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Title: A Ball Player's Career
Being the Personal Experiences and Reminiscensces of Adrian C. Anson
Author: Adrian C. Anson
Release Date: October 28, 2006 [eBook #19652]
Language: English
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A BALL PLAYER'S CAREER
Being the PERSONAL EXPERIENCES AND REMINISCENCES of ADRIAN C. ANSON
Late Manager and Captain of the Chicago Base Ball Club
1900
To My Father Henry Anson of Marshalltown, Iowa, to whose early training
and sound advice I owe my fame
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I.--MY BIRTHPLACE AND ANCESTRY.
II.--DAYS AT MARSHALLTOWN
III.--SOME FACTS ABOUT THE NATIONAL GAME
IV.--FURTHER FACTS AND FIGURES
V.--THE GAME AT MARSHALLTOWN
VI.--My EXPERIENCE AT ROCKFORD
VII.--WITH THE ATHLETICS OF PHILADELPHIA
VIII.--SOME MINOR DIVERSIONS
IX.--WE BALL PLAYERS Go ABROAD
X.--THE ARGONAUTS OF 1874
XI.--I WIN ONE PRIZE AND OTHERS FOLLOW
XII.--WITH THE NATIONAL LEAGUE
XIII.--FROM FOURTH PLACE TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP
XIV.--THE CHAMPIONS OF THE EARLY '80S
XV.--WE FALL DOWN AND RISE AGAIN
XVI.--BALL PLAYERS EACH AND EVERY ONE
XVII.--WHILE FORTUNE FROWNS AND SMILES
XVIII.--FROM CHICAGO TO DENVER
XIX.--FROM DENVER TO SAN FRANCISCO
XX.--TWO WEEKS IN CALIFORNIA
XXI.--WE VISIT THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS
XXII.--FROM HONOLULU TO AUSTRALIA
XXIII.--WITH OUR FRIENDS IN THE ANTIPODES
XXIV.--BALL PLAYING AND SIGHT-SEEING IN AUSTRALIA
XXV.--AFLOAT ON THE INDIAN SEA
XXVI.--FROM CEYLON TO EGYPT
XXVII.--IN THE SHADOW OF THE PYRAMIDS
XXVIII.--THE BLUE SKIES OF ITALY
XXIX.--OUR VISIT TO LA BELLE FRANCE
XXX.--THROUGH ENGLAND, SCOTLAND AND IRELAND
XXXI.--"HOME, SWEET HOME"
XXXII.--THE REVOLT OF THE BROTHERHOOD
XXXIII.--MY LAST YEARS ON THE BALL FIELD
XXXIV.--IF THIS BE TREASON, MAKE THE MOST OF IT
XXXV.--HOW MY WINTERS WERE SPENT
XXXVI.--WITH THE KNIGHTS OF THE CUE
XXXVII.--NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPING
XXXVIII.--L'ENVOI
CHAPTER I. MY BIRTHPLACE AND ANCESTRY.
The town of Marshalltown, the county seat of Marshall County, in the
great State of Iowa, is now a handsome and flourishing place of some
thirteen or fourteen thousand inhabitants. I have not had time recently
to take the census myself, and so I cannot be expected to certify
exactly as to how many men, women and children are contained within the
corporate limits.
At the time that I first appeared upon the scene, however, the town was
in a decidedly embryonic state, and outside of some half-dozen white
families that had squatted there it boasted of no inhabitants save
Indians of the Pottawattamie tribe, whose wigwams, or tepees, were
scattered here and there upon the prairie and along the banks of the
river that then, as now, was not navigable for anything much larger than
a flat-bottomed scow.
The first log cabin that was erected in Marshalltown was built by my
father, Henry Anson, who is still living, a hale and hearty old man,
whose only trouble seems to be, according to his own story, that he is
getting too fleshy, and that he finds it more difficult to get about
than he used to.
He and his father, Warren Anson, his grandfather, Jonathan Anson, and
his great-grandfather, Silas Anson, were all born in Dutchess County,
New York, and were direct descendants of one of two brothers, who came
to this country from England some time in the seventeenth century. They
traced their lineage back to William Anson, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn, an
eminent barrister in the reign of James I, who purchased the Mansion of
Shuzsborough, in the county of Stafford, and, even farther back, to Lord
Anson, a high Admiral of the English navy, who was one of the first of
that daring band of sailors who circumnavigated the globe and helped to
lay the foundation of England's present greatness.
I have said that we were direct descendants of one of two brothers. The
other of the original Ansons I am not so proud of, and for this reason:
He retained the family name until the Revolutionary war broke out, when
he sided with the King and became known as a Tory. Then, not wishing to
bear the same name as his, brother, who had espoused the cause of the
Colonists, he changed his name to Austin, and some of his descendants my
father has met on more than one occasion in his travels.
My mother's maiden name was Jeanette Rice, and she, like my father, was
of English descent, so you can see how little Swedish blood there is in
my veins, in spite of the nickname of "the Swede" that was often applied
to me during my ball-playing career, and which was, I fancy, given me
more because of my light hair and ruddy complexion than because of any
Swedish characteristics that I possessed.
Early in life my father emigrated from New York State into the wilds of
Michigan, and later, after he was married, and while he was but nineteen
years of age, and his wife two years his junior, he started out to find
a home in the West, traveling in one of the old-fashioned prairie
schooners drawn by horses and making his first stop of any account on
the banks of the Cedar River in Iowa. This was in the high-water days of
1851, and as the river overflowed its banks and the waters kept rising
higher and higher my father concluded that it was hardly a desirable
place near which to locate a home, and hitching up his team he saddled a
horse and swam the stream, going on to the westward. He finally
homesteaded a tract of land on the site of the present town of
Marshalltown, which he laid out, and to which he gave the name that it
now bears. This, for a time, was known as "Marshall," it being named
after the town of Marshall in Michigan, but when a post-office was
applied for it was discovered that there was already a post-office of
that same name in the State, and so the word "town" was added, and
Marshalltown it became, the names of Anson, Ansontown and Ansonville
having all been thought of and rejected. Had the name of "Ansonia"
occurred at that time to my father's mind, however, I do not think that
either Marshall or Marshalltown would have been its title on the map.
It was not so very long after the completion of my father's log cabin,
which stood on what is now Marshall-town's main street, that I, the
first white child that was born there, came into the world, the exact
date of my advent being April 17th, 1852. My brother Sturges Ransome,
who is two years my senior, was born at the old home in Michigan, and I
had still another brother Melville who died while I was yet a small boy,
so at the time of which I write there were three babies in the house,
all of them boys, and I the youngest and most troublesome of the lot.
