Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II Read online

  Up, thought Bill, but without any sensation of movement.

  The door opened, and they went through an unmarked door. A young woman with long blonde hair smiled as she saw Edmund.

  “Hello, Mr. Scott. The board is in session. Shall I announce you?”

  Edmund nodded. “Yes, Helen, and tell them I have Mister Bill Scott with me.”

  She looked at Bill and asked, “Scott? A relative of yours?”

  Edmund smiled at Bill as he said, “Yes, an old lost relative.”

  Bill was too winded to react to the obvious play on the word “old.”

  Edmund opened a door behind the receptionist that led to the boardroom. He looked at Bill, “Ready?”

  Bill steadied himself, “Lead on, you young whippersnapper.”

  They walked down a long, tan carpeted hallway with doors on both sides and stopped at the last door facing them. Edmund knocked once, and a tall, blond-haired man opened it, offered his hand to Bill and said, “Mr. Scott, John Hyder. I am so pleased to meet you. Your Roosevelt mission is legendary. I handled it on this side, and I have to tell you, you made me look good.”

  He turned to the others now standing and made the introductions. “Alexis Shuntly, heading the Wright brothers mission; Maryellen Muldey, perhaps our best historian; Anthony Landi, our electronics guru; Joseph Sergi, an 1800s expert, and Jerry Sullivan, our clothing expert.” They all nodded to him. “Now, please sit, Bill. We know the difference in the air quality here can affect you, so relax. Something to drink?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, sir, but I’d like to take this time to say thanks to you and your group for allowing me to become part of it. I doubt if I’ll ever fill my predecessor’s shoes. Prescott Stevens was a great teacher, and I’ll work hard to keep the trust you’ve put in me.”

  Alexis Shuntly walked over and shook Bill’s hand. “Bill, you won us over on your first trip. Helping President Lincoln give his famous speech was . . . was . . . well, it was brilliant! I’m the case officer on this one, the Wright brothers mission, and I tell you this is a puzzling case.” She walked back to her chair and sat down as she continued.

  “Bill, believe me, each mission we send someone on, is very important. And while every case is important, each new case seems to be even more important than the one before it. Why, the Wright brothers not inventing the airplane . . . ”

  “They didn’t invent the airplane,” Maryellen Muldey said as she looked at Bill. “While most people think the Wright brothers invented the airplane, in fact, what they did was invent the first powered, heavier-than-air craft that was controllable. Aircraft, gliders and balloons had been around for a while, but the others couldn’t even get the powered aircraft off the ground. No, what the Wrights did was get it off the ground and have control over its direction.”

  Shuntly turned back to Bill and continued, “Our computers have projected that if the Wrights hadn’t invented controlled flight in 1903, the Europeans would have gone on to dominate the aviation industry. The Germans and their allies would have invaded and conquered France and England and would have triumphed in World War One. The computers also have projected that Germany’s next moves would have been against Canada followed by the Americas. So, Bill, you can see how important it is that history be guided back on track.”

  Bill nodded. “I’ve pretty much read all there is about the brothers, and I should be ready to go back in another day or so.”

  Members of the group looked at one another and nodded in agreement. Alexis smiled at Bill. “We know from past experiences that you’ll do all you can, Bill, and for that we’re grateful.”

  One by one, those around the table walked over and shook Bill’s hand as the group left the boardroom. As Edmund and Bill were walking out, Edmund asked his ancestor, “Would you like to have supper with your grandson?”

  Bill said in a tired voice, “I’m going to pass on it for now, Edmund. I have to get used to this thin air first. Besides, I have some more things I have to take care of before I leave for the mission. Wish you could go with me sometime.”

  Edmund put a hand on the older man’s shoulder and said, “Me too. Boy, I’d love to go out to the field, but look what happens when I go back just fifty plus years. No way I can go back farther. I’d pass out just buttoning my shoes.”

  Bill patted his grandson’s hand. “Shall we go back to the club?”

