with their traffic problems.”

  “True,” said James, “and I sadly predict that many ferry boats will have less work and less work means less money.”

  “The price of progress,” answered Bill with a shrug.

  “Ahh, about the ‘price,’ added James.

  Bill took out four, five-dollar bills, a very nice chunk of money in 1883, and passed them to James who did a quick check of them and slipped them into his pocket. “You remember the address?” he asked.

  “110 Columbia Heights. Is the rig there now?”

  James nodded, “Yes, I just parked it there and ran over here.”

  “And,” asked Bill, “Mrs. Roebling won’t ask where you are?”

  “No, I told her yesterday that I had to do something with my wife and another driver would be taking her over. Leave the rig at the New York side and I’ll take it back to the stables.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you, James.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Bill. Anytime you feel the need to drive a rig, just let me know.” They shook hands and Bill left him in the diner and walked over to 110 Columbia Heights. It was a wonderful day to stroll along in Brooklyn.

  The rig was a black carriage with the top down. At the front stood two brown horses pawing at the ground, their reins tied to a weight that was on the ground in front of them. Bill took some sugar cubes out of his pocket and gave them to the horses before untying the reins and placing the weight under his seat before climbing up and sitting in the driver’s seat where he assumed the position of a bored carriage driver waiting for his passenger. He waited twenty-five minutes before a slim woman wearing a blue, bell shaped dress came down the stone steps of a brownstone building, her low-heeled black shoes tapping against the slate sidewalk. Her waist was pinched tight with a light blue, wide ribbon and over-sized bow. The small bustle gave her the look of a much younger woman. She carried a small parasol, which she opened against the sunlight, as her small, dark blue hat offered no such protection. She smiled and pushed back a strand of dark brown hair as Bill jumped down, opened the small door and helped her step up and into the carriage.

  “Good day, madam,” he said as he tipped his high hat, “I’m Bill at your service.”

  “And good day to you, sir. Would you be so kind as to go back into my house and carry down the wicker basket in the foyer?”

  Bill nodded and opened the door to her house. On the foyer’s floor was a wicker basket containing a red rooster! Shrugging his shoulders, the time traveler picked up the basket and returned to the carriage. “Is this it, Mrs. Roebling?”

  “Yes. And as most will not understand it’s meaning, the red rooster is a symbol of victory. For after my husband, Washington Roebling, became too sick to finish building the bridge, I took the project over and many said I could not handle it. I intend to show them the rooster as they cross the bridge tomorrow.”

  She settled the rooster on her lap and said, “You have the directions?”

  “Yes m’am.”

  “Good. Shall we go?”

  Bill climbed back up, gently tapped the horses’ rumps and guided them out into the traffic of Pineapple Street. He made a short right-hand turn on Court Street and left on Tillary Street. Two blocks later, and just for the effect of it, Bill stopped the carriage and looked straight ahead to see his goal: the brand new, New York and Brooklyn Bridge, soon to be known only as the Brooklyn Bridge. He once again tapped the horses’ rumps and started off at a walking pace. Running down the center of the bridge was a wide wooden walkway for those who would stroll across while to its left and right ran train tracks for the subway trains and on the far outsides of the bridge were two cobblestone roads for horse drawn carriages transporting goods and people to either New York or Brooklyn.

  As they approached the entrance to the bridge, Bill saw two muscular men with workmen’s caps and long droopy mustaches watching their carriage as it approached them. He pulled the reins tight and stopped in front of them when suddenly both of their faces lit up with smiles as they removed their hats and with a nod greeted the lady in his carriage.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Roebling,” greeting the larger of the two with his hat in his hand, “How is Mr. Roebling this fine day?”

  “He’s doing fine, Patrick, and you may tell the boys for me that he is very proud of them all.”

  “Will he be here for the opening tomorrow?” asked the second man.

  “I don’t think so, Sean. But he will be watching from his window using his long glass.” She turned in the carriage and waved to a building in the distance.

  “Are you going across today?”

  “Yes, Patrick. I was assured by Mr. Belsito that the last cobblestone will be in place for my crossing.”

  “And that it was, M’am. The final row of stones is being tamped down as we speak so that you may cross.” He tipped his hat and continued, “Is it true that the President himself will attend tomorrow’s grand opening?”