The first real grief that came into my life was the death of my mother,
which occurred when I was but seven years old. I remember her now as a
large, fine-looking woman, who weighed something over two hundred
pounds, and she stood about five feet ten-and-a-half inches in height.
This is about all the recollection that I have of her.
If the statements made by my father and by other of our relatives are to
be relied upon, and I see no reason why they should not be, I was a
natural-born kicker from the very outset of my career, and of very
little account in the world, being bent upon making trouble for others.
I had no particularly bad traits that I am aware of, only that I was
possessed of an instinctive dislike both to study and work, and I
shirked them whenever opportunity offered.
I had a penchant, too, for getting into scrapes, and it was indeed a
happy time for my relatives when a whole day passed without my being up
to some mischief.
Some of my father's people had arrived on the scene before my mother's
death, and, attracting other settlers to the scene, Marshalltown, or
Marshall as it was then called, was making rapid strides in growth and
importance. The Pottawattomies, always friendly to the whites, were
particularly fond of my father and I often remember seeing both the
bucks and the squaws at our cabin, though I fancy that they were not so
fond of us boys as they might have been, for we used to tease and bother
them at every opportunity. Johnny Green was their chief, and Johnny, in
spite of his looks, was a pretty decent sort of a fellow, though he was
as fond of fire-water as any of them and as Iowa was not a prohibition
State in those early days he managed now and then to get hold of a
little. "The fights that he fought and the rows that he made" were as a
rule confined to his own people.
Speaking of the Indians, I remember one little occurrence in which I was
concerned during those early days that impressed itself upon my memory
in a very vivid fashion, and even now I am disposed to regard it as no
laughing matter, although my father entertains a contrary opinion, but
then my father was not in my position, and that, ofttimes, makes all the
difference in the world.
The Pottawattamies were to have a war dance at the little town of
Marietta, some six or seven miles up the river, and of course we boys
were determined to be on hand and take part in the festivities. There
were some twelve or fifteen of us in the party and we enjoyed the show
immensely, as was but natural. Had we all been content to look on and
then go home peacefully there would have been no trouble, but what boys
would act in such unboyish fashion? Not the boys of Marshalltown, at any
rate. It was just our luck to run up against two drunken Indians riding
on a single pony, and someone in the party, I don't know who, hit the
pony and started him, to bucking.
Angrier Indians were never seen. With a whoop and a yell that went
ringing across the prairies they started after us, and how we did leg
it! How far some of the others ran I have no means of knowing but I know
that I ran every foot of the way back to Marshalltown, nor did I stop
until I was safe, as I thought, in my father's house.
My troubles did not end there, however, for along in the darkest hours
of the night I started from sleep and saw those two Indians, one
standing at the head and one at the foot of the bed, and each of them
armed with a tomahawk. That they had come to kill me I was certain, and
that they would succeed in doing so seemed to me equally sure. I tried
to scream but I could not. I was as powerless as a baby. I finally
managed to move and as I did so I saw them vanish through the open
doorway and disappear in the darkness.
There was no sleep for me that night, as you may imagine. I fancied that
the entire Pottawattomie tribe had gathered about the house and that
they would never be content until they had both killed and scalped me. I
just lay there and shivered until the dawn came, and I do not think
there was a happier boy in the country than I when the morning finally
broke and I convinced myself by the evidence of my own eye-sight that
there was not so much as even a single Indian about.
As soon as it was possible I told my father about my two unwelcome
visitors, but the old man only laughed and declared that I had been
dreaming. It was just possible that I had, but I do not believe it. I
saw those two Indians as they stood at the head and foot of my bed just
as plainly as I ever saw a base-ball, and I have had my eye on the ball
a good many times since I first began to play the game. I saw both their
painted faces and the tomahawks that they held in their sinewy hands.
More than that, I heard them as well as saw them when they went out.
That is the reason why I insist that I was not dreaming. I deny the
allegation and defy the alligator!
There were two Indians in my room that night. What they were there for I
don't know, and at this late day I don't care, but they were there, and
I know it. I shall insist that they were there to my dying day, and they
were there!
CHAPTER II. BOYHOOD DAYS AND MEMORIES.
What's in a name? Not much, to be sure, in many of them, but in mine a
good deal, for I represent two Michigan towns and two Roman Emperors,
Adrian and Constantine. My father had evidently not outgrown his liking
for Michigan when I came into the world, and as he was familiar with
both Adrian and Constantine and had many friends in both places he
concluded to keep them fresh in his memory by naming me after them.
I don't think he gave much consideration to the noble old Romans at that
time. In fact, I am inclined to believe that he did not think of them at
all, but nevertheless Adrian Constantine I was christened, and it was as
Adrian Constantine Anson that my name was first entered upon the roll of
the little school at Marshalltown.
I was then in my "smart" years, and what I didn't know about books would
have filled a very large library, and I hadn't the slightest desire to
know any more. In my youthful mind book-knowledge cut but a small, a
very small, figure, and the school house itself was as bad if not worse
than the county jail.
The idea of my being cooped up between four walls when the sunbeams were
dancing among the leaves outside and the bees were humming among the
blossoms, seemed to me the acme of cruelty, and every day that I spent
bending over a desk represented to my mind just so many wasted hours and
opportunities. I longed through all the weary hours to be running out
barefoot on the prairies; to be playing soak-ball, bull pen or two old
cat, on one of the vacant lots, or else to be splashing about like a big
Newfoundland dog in the cool waters of Lynn Creek.
About that time my father had considerable business to attend to in
Chicago and was absent from home for days and weeks at a time. You know
the old adage, "When the cat's away," etc.? Well, mouse-like, that was
the time in which I played my hardest. I played hookey day after day,
and though I was often punished for doing so it had but little effect.
Run away from school I would, and run away from school I did until even
the old man became disgusted with the idea of trying to make a scholar
of me.
Sport of any kind, and particularly sport of an outdoor variety, had for
me more attractions than the best book that was ever published. The game
of base-ball was then in its infancy and while it was being played to
some extent to the eastward of us the craze had not as yet reached
Marshalltown. It arrived there later and it struck the town with both
feet, too, when it did come.
"Soak Ball" was at this time my favorite sport. It was a game in which
the batter was put out while running the bases by being hit with the
ball; hence the name. The ball used was a comparatively soft one, yet
hard enough to hurt when hurled by a powerful arm, as many of the
old-timers as well as myself can testify. It was a good exercise,
however, for arms, legs and eyes, and many of the ball players who
acquired fame in the early seventies can lay the fact that they did so
to the experience and training that this rough game gave to them.