  “I have a better idea,” Edmund said. “I’ll take you to the garden, you dial up 2011 and go up alone. I’m still catching my breath. Okay?”

  “Okay with me,” Bill responded.

  DATELINE: AUGUST 6, 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  It was later that day that Bill realized he wasn’t up to speed on flight and that he knew even less about aviation than the Wright brothers did in 1900. He sat at his computer and went through the club members’ bios to see if he could get some help from one of them. He went through ten and stopped at number eleven: John Brand. Bill thought as he read Brand’s biography, He could be the person I’m looking for: Ex-U.S. Air Force test pilot, forty-two and single. Currently, he’s a reporter for Aerospace Technology Weekly, an aviation magazine. Yep, he could be the one.

  Bill asked Matt, his right-hand man and fast becoming friend, to bring up the guest list for that night’s dinner, along with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk.

  Ten minutes later, as he ate his sandwich, he looked for Brand’s name on the guest list. His finger slid down and stopped on ‘John Brand.’ Yep! He’s attending. Good, that’s good, he thought. Then he went back to reading up on the Wright brothers.

  That evening the reception room was bustling as Bill entered. He was wearing a three-piece black suit with a silver stickpin in a gray cravat. The gray matched the color of the spats that covered the tops of his highly polished black shoes.

  The bulk of the crowd seemed to be clustered around Tom ‘Whitey’ Madden. He was dressed in a policeman’s uniform of the 1865 period, right down to his, now-famous, blond handlebar mustache. Bill joined the crowd as Tom was telling them how he had to climb a telegraph pole to retrieve a boy’s kite.

  The boy’s father had been standing down below watching as Madden tore his uniform pants during the strenuous climb. The sorry part, Madden related, was that the father was his boss, Sergeant Haggerty. Tom said he had had the feeling that his next promotion hinged on rescuing that kite. The upshot was that while the crowd watched the rescue, a pickpocket worked them, including removing the sergeant’s blackjack.

  Bill listened as the other members howled with laughter. He knew that in reality, Tom’s great-grandfather was the cop up the tree, and it was a family story passed down the line. This is what the clubs all about, he thought.

  Matt caught his attention and tipped his head to the corner of the room. Bill followed his glance and spotted John Brand chatting with two other men dressed in Union officer’s uniforms. Brand cut a sharp figure with his six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame. His shock of dirty blond hair was trimmed tight on the sides in a military fashion. He was dressed in the deep blue uniform of the Union Army and sported a balloon emblem on his lapel. On his shoulders, he wore the rank of captain. Bill casually walked over to them.

  Brand saw him and, with a wave of his hand, invited Bill to join the group. “Good evening, President Scott.”

  Bill nodded to the three, “Good evening, gentlemen. Please continue, Captain Brand. I find your adventures fascinating.”

  John Brand nodded, and his blue eyes flashed as he got back into character.

  “As I was saying, being a balloonist for the Army can be a dangerous occupation. The rebel troops delight in trying to hole my balloon, firing everything they have available at me. But most times, I have an uninterrupted view of them from an altitude of five thousand feet. At that height, a person can see for twenty-five miles in all directions.”

  “Captain,” said one of his listeners, Lieutenant Smyth of a Calvary regiment, “How do you
relay your observation back to the general on the ground? Pigeons?”

  John took a sip of red wine and shook his head. “No, sir. Pigeons are much too slow. No, we use the telegraph system. Our commander, Thaddeus Lowe, ran an electric line up alongside the holding rope and we tap out in Morse code, the sightings of the enemy.”

  “With any success?” asked the other man, Captain Finney, also a Calvary officer.

  John smiled as he answered, “With great success, Captain, great success indeed! At the Battle of Fair Oaks on May thirty-first, 1863, the rebels were gathering with an overwhelming number of men and supplies. They would have easily split our forces and destroyed them, if not for Commander Lowe in the balloon ‘Washington.’ He spotted them from six thousand feet and alerted the general in time for our reinforcements to arrive and defeat them.”

  A chime sounded and Matt, announced, “Dinner is served.”