  “Yes,” she answered with a smile, “President Chester A. Arthur, along w
ith Governor Grover Cleveland. It promises to be a great day.”

  Both men stepped aside and Bill started the horses across once again. He grinned as he thought, Those two guys never even looked at me. It’s like I’m invisible. He guided the carriage around some stacked cobblestones and up the steady incline of the road that was provided for the wagons and carriages. As they rode up the inclined roadway, every man who saw them stopped, cheered and waved their hats at Mrs. Roebling who waved back. Some of the boats that carried workers from the shore to the large caissons which carried the weight of the many cables that supported the bridge blew their horns as the crew waved up at her. More ships and tugs added their congratulations to the woman crossing the bridge.

  At the middle of the bridge, Bill looked down and shivered. Boy that’s a far way to fall, he thought. Approaching the New York side of the bridge, a crowd of workers gathered and their cheers started people of the area thinking that the opening ceremony had started a day earlier than announced.

  Bill spotted James Whiteman still dressed in his red and black driver’s outfit. Finally at the end of the bridge, Bill jumped down as James took the reins and Bill opened the small door of the open carriage.

  As she stepped down with her rooster a group of newspaper reporters circled her. One called out, “Congratulations, Mrs. Roebling. You are the first person to cross the New York and Brooklyn Bridge. May I have a moment with you to record this momentous occasion?”

  James smiled and tipped his hat at Bill as the time traveler handed him another ten dollars. As he put the bills in his pocket, he asked, “Bill, please tell me what was so important that you take my place today and drive Mrs. Roebling across the bridge?”

  Still smiling, Bill asked, “James. Who was the first person to cross this bridge?”

  James tilted his head towards the crowd in which Mrs. Emily Roebling stood giving interviews and said, “Why, Mrs. Roebling did.”

  “No, my friend, it will be reported that way but you and I know that, as the driver of her carriage, I was the first person to cross the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  James stood with an open mouth that turned into a big smile. “Bill, you are correct indeed! Your perch at the front of the carriage secured your place in the history books. Congratulations, my friend.”

  The two men shook hands.

  Bill walked to the huge caisson at the New York City side and opened the steel door at the base of it. He knew that the huge caissons had many rooms for equipment storage and inspections and he also knew that a Manhattan wine business stored their wines in one of them. He walked down a flight of steel stairs and came to another door, tapped on it and a young man opened the door.

  “Good day, sir,” he said, “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’d like to purchase a bottle of 1880 Zinfandel.”

  “Certainly.” He took and lit an oil lamp. “Walk this way.” He led Bill to another room, which was the secret of a small wine company that had some of the best wines available. He opened the door and by the light of an oil lamp could be seen a row after row of stored wines. Bill thought as they walked down one row, Great idea using a few of the many rooms in these caissons as a wine room because the steady temperatures can guarantee a constant atmosphere to store their wine.

  “Very good choice, sir. The 1880 Zinfandel is one of the best and I would venture to say that should you hold it, rather than open it, it will be one of the most sought after wines.”

  Five minutes later Bill walked out with his bottle of wine. He stopped and looked back at the bridge and thought, I’m glad that Emily Roebling was known as the first person to cross the Brooklyn Bridge. And I feel that I didn’t take anything away from her, as all I did was take the place of the cab driver that really was the first one to cross it. He shrugged as he grinned, And he gladly switched places with me for the money. I wonder if he ever came to the conclusion that he was supposed to be the first person to cross the bridge? I’d love to come back tomorrow when the bridge is opened and see all of the top guys as they walk from the Manhattan side to the Brooklyn side. The place is going to be a madhouse with fireworks and all besides the 1,800 carriages and wagons and the 150, 300 people crossing. Oh well, now to hop a cab for home, he thought as he left the area. Five minutes later he was in a horse drawn cab heading home.

  Once there, he opened the gate to the enclosed garden and entered. He stopped to look at the garden while it was still in its waking period. The Cherry Blossoms was in bloom and there were groups of Lilacs and full-bloomed Tulips that had popped up through the rich black soil and stood out in contrast against the light green color of the new grass.