So disgusted did my father finally become with the progress of my
education at Marshalltown that he determined upon sending me to the
State University at Iowa City. I was unable to pass the examination
there the first time that I tried it, but later I succeeded and the old
man fondly imagined that I was at last on the high road to wealth, at
least so far as book-knowledge would carry me.
But, alas, for his hopes in that direction! I was not a whit better as a
student at Iowa City than I had been at home. I was as wild as a mustang
and as tough as a pine knot, and the scrapes that I managed to get into
were too numerous to mention. The State University finally became too
small to hold me and the University of Notre Dame in Indiana, then noted
as being one of the strictest schools in the country, was selected as
being the proper place for "breaking me into harness," providing that
the said "breaking in" performance could be successfully accomplished
anywhere.
To Notre Dame I went and if I acquired any honors in the way of
scholarships during the brief time that I was there I have never heard
of them. Foot-ball, base-ball and fancy skating engrossed the most of my
attention, and in all of these branches of sport I attained at least a
college reputation. As a fancy skater I excelled, and there were few
boys of my age anywhere in the country that could beat me in that line.
The base-ball team that represented Notre Dame at that time was the
Juanitas, and of this organization I was a member, playing second base.
The bright particular star of this club was my brother Sturgis, who
played the center field position. Had he remained in the business he
would certainly have made his mark in the profession, but unfortunately
he strained his arm one day while playing and was obliged to quit the
diamond. He is now a successful business man in the old town and
properly thankful that a fate that then seemed most unkind kept him from
becoming a professional ball player.
Looking back over my youthful experiences I marvel that I have ever
lived to relate them, and that I did not receive at least a hundred
thrashings for every one that was given me. I know now that I fully
deserved all that I received, and more, too. My father was certainly in
those days a most patient man. I have recorded the fact elsewhere that I
was as averse to work as I was to study, and I had a way of avoiding it
at times that was peculiarly my own.
While I was still a boy in Marshalltown and before I had graduated (?)
from either the State University or the college of Notre Dame, my father
kept a hotel known as the Anson House. The old gentleman was at that
tune the possessor of a silver watch, and to own that watch was the
height of my ambition. Time and again I begged him to give it to me, but
he had turned a deaf ear to my importunities.
In the back yard of the hotel one day when I had been begging him for
the gift harder than usual, there stood a huge pile of wood that needed
splitting, and looking at this he remarked, that I could earn the watch
if I chose by doing the task. He was about to take a journey at the time
and I asked him if he really meant it. He replied that he did, and
started away.
I don't think he had any more idea of my doing the task than he had of
my flying. I had some ideas of my own on the subject, however, and he
was scarcely out of sight before I began to put them into execution. The
larder of the hotel was well stocked, and cookies and doughnuts were as
good a currency as gold and silver among boys of my acquaintance. This
being the case it dawned upon my mind that I could sublet the contract,
a plan than I was not long in putting into practice.
Many hands make quick work, and it was not long before I had a little
army of boys at work demolishing that wood pile. The chunks that were
too big and hard to split we placed on the bottom, then placed the split
wood over them. The task was accomplished long before the old
gentleman's return, and when on the night of his arrival I took him out
and showed him that such was the case he looked a bit astonished. He
handed over the watch, though, and for some days afterwards as I
strutted about town with it in my pocket I fancied it was as big as the
town clock and wondered that everybody that I met in my travels did not
stop to ask me the time of day.
It was some time afterwards that my father discovered that the job had
been shirked by me, and paid for with the cakes and cookies taken from
his own larder, but it was then too late to say anything and I guess, if
the truth were known, he chuckled to himself over the manner in which
lie had been outwitted.
The old gentleman seldom became very angry with me, no matter what sort
of a scrape I might have gotten into, and the only time that he really
gave me a good dressing down that I remember was when I had traded
during his absence from home his prize gun for a Llewellyn setter. When
he returned and found what I had done he was as mad as a hornet, but
quieted down after I had told him that he had better go hunting with her
before making so much fuss. This he did and was so pleased with the
dog's behavior that he forgave me for the trick that I had played him.
That the dog was worth more than the gun, the sequel proved.
A man by the name of Dwight who lived down in the bottoms had given his
boy instructions to kill a black-and-tan dog if he found it in the
vicinity of his sheep. The lad, who did not know one dog from another,
killed the setter and then the old gentleman boiled over again. He
demanded pay for the dog, which was refused. Then he sued, and a jury
awarded him damages to the amount of two hundred dollars, all of which
goes to prove that I was even then a pretty good judge of dogs, although
I had not been blessed with a bench show experience.
I may state right here that my father and I were more like a couple of
chums at school together than like father and son. We fished together,
shot together, played ball together, poker together and I regret to say
that we fought together. In the early days I got rather the worst of
these arguments, but later on I managed to hold my own and sometimes to
get even a shade the better of it.
The old gentleman was an athlete of no mean ability. He was a crack
shot, a good ball player and a man that could play a game of billiards
that in those days was regarded as something wonderful for an amateur.
My love of sport, therefore, came to me naturally. I inherited it, and
if I have excelled in any particular branch it is because of my father's
teachings. He was a square sport, and one that had no use for anything
that savored of crookedness. There was nothing whatever of the Puritan
in his makeup, and from my early youth he allowed me to participate in
any sort of game that took my fancy. He had no idea at that time of my
ever becoming a professional. Neither had I. There were but few
professional sports outside of the gamblers, and even these few led a
most precarious existence.
I was quite an expert at billiards long before I was ever heard of as a
ball player. There was a billiard table in the old Anson House and it
was upon that that I practiced when I was scarcely large enough to
handle a cue. It was rather a primitive piece of furniture, but it
answered the purpose for which it had been designed. It was one of the
old six pocket affairs, with a bass-wood bed instead of slate, and the
balls sometimes went wabbling over it very much the same fashion as eggs
would roll if pushed about on a kitchen table with a broomstick. In
spite of having to use such poor tools I soon became quite proficient at
the game and many a poor drummer was taken into camp by the long, gawky
country lad at Marshalltown, whose backers were always looking about for
a chance to make some easy money.
Next to base-ball, billiards was at that time my favorite sport and
there was not an hour in the day that I was not willing to leave
anything that I might be engaged upon to take a hand in either one of
these games.
When it came to weeding a garden or hoeing a field of corn I was not to
be relied upon, but at laying out a ball, ground I was a whole team. The
public square at Marshalltown, the land for which had been donated, by
my father, struck me as being an ideal place to play ball in. There were
too many trees growing there, however, to make it available for the
purpose. I had made up my mind to turn it into a ball ground in spite
of this, and shouldering an ax one fine morning I started in.
How long it took me to accomplish the purpose I had in view I have
forgotten, but I know that I succeeded finely in getting the timber all
out of the way. It was hard work, but you see the base-ball fever was on
me and that treeless park for many a long day after was a spot hat I
took great pride in.
At the present time it is shaded by stately elms, while, almost in the
center of its velvet lawn, flanked by cannon, stands a handsome stone
courthouse that is the pride of Marshall County.
Then it was ankle deep in meadow grass and surrounded by a low picket
fence over which the ball was often batted, both by members of the home
team and by their visitors from abroad.
Many a broken window in Main Street the Anson family were responsible
for in those days, but as all the owners of stores on that thoroughfare
in the immediate vicinity of the grounds were base-ball enthusiasts,
broken windows counted for but little so long as Marshalltown carried
off the honors.
CHAPTER III. SOME FACTS ABOUT THE NATIONAL GAME.
Just at what particular time the base-ball fever became epidemic in
Marshalltown it is difficult to say, for the reason that, unfortunately,
all of the records of the game there, together with the trophies
accumulated, were destroyed by a fire that swept the place in 1897, and
that also destroyed all of the files of the newspapers then published
there.
The fever had been raging in the East many years previous to that time,
however, and had gradually worked its way over the mountains and across
the broad prairies until the sport had obtained a foothold in every
little village and hamlet in the land. Before entering further on my
experience it may be well to give here and now a brief history of the
game and its origin.
When and where the game first made its appearance is a matter of great
uncertainty, but the general opinion of the historians seems to be that
by some mysterious process of evolution it developed from the boys' game
of more than a century ago, then known as "one old cat," in which there
was a pitcher, a catcher, and a batter. John M. Ward, a famous base-ball
player in his day, and now a prosperous lawyer in the city of Brooklyn,
and the late Professor Proctor, carried on a controversy through the
columns of the New York newspapers in 1888, the latter claiming that
base-ball was taken from the old English game of "rounders," while Ward
argued that base-ball was evolved from the boys' game, as above stated,
and was distinctly an American game, he plainly proving that it had no
connection whatever with "rounders."
The game of base-ball probably owed its name to the fact that bases were
used in making its runs, and were one of its prominent features.
There seems to be no doubt that the game was played in the United States
as early at least as the beginning of the present century, for Dr.
Oliver Wendell Holmes declared a few years ago that base-ball was one of
the sports of his college days, and the autocrat of the breakfast table
graduated at Harvard in 1829. Along in 1842 a number of gentlemen,
residents of New York City, were in the habit of playing the game as a
means of exercise on the vacant lot at the corner of Fourth Avenue and
Twenty-sixth Street, where Madison Square Garden now stands. In 1845
they formed themselves into a permanent organization known as the
Knickerbocker Club, and drew up the first code of playing rules of the
game, which were very simple as compared with the complex rules which
govern the game of the present time, and which are certainly changed in
such a way as to keep one busy in keeping track of them.
The grounds of this parent organization were soon transferred to the
Elysian Fields, at Hoboken, N. J., where the Knickerbockers played their
first match game on June 19th, 1846, their opponents not being an
organized club, but merely a party of gentlemen who played together
frequently, and styled themselves the New York Club. The New Yorks won
easily in four innings, the game in those days being won by the club
first making twenty-one runs on even innings. The Knickerbockers played
at Hoboken for many years, passing out of existence only in 1882. In
1853 the Olympic Club of Philadelphia was organized for the purpose of
playing town-ball, a game which had some slight resemblance to
base-ball. The Olympic Club, however, did not adopt the game of
base-ball until 1860, and consequently cannot claim priority over the
Knickerbockers, although it was one of the oldest ball-playing
organizations in existence, and was disbanded only a few years ago.
In New England a game of base-ball known by the distinctive title of
"The New England game" was in vogue about fifty years ago. It was played
with a small, light ball, which was thrown over-hand to the bat, and was
different from the "New York game" as practiced by the Knickerbockers,
Gotham, Eagle, and Empire Clubs of that city. The first regularly
organized club in Massachusetts playing the present style of base-ball
was the Olympic Club of Boston, which was established in 1854, and in
the following year participated in the first match game played in that
locality, its opponents being the Elm Tree team. The first match games
in Philadelphia, San Francisco and Washington were played in 1860. For
several years the Knickerbocker Club was alone in the field, but after a
while similar clubs began to organize, while in 1857 an association was
formed which the following year developed into the National Association.
The series of rules prepared by a committee of the principal clubs of
New York City governed all games prior to 1857, but on January 22d,
1857, a convention of clubs was held at which a new code of rules was
enacted. On March 10th, 1858, delegates from twenty-five clubs of New
York and Brooklyn met and organized the National Association of
Base-ball Players, which for thirteen successive seasons annually
revised the playing rules, and decided all disputes arising in base-ball.
The first series of contests for the championship took place during 1858
and 1859. At that time the Elysian Fields, Hoboken, N. J., were the
great center of base-ball playing, and here the Knickerbockers, Eagle,
Gotham and Empire Clubs of New York City ruled supreme.
A rival sprung up, however, in the Atlantic Club of Brooklyn, and its
success led to the arrangement of a series of games between selected
nines of the New York and Brooklyn Clubs in 1858. In these encounters
New York proved victorious, winning the first and third games by the
respective scores of 22 to 18, and 29 to 18, while Brooklyn won the
second contest by 29 to 8. In October, 1861, another contest took place
between the representative nines of New York and Brooklyn for the silver
ball presented by the New York Clipper, and Brooklyn easily won by a
score of 18 to 6. The Civil war materially affected the progress of the
game in 1861, '62 and '63 and but little base-ball was played, many
wielders of the bat having laid aside the ash to shoulder the musket.
The Atlantic and Eckford Clubs of Brooklyn were the chief contestants
for the championship in 1862, the Eckfords then wresting the
championship away from the Atlantics, and retaining it also during the
succeeding season, when they were credited with an unbroken succession
of victories. The champion nine of the Eckford Club in 1863 were
Sprague, pitcher; Beach, catcher; Roach, Wood and Duffy on the bases;
Devyr, shortstop; and Manolt, Swandell and Josh Snyder in the outfield.
The championship reverted back to the Atlantics in 1864, and they held
the nominal title until near the close of 1867, their chief competitors
being the Athletics of Philadelphia and the Mutuals of New York City.
The Athletics held the nominal championship longer than any other club,
and also claims the credit of not being defeated in any game played
during 1864 and 1865, the feat of going through two successive seasons
without a defeat being unprecedented at that time in base-ball history.
The Eckfords of Brooklyn, however, went through the season of 1863
without losing a game, and the Cincinnati Reds, under the management of
the late Harry Wright, accomplished a similar feat in 1869, the latter
at the time meeting all of the best teams in the country, both East and
West.
The Atlantic's champion nine in 1864 and 1865 were Pratt, pitcher;
Pearce, catcher; Stark, Crane and C. Smith, on the bases; Galvin,
shortstop; and Chapman, P. O'Brien and S. Smith in the outfield. Frank
Norton caught during the latter part of the season and Pearce played
shortstop.
The Athletics in 1866 played all of the strongest clubs in the country
and were only twice defeated, once by the Atlantics of Brooklyn, and
once by the Unions of Morrisania. The first game between the Atlantics
and Athletics for the championship took place October 1st, 1866, in
Philadelphia, the number of people present inside and outside the
inclosed grounds being estimated as high as 30,000, it being the largest
attendance known at the baseball game up to that time. Inside the
inclosure the crowd was immense, and packed so close there was no room
for the players to field. An attempt was made, however, to play the
game, but one inning was sufficient to show that it was impossible, and
after a vain attempt to clear the field both parties reluctantly
consented to a postponement.
The postponed game was played October 22d, in Philadelphia.
The price of tickets was placed at one dollar and upwards, and two
thousand people paid the "steep" price of admission, the highest ever
charged for mere admission to the grounds, while five or six thousand
more witnessed the game from the surrounding embankment. Rain and
darkness obliged the umpire to call the game at the end of the second
inning, the victory remaining with the Athletics, by the decisive totals
of 31 to 12. A dispute about the gate money prevented the playing of the
decisive game of the season.
The Unions of Morrisiana, by defeating the Atlantics in two out of three
games in the latter part of the season of 1867, became entitled to the
nominal championship, which during the next two seasons was shifted back
and forth between the leading clubs of New York and Brooklyn. The
Athletics in 1868, and the Cincinnatis in 1869, had, however, the best
records of their respective seasons, and were generally acknowledged as
the virtual champions.
The Athletics of Philadelphia in 1866 had McBride, pitcher; Dockney,
catcher; Berkenstock, Reach and Pike on the bases; Wilkins, shortstop;
and Sensenderfer, Fisler and Kleinfelder in the outfield. Their nine
presented few changes during the next two seasons, Dockney, Berkenstock
and Pike giving way to Radcliff, Cuthbert and Berry in 1867, and Schafer
taking Kleinfelder's place in 1868.
The Cincinnati nine in 1869 were Brainard, pitcher; Allison, catcher;
Gould, Sweasy and Waterman on the bases; George Wright, shortstop, and
Leonard, Harry Wright and McVey in the outfield.
In 1868 the late Frank Queen, proprietor and editor of the New York
Clipper, offered a series of prizes to be contested for by the leading
clubs of the country, a gold ball being offered for the champion club,
and a gold badge to the player in each position, from catcher to right
field, who had the best batting average. The official award gave the
majority of the prizes to the Athletic club. McBride, Radcliff, Fisler,
Reach and Sensenderfer, having excelled in their respective positions of
pitcher, catcher, first base, second base, and center field. Waterman,
Hatfield and Johnson, of the Cincinnatis, excelled in the positions of
third base, left field and right field, and George Wright of the Unions,
of Morrisiania as shortstop. The gold ball was also officially awarded
to the Athletics as the emblem of championship for the season of 1868.
The Atlantics of Brooklyn were virtually the champions of 1870, being
the first club to deprive the Cincinnati Reds of the prestige of
invincibility which had marked their career during the preceding season.
The inaugural contest between these clubs in 1870 took place June 14th
on the Capitoline grounds at Brooklyn, N. Y., the Atlantics then winning
by a score of 8 to 7 after an exciting struggle of eleven innings. The
return game was played September 2d, in Cincinnati, Ohio, and resulted
in a decisive victory for the Reds, by a score of 14 to 3.
This necessitated a third or decisive game, which was played in
Philadelphia October 6th, and this the Atlantics won by a score of 11 to
7.
The Atlantics in that year had Zettlein, pitcher; Ferguson, catcher;
Start, Pike and Smith on the bases; Pearce, shortstop, and Chapman, Hall
and McDonald on the outfield.
The newspapers throughout the country had by this time begun to pay
unusual attention to the game, and the craze was spreading like wildfire
all over the country, every little country town boasting of its nine,
and as these were for the greater part made up of home players, local
feeling ran high, and the doings of "our team" furnished the chief
subject of conversation at the corner grocery, and wherever else the
citizens were wont to congregate.
With the advent of the professional player the game in the larger towns
took on a new lease of life, but in the smaller places where they could
not afford the expense necessary to the keeping of a first-class team it
ceased to be the main attraction and interest was centered in the doings
of the teams of the larger places.
That the professional player improved the game itself goes without
saying as being a business with him instead of a pastime, and one upon
which his daily bread depended, he went into it with his whole soul,
developing its beauties in a way that was impossible to the amateur who
could only give to it the time that he could spare after the business
hours of the day.
This was the situation at the time that I first entered tile base-ball
arena, and, looking back, when I come to compare the games of those days
with the games of to-day and note the many changes that have taken
place, I cannot but marvel at the improvement made and at the interest
that the game has everywhere excited.
CHAPTER IV. FURTHER FACTS AND FIGURES.
The professional player of those early days and the professional player
of the present time were totally different personages. When
professionalism first crept into the ranks it was generally the custom
to import from abroad some player who had made a name for himself,
playing some certain position, and furnish him with a business situation
so that his services might be called for when needed, and so strong was
the local pride taken in the success of the team that business men were
not averse to furnishing such a man with a position when they were
informed that it would be for the good of the home organization.
Prior to the year 1868 the professional was, comparatively speaking, an
unknown quantity on the ball field, though it may be set down here as a
fact that on more than one occasion previous to that time "the laborer
had been found worthy of his hire," even in base-ball, though that
matter had been kept a secret as far as possible, even in the home
circle.
Up to the year mentioned the rules of the National Association had
prohibited the employment of any paid player in a club nine, but at that
time so strong had the rivalry become between the leading clubs of the
principal cities that the practice of compensating players had become
more honored in the breach than in the observance and the law was
practically a dead letter so far as these clubs were concerned.
The growth of the professional class of players, and the consequent
inequality in strength between these and the amateur players made a
distinction necessary and in 1871 the National Association split up, the
professional clubs forming an association of their own.
The first series of championship games under a regular official code of
rules was then established, and since then the contests for the
professional championship have been the events of each season's play.
The first convention of delegates from avowedly professional clubs was
held March 17th, 1871, in New York City, and a code of rules were then
adopted, the principal clause being the one suggested by the Athletic
Club of Philadelphia, to the effect that the championship should belong
to the club which won the greatest number of games in a series of five
with every other contesting club.
The professional Association thus organized consisted of the following
clubs: Athletics of Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, Forest Citys of
Cleveland, Forest Citys of Rockford, Haymakers of Troy, Kekiongas of
Fort Wayne, Mutuals of New York' City, and Olympics of Washington. The
Eckford Club of Brooklyn entered the Association about the middle of the
season, but its games were not counted. The Kekiongas disbanded in July,
but their games were thrown out.
That season marked my advent on the diamond as a professional, I being a
member of the Forest Citys of Rockford; so it can readily be seen that I
was among the first of the men in America who made of base-ball playing
a business.
The additions to the Association in 1872 were the Atlantic and Eckford
of Brooklyn, Baltimore, National of Washington, and Mansfield of
Middletown, Conn., the last mentioned, however, disbanding before the
close of the championship season. The Forest Citys of Rockford did not
enter the arena that year, but I was "still in the ring," having
transferred my services to the Athletics of Philadelphia, where I
remained until the formation of the National League in 1876.
In 1875 the Athletics had a rival in the new Philadelphia club; the
Maryland of Baltimore and the Resolute of Elizabeth, N. J., also
entering the championship arena. The Forest City of Cleveland and the
Eckford of Brooklyn dropped out after 1872, and the two Washington clubs
were consolidated. The Chicago club, which had been broken up by the
great fire of 1871 and had been out of existence in 1872 and 1873, again
entered the Association in 1874, when Hartford was for the first time
represented by a professional club. The Washington, Resolute and the
Maryland Clubs were not members of the Association in that year.
Thirteen professional clubs competed for the championship in 1875, the
St. Louis team being the only one of the new entries that did not
disband before the season closed. This was the last season of the
Professional Association, it being superseded by the National League, an
organization which still exists, though it lacks the brains and power
that carried it on to success in, its earlier days, this being notably
the case in Chicago and New York, where the clubs representing these
cities have gone down the toboggan slide with lightning-like rapidity.
In this connection the names of the teams winning the Professional
Association championships, together with the players composing them are
given:
1871. Athletic, McBride, pitcher; Malone, catcher; Fisler, Reach and
Meyerle on the bases; Radcliffe, shortstop; Cuthbert, Senserderfer and
Heubel in the outfield, and Bechtel and Pratt, substitutes.
1872, Boston, Spalding, pitcher; McVey, catcher; Gould, Barnes and
Schafer on the bases; George Wright, shortstop; Leonard, Harry Wright
and Rogers, in the outfield; and Birdsall and Ryan, substitutes.
1873. Boston, Spalding, pitcher; Jas. White, catcher; Jas. O'Rourke,
Barnes and Schafer on the bases; George Wright, shortstop; Leonard,
Harry Wright and Manning in the outfield; and Birdsall and Sweasey,
substitutes. Addy took Manning's place in the latter part of the season.
1874. Boston, Spalding, pitcher; McVey, catcher; White, Barnes and
Schafer on the bases; George Wright, shortstop; Leonard, Hall and Jas.
O'Rourke in the outfield; and Harry Wright and Beal, substitutes.
1875. Boston, Spalding, pitcher; Jas. White, catcher; McVey, Barnes and
Schafer on the Bases; George Wright, shortstop; Leonard, Jas. O'Rourke
and Manning in the outfield, and Harry Wright and Beal, substitutes.
Heifert and Latham each played first base during part of the season.
It will thus be seen that the Boston Club held the championship in those
early days for four successive seasons, and playing against them as I
did I can bear witness to their strength and skill as ball players.
Many of the men, who like myself were among the first to enter the
professional ranks in those days, have achieved distinction in the
business world, the notables among them being A. G. Spalding, now head
of the largest sporting goods house in the world, with headquarters in
Chicago; George Wright, who is the head of a similar establishment at
Boston, and Al Reach, who is engaged in the same line of business at
Philadelphia, while others, not so successful, have managed to earn a
living outside of the arena, and others still, have crossed "the great
divide" leaving behind them little save a memory and a name.
In those early days of the game the rules required a straight arm
delivery, and the old-time pitchers found it a difficult matter to
obtain speed save by means of an underhand throw or jerk of the ball.
Creighton, of the Excelsiors of Brooklyn, however, with his unusually
swift pitching puzzled nearly all of the opposing teams as early as
1860. Sprague developed great speed, according to the early chroniclers
of the game, while with the Eckford Club of the same city in 1863, and
Tom Pratt and McBride of the Athletics were also among the first of the
old-time pitchers to attain speed in their delivery. About 1865, Martin
pitched a slow and deceptive drop ball, it being a style of delivery
peculiarly his own, and one I have never seen used by any one else,
though Cunningham of Louisville uses it to a certain extent.
The greatest change ever made in the National Game was the introduction
of what is known as curve pitching, followed as it was several seasons
afterwards by the removal of all restrictions on the method of
delivering the ball to the batter. Arthur, known under the sobriquet of
"Candy," Cummings of Brooklyn is generally conceded to have been the
first to introduce curve pitching, which he did about 1867 or 1868.
Mount, the pitcher of the Princeton College and Avery of Yale are
accredited with using the curve about 1875, but Mathews of the New York
Mutuals and Nolan of the Indianapolis team were among the first of the
professional pitchers, after Cummings, to become proficient in its use,
which was generally adopted in 1877, and to the skill acquired by both
of these men in handling of the ball I can testify by personal
experience, having had to face them, bat in hand, on more than one
occasion.
Many people, including prominent scientists, were for a long time loth
to believe that a ball could be curved in the air, but they were soon
satisfied by practical tests, publicly made, as to the truth of the
matter.
With the doing away with the restrictions that governed the methods of
the pitcher's delivery of the ball and the introduction of the curve the
running up of large scores in the game became an impossibility, and the
batsman was placed at a decided disadvantage.
Reading over the scores of some of those old-time games in the present
day one becomes lost in wonder when he thinks of the amount of
foot-racing, both around the bases and chasing the ball, that was
indulged in by those players of a past generation. Here are some sample
performances taken from a history of base-ball, compiled by Al Wright
of New York and published in the Clipper Annual of 1891, which go to
illustrate the point in question.
The largest number of runs ever made by a club in a game was by the
Niagara Club of Buffalo, N. Y., June 8th, 1869, when they defeated the
Columbias of that city by the remarkable score of 209 to 10, two of the
Niagaras scoring twenty-five runs each, and the least number of runs,
scored by any one batsman amounted to twenty. Fifty-eight runs were made
in the eighth inning and only three hours were occupied in amassing this
mammoth total. Just think of it! Such a performance as that in these
days would be a sheer impossibility, and that such is the case the
base-ball players should be devoutly thankful, and, mind you, this
performance was made by an amateur team and not by a team of
professionals.
One hundred runs and upward have been scored in a game no less than
twenty-five times, the Athletics of Philadelphia accomplishing this feat
nine times in 1865 and 1866, and altogether being credited with scores
of 162, 131, 119, 118, 114, 114, 110, 107, 106, 104, 101, and 101. On
October 20th, 1865, the Athletics defeated the Williamsport Club by 101
to 8 in the morning, and the Alerts of Danville, Pa., by 162 to 11 in
the afternoon. Al Reach in these two games alone scored thirty-four
runs.
It strikes me that the ball players of those days earned their salaries
even if they did not get them, no matter what other folks may think
about it.
In 1867, a game was played in which, the losers made 91 runs and the
winning club 123, of which 51 were made in the last inning. The Chicagos
defeated the Memphis team May 13th, 1870, by a score of 157 to 1, and
the Forest City Club of Cleveland four days later beat a local team 132
to 1, only five innings being played. The Forest Citys made in these
five innings no fewer than 101 safe hits, with a total of 180 bases,
this being an unequalled record. The Unions of Morrisiania were credited
with 100 safe hits in a nine-inning game in 1866.
The largest score on record by professional clubs was made by the
Atlantics of Brooklyn and the Athletics of Philadelphia July 5th, 1869,
when the former won by 51 to 48. Fifteen thousand people paid admission
to the Capitoline Grounds, Brooklyn, where the game was played, and the
Atlantics made six home runs and the Athletics three during its
progress. The greatest number of runs in an inning in a first-class game
was scored by the Atlantics of Brooklyn in a match with the New York
Mutuals, October 16th, 1861, when they scored 26 runs in their third
inning. George Wright umpired a game between amateur clubs in
Washington, D. C., in 1867, in which the winners made 68 runs in an
inning, the largest total ever made.
The most one-sided contest between first class clubs was that between
the Mutuals and Chicagos June 14th, 1874, when the former won by 38 to
1, the Chicagos making only two safe hits. The greatest number of home
runs in any one game was credited to the Athletics of Philadelphia,
September 30th, 1865, when they made twenty-five against the National
Club of Jersey City, Reach, Kleinfelder and Potter each having five home
runs to their credit on this occasion. The same club was credited with
nineteen home runs May 9th, 1866, while playing an amateur club at New
Castle, Delaware. Harry Wright, while playing with the Cincinnatis
against the Holt Club June 22d, 1867, at Newport, Ky., made seven home
runs, the largest number ever scored by any individual player in a game,
though "Lip" Pike followed closely, he making six home runs, five in
succession, for the Athletics against the Alerts, July 16th, 1866, in
Philadelphia.
These were, as a matter of course, exceptional performances, and ones
that would be impossible in these days of great speed and curve
pitching, but serve to show that there were ball players, and good ones,
even in those days when the National Game was as yet, comparatively
speaking, in its infancy, and the National League, of the formation and
progress of which I will speak later on as yet unheard of.
It must be remembered that, the greater number of these old-time games
were not played upon enclosed grounds and that the batter in many cases
had no fences to prevent him from lining them out, while the pitcher was
so hampered by rules and regulations as to give the batsman every
advantage, while now it is the pitcher that enjoys a wide latitude and
the batsman who is hampered.
It was a much easier matter to hit the old underhand delivery, with its
straight ball, and to send the pigskin screaming through the air and
over a low picket fence, than to hit the swift curved ball of to-day and
lift it over the high board fences that surround the professional
grounds, as any old-time player can testify.
CHAPTER V. THE GAME AT MARSHALLTOWN.
If my memory serves me rightly it was some time in the year 1866 that
the Marshalltown Base-Ball Club, of which my father was a prominent
member, sprung into existence, and among the men who made up the team at
that time were many who have since become prominent in the history not
only of Marshalltown but of Marshall County as well, among them being
Captain Shaw, Emmett Green, A. B. Cooper, S. R. Anson and the old
gentleman himself, it being owing to my father's exertions that
Marshalltown acquired the county seat, and he has since served the town
as both Mayor and Councilman and seen it grow from a single log cabin to
a prosperous city.
Prior to the organization of this team base-ball had been played there
in a desultory fashion for some time, but with its formation the fever
broke out in its most virulent form, and it was not many weeks before
the entire town had gone base-ball crazy, the fever seemingly attacking
everybody in the place save the baby in arms, which doubtless escaped
merely because of its extreme youth and lack of understanding.
In the absence of any records relating to those early days it is
impossible for me to say just who, the Marshalltown team beat and who it
did not, but I do know that long before I became a member of it and
while I was still playing with the second nine, which went by the name
of the "Stars," the team enjoyed a ball-playing reputation second to
none in the State and the doings of "our team" every week occupied a
conspicuous place in the columns of the local papers, the editors of
which might have been seen enjoying the sport and occupying a front seat
on the grass at every game, with note book in hand recording each and
every play in long-hand, for the score book which has since made matters
so easy for the game's chroniclers had not then been perfected and the
club's official scorer kept a record of the tallies made by means of
notches cut with his jack-knife in a stick provided for the occasion.
Prior to June, 1867, the Marshalltown team had acquired for itself a
reputation that extended throughout the length and breadth of the State,
and at Waterloo, where a tournament was given, they had beaten
everything that came against them. In a tournament given at Belle Plaine
in either that year or the next they put in an appearance to contest for
a silk flag given by the ladies of that town, but so great was the
respect that they inspired that the other visiting clubs refused to play
against them unless they were given the odds of six put-outs as against
the regular three. This was handicapping with a vengeance, but even at
these odds the Marshalltown aggregation was too much for its competitors
and the flag was brought home in triumph, where, as may be imagined, a
great reception awaited the players, the whole town turning out en masse
to do them honor.
There was nothing too good for the ball players of those days and they
were made much of wherever they chose to go. A card of invitation that
recently came into my possession and that illustrates this fact, reads
as follows:
Empire Base Ball Club.
Yourself and lady are cordially invited to attend a Social Party at
Lincoln Hall, on Thursday Evening, June 27, 1867, given under the
auspices of the Empire Base Ball Club of Waterloo, complimentary to
their guests, the Marshalltown B. B. C.
While this aggregation of home talent was busily engaged in acquiring
fame but not fortune let no one think for a moment that I was
overlooking my opportunities, even though I were only a member of the
second nine. On the contrary, I was practicing early and late, and if I
had any great ambition it was to play in the first nine, and with this
end in view I neglected even my meals in order that I might become
worthy of the honor.
My father was as enthusiastic over the game as I was myself and during
the long summer seasons the moment that we had swallowed our supper, or,
rather, bolted it, he and I would betake ourselves to the ball grounds,
where we would practice until the gathering darkness put a stop to our
playing.
My brother Sturgis, who was also a member of the team, was not so
enthusiastic over base-ball as were my father and myself, and he would
finish his supper in a leisurely fashion before following us to the
grounds. He was far above the average as a player, however, and excelled
both as a thrower and a batsman. I have seen him on more than one
occasion throw a ball a distance of from 125 to 130 yards, and in a game
that was played at Omaha, Neb., he is credited with making the longest
hit ever seen there, the old-timers declaring that he knocked the ball
out of sight, which must be true, because nobody was ever able to find
it.
It was some time after the tournaments at Belle Plaine and Waterloo
before I was promoted to the dignity of a first-niner, and then it was
due to the solicitation of my father, who declared that I played as good
ball as anybody in the team, even if I was "only a kid."
If ever there was a proud youngster I was one at that particular time,
and I think I justified the old gentleman's good opinion of me by
playing fairly good ball, at least many of my friends were good enough
to tell me so.
With my father playing third base, my brother playing center field and
myself playing second base the Anson family was pretty well represented
on that old Marshalltown nine, and as the team held the State
championship for several years the Anson trio must at least have done
their share of the playing.
It was while I was away at Notre Dame that misfortune came to
Marshalltown. The Des Moines Club challenged for the flag and the home
team accepted the defy. The Des Moines organization was then one of the
strongest in the State. The game was played at Marshalltown, and to the
horror and astonishment of the good people of that town, who had come to
look upon their club as invincible, Des Moines won, and when they went
back to the State capital they took the emblem of the championship with
them.
This emblem I determined the town should have back, and immediately upon
my return from the Indiana College I organized a nine and challenged for
the trophy. That team was made up as follows:
Kenny Williams, pitcher; Emmett Green, catcher; A. B. Cooper, A. C.
Anson and Henry Anson on the bases; Pete Hoskins, shortstop; Sam Sager,
Sturgis Anson and Milton Ellis in the outfield; A. J. Cooper,
substitute.
We had the best wishes of the town with us when we departed for Des
Moines and were accompanied by quite a delegation of the townspeople who
were prepared to wager to some extent on our success. The game was
played in the presence of a big crowd and when we came back to
Marshalltown the flag came with us and there it remained until, with the
other trophies that the club had accumulated, it went up in smoke.
The night of our return there was "a hot time in the old town," and had
there been any keys to the city I am pretty certain that we would have
been presented with them.
The fame of the Forest City Club of Rockford, one of the first
professional clubs to be organized in the West, had been blown across
the prairies until it reached Marshalltown, so when they came through
Iowa on an exhibition tour after the close of their regular season we
arranged for a game with them. They had been winning all along the line
by scores that mounted up all the way from 30 to 100 to 1, and while we
did not expect to beat them, yet we did expect to give them a better run
than they had yet had for their money since the close of the
professional season.
The announcement of the Rockford Club's visit naturally excited an
intense amount of interest all through that section of the country and
when the day set for the game arrived the town was crowded with visitors
from all parts of the State. Accompanying the Forest Citys was a large
delegation of Chicago sporting men, who had come prepared to wager their
money that the Marshalltown aggregation would be beaten by a score
varying all the way from 8 to 20 to 1, and they found a good many takers
among the townspeople who had seen us play and who had a lot of
confidence in our ability to hold the visitor's score down to a low
figure.
Upon the result of the game A. G. Spalding, who was the pitcher for the
Forest Citys, alleges that my father wagered a cow, but this the old
gentleman indignantly denies, and he further declares that not a single
wager of any sort was made by any member of the team.
Be this as it may, one thing is certain, and that is that the game was
witnessed by one of the largest crowds that had ever gathered around a
ball ground in Marshalltown, and we felt that we had every reason to
feel elated when at the end of the ninth inning the score stood at 18 to
3 in their favor.
So disgusted were the visitors and their followers over the showing that
we had made in spite of their best endeavors that they at once proceeded
to arrange another game for the next day, cancelling another date ahead
in order to do so.
Speaking of this second game my father says: "The rules of the game at
that time made the playing of a 'Ryan dead ball' compulsory, and this it
was the province of the home club to furnish, and this was the sort of a
ball that was played with the first day. To bat such a ball as this to
any great distance was impossible and our fielders were placed well in
for the second game, just as they had been in the first, but we soon
discovered that the balls were going far beyond us, and on noting their
positions when our turn to bat came we found their fielders placed much
further out than on the day before. My first impression was that the
great flights taken by the ball were due to the tremendous batting, but
later on I became convinced that there was something wrong with the
ball, and called for time to investigate the matter.
"On questioning our unsophisticated management I discovered that the
visitors had generously (?) offered to furnish the ball for the second
game, as we had furnished the ball for the first, and had been allowed
to do so. We later learned that they had skinned the liveliest kind of a
'Bounding Rock' and re-covered it with a 'Ryan Dead Ball' cover. This
enabled them to get ahead at the start, but after we had learned of the
deception we held them down so close that they won back but a very small
share of the money that they had lost on the game of the day before,
though they beat us by a score of 35 to 5.
"Let me say right here, too, that the visitors had their own umpire with
them, and he was allowed to umpire the game. He let Al Spalding do about
as he pleased, and pitch as many balls as he wished without calling
them, and once when I was at the bat and he could not induce me to hit
at the wild ones that he was sending in he fired a vicious one straight
in my direction, when, becoming irritated in my turn, I dropped the bat
and walked out in his direction with a view of administering a little
proper punishment to the frisky gentleman. He discovered what was
coming, however, and meekly crawled back, piteously begging pardon and
declaring it all a mistake. There was one result of the game, however,
which was that when the Rockford people were organizing a professional
nine they wrote to Marshalltown and tried to secure the whole Anson
family, and Adrian, who was still only a boy, was allowed to sign with
them, I retaining his older brother at home to aid me in my business."
I am inclined to think that the old gentleman is mistaken in the
substitution of a "Bounding Rock" for a "Ryan Dead Ball" in that game,
although I do remember that the stitching was different from anything
that we had ever seen before, and it may be that we were fooled as he
has stated. If so the trick was certainly a clever one.
That same fall Sager and Haskins were engaged by the Rockford team, and
I have always thought that it was due to the representations made by
them that I was engaged to play with the Forest Citys the following
season. I signed with them for a salary of sixty-six dollars a month,
which was then considered a fairly good salary for a ball player, and
especially one who was only eighteen years old and a green country lad
at that.
All that winter Sager and I practiced as best we could in the loft of my
father's barn and I worked as