  The members slowly walked to the dining room chatting among themselves. Bill caught up to John Brand. “Interesting story, Captain Brand, and full of the sorts of details not heard in the normal course of events.”

  “The public reads of the movement of thousands of troops on both sides,” answered the captain, “but we in the Aeronautical Division gather the information allowing such moves. To us, President Scott, it unfolds, as does a chess match. Move and countermove, all seen from a bird’s eye view. Someday, sir, we will get our recognition. Watch and see.”

  Bill nodded. “Of that, sir, I don’t doubt at all. Time has a way of doling out its rewards. Will you honor me by sitting next to me at dinner tonight, Captain Brand? I find ballooning interesting.”

  The captain said enthusiastically, “I’d be delighted, President Scott.”

  During dinner, both men spoke about ballooning during peacetime, after the war was over. Both agreed the future would see more of balloons. After dinner, the members retired to the living room. The comfortable room was filled with overstuffed furniture and there was a large unlit fireplace on one wall. Cigars and brandy were distributed to all who wanted them, as the conversations continued.

  Bill turned to John Brand and said, “Captain, will you stay behind when the other members leave this evening? I have something of grave concern on my mind, and I do believe you can be of help to me.”

  John arched his eyebrows with an unspoken question and said, “Of course, President Scott. I’d be glad to help.”

  It was ten-thirty before the club emptied. Bill invited John up to his private quarters, a well-furnished apartment usually off-limits to members. Bill summoned Matt and in a moment there was a knock at the door and Matt entered, “You rang, sir?”

  “Yes, Matt, I’d like some coffee.” He turned to John and asked, “Would you like some coffee, tea or something else?”

  “Coffee is fine for me, thank you.”

  “Very well, sir,” Matt said and went out quietly.

  John was wide-eyed as he took the room in. “President Scott, this room is amazing! I have to guess that you stay in club-time 24-7!”

  Bill smiled and motioned John to a chair. “I must give credit where credit is due: All of the furnishings were provided by the past president and you are right, he did a fantastic job.”

  Bill reached for the humidor on a nineteenth-century coffee table. Also on the table was a large leather-bound book titled, The Wright Brothers. John thumbed through it as Bill opened the humidor and offered him a cigar. He took one and Bill lit them both, then pointed with his cigar at the book.

  “The Wright brothers. They were the astronauts of the early 1900s, right, John? May I call you John?”

  “Please do,” he answered.

  Bill sat back. “And please call me Bill.”

  John let out a puff of white smoke. “And to answer your question, astronauts? Absolutely! Visionaries, both of them.”

  Bill nodded. “Ever wonder what it’d be like if they didn’t invent flight?”

  “Actually, Bill, that’s a misconception. They didn’t invent flight; they were just the first to… ”

  Bill raised his hand and said, “To fly a heavier-than-air, powered and controllable aircraft.”

  John sat back in surprise, “Well, good to meet someone who knows what the brothers did. And what if they didn’t do it first? I’m not sure. There were others trying to do the same thing, Glenn Curtiss, even Alexander Graham Bell was trying his hand at flying. But, I think the French might have been, if not the first, right behind whoever was first. And knowing that they were air-minded, they would have given the world a run for their money. They had a good aircraft program up to and during the First World War.”

  Matt entered and served them coffee.

  “That’ll be all for tonight, Matt,” Bill said. Matt nodded and left. Bill took a sip and looked at John. “The Germans and their allies would have won the world war. Notice I didn’t say ‘First World War.’ That’s because there wouldn’t have been a second world war. In fact, the war would have continued until North and South America were conquered along with Canada and Mexico.”

  John was startled, “You sound pretty sure of that. Do you play some sort of war gaming?”

  Bill shook his head. “John, I once wanted to have someone believe something that was so outrageous that it would have been unthinkable to them. So I did something that was ‘out-of-the-box.’ First I’m going to ask you something. As a student of the 1800s, I know that you would like an artifact from that era. Am I right?”