  Bill walked to the corner of the garden. My favorite spot, he thought as he took a small amount of fish food from a steel container behind the falls and sprinkled it on the fishpond. The goldfish swarmed to it and Bill noticed that the Water Lilies were spreading their green oval leaves on the surface of the pond and when he looked deep, he could see the plant’s white flower stretching for the water’s surface. He reached over and removed a dead branch from the waterfall then stood. “Beautiful!” he said as he fiddled with the key to the security door that would allow him to enter the building and The 1800 Club.

  DATELINE: JANUARY 20, 2014, PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Before Bill could open the door to his apartments, the sniffing and scratching at the other side of the door told him that his beagle, Samson, knew it was him opening the door. Samson stood with his two front paws on Bill’s waist as he tried to sniff out any food that his master might be carrying.

  “Sorry, Samson,” Bill said as he scratched the dog’s ears, “No food on me today.” The time traveler closed the door and sat to remove his boots as Matt entered after tapping on his door.

  “Welcome home, sir. Would you like some refreshments?”

  “Hi, Matt. I really could go for a mug of hot chocolate, if it’s no bother.”

  “No bother what so ever, sir. However” he said as he handed him a silver hologram, “I heard a knock at the unique door and when I opened it all that was there was this hologram. I shall be right back.” He left and Bill got out of his outfit and then depressed the indent at the top of the cylinder. The device recognized his fingerprint and came to life.

  A six-inch high hologram of Joseph Sergi appeared to stand on his coffee table. He smiled and did a short wave as he said, “Hello Bill. I’m sure you remember all of our names but just in case, I’m Joseph Sergi and I have a weird mission for you and your group. Have you ever heard of Transylvania . . . ?”

  The hologram was a short one and when Matt returned Bill was in his patched, terry cloth robe and going through a thick black book with the silver title, Dracula on it.

  Matt placed his Donald Duck mug, filled with hot chocolate, on his coffee table and rolled his eyes as he saw Bill’s robe. “Sir, I will gladly supply you with a new robe then we can, ahh, recycle the one you are wearing.”

  Bill laughed and said, “Matt. This robe is an old friend of mine. Why, it’s been through so much with me that I could never ‘recycle’ it as you call it.”

  Matt mentally shrugged and said, “Very well, sir. On another subject, sir, you know I’ve had the staff recreate the last dinner on the Titanic. I’ve finished making up the menu. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure! Not that I’d change a thing. While you get a menu, I’ll be working on tonight’s newspaper.”

  “Very well, sir.” Matt left the room as Bill powered up his Mac. He sat back and thought, I think I’ll make a date change. Give the club members some new topics. 1844 sounds good. Now let’s find some good 1844 stories. He went to Google and typed in, ‘1844 news events.’ He selected three articles and pasted them on page one of the club’s publication.

  Edward J. Freeman, editor-in-chief, New York Journal American has selected three articles that he deemed to be of interest not only to a person in the field of communications nor a weatherman’s department but also to a sportsman.


  Morse's first electronic telegram, May 24, 1844.

  Samuel Morse had created an electromagnetic telegraph in 1836 and he had written the code that was to be transferred on it. Morse Code used dots, dashes and spaces to represent the letters of the alphabet. The U.S. government had requested a line be built between Baltimore and Washington, and it sent the first message on May 24th, 1844. The code also represents numbers.

  Mr. Freeman applauds this as a time cutting invention that will greatly speed up communications around the globe.

  Lucien Vidie, French inventor

  A barometer. The idea of a fluidless barometer, opposed to one using mercury, was first suggested by Gottfried Willhelm Leibniz in 1698, but it was not until 1843 that Vidie completed his model. He claims that the aneroid barometers will replace mercury barometers in many metrological stations.

  Mr. Freeman applauds this invention as a prognosticator of bad or good weather in the near future.

  The Canadian cricket team in the United States in 1844 was the first international team to travel to another country and the match between the two national sides, billed as "United States of America versus the British Empire's Canadian Province", was the first official international cricket match. The match took place between 25 and 27 September 1844 at the St George's Cricket Club, Bloomingdale Park in New York. Canada won by 23 runs. The game was watched by between 10,000 and 20,000 spectators and around $120,000 worth of bets was placed.

  Mr. Freeman applauds the meeting of international teams but wonders if the game of cricket will ever become a sought after sport in the United States?

  Bill finished and sent it to Matt’s e-mail account just as a knock on his door was followed by Matt with the menu.

  “Thanks, Matt. I just sent you the copy for tonight’s newspaper.’