  John shrugged. “Sure, I mean, just being a member of this club tells you that. I guess we’re all here to play a part in a bygone time.” As he looked around at the period furniture, he said, “You probably added to the original collection, yourself.”

  Bill shook his head. “One or two. I haven’t been here long enough to do any collecting. But what is it that you would like from, let’s say, 1865? And it must have been available in New York City at that time.”

  John took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes as he thought. “That’s a tough one, Bill. I guess I’d have to say an original 1863 United States Army small arms manual. I have the one before it and the one after it, but that was a short print run and there haven’t been any around since 1907.”

  Bill was taking notes, “Where in New York City would a person find that back then?”

  “Mmmmm,” John mumbled, as he scratched his head, “In that time period, there was a small store, now known as an Army-Navy store, on Forty-Second Street and Eighth Avenue. I know it was there because a southern sympathizer was caught buying a batch of the manuals for the South. They wanted to see if there was any weakness the North may have had with their arms. The name of the store was Militia Merchandise. It’s been gone for years, though.”

  Bill stood, and John started to get up, but Bill put out his hand to stop him. “John, will you do me a favor?” he asked.

  John looked puzzled and said, “Sure, Bill, what is it?”

  Bill answered, “Sit and enjoy your cigar and wait here for me. I’ll be back within ten minutes. Will you do that?”

  John sank back down in his chair. “I guess. I mean, where are you going?”

  “Trust me, John. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. Okay?”

  “Okay, Bill,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

  Bill took the key from around his neck and opened the door at the rear of his office. He went quickly down the flight of stairs, out into the garden and opened the gate in 1865.

  DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  A horse-drawn cab was waiting, and he hopped in. The driver looked down into the interior, “Good day, Mr. Scott, where to sir?”

  Bill smiled at the man in the high hat holding a small whip. “Hello, Jimmy. How fast can you get me to Forty-Second and Eighth?”

  The driver smacked the horse’s rump with the whip, and it took off as he yelled down to Bill, “It’s a good thirty minutes, Mr. Scott.”

  Bill held on as the cab careened around corners and cut of
f other traffic. It must have rained this morning because the steel rimmed wheels slipped and skidded on the wet leaves that covered the cobble-stoned streets. None-the-less, Jimmy got them there in twenty-five minutes. Bill jumped out and shouted to him, “Wait for me, Jim. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

  The store was small, but it was packed with military uniforms, bayonets, muskets and pistols along with ammunition. A big man who seemed to have thick black hair growing out of every possible place on his body was behind the counter reading a newspaper. He rose as Bill entered with a big smile on his face.

  “Good day, sir. What can I interest you in? We have the very latest in European boots. No half sizes though.” He looked at Bill’s shoes. “You look like a ten, am I right, sir?”

  “Eleven,” Bill answered, “But I’m interested in an 1863, U.S. Small Arms Manual.”

  “Why 1863? That’s old information. I don’t keep old books here. Why, I have a hard time storing all my up-to-date merchandise, never mind old stuff. Now, what about these boots?”

  Bill looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll buy a pair of boots if you can come up with the book, too. If not, I’ll get it in from a friend over in New Jersey.”

  “Whoa, mister, just a minute. I’ll look downstairs and see if maybe we have the arms manual. Meanwhile, I’ll get you your size eleven.”

  Bill shook his head. “Book first or no deal.”

  The big man spread his arms in resignation. “Okay, okay, I’ll get the book first.” He walked away mumbling. He was back in two minutes with the book and size eleven Black, Spanish riding boots.

  They are beautiful, thought Bill, as the clerk wrapped them in coarse brown paper, tied them with twine and put them on the counter.

  “Six dollars . . . four dollars if you have gold coin,” the clerk said.

  Bill slapped down six dollars and hopped back in the cab. Jimmy snapped the whip in the air over the horse’s head and the animal was galvanized into action. Bill was back in his garden one hour and fifteen minutes after he had left it. He paid Jimmy, gave him a five-dollar tip and raced up the stairs as he set the time to ten minutes after he left in 2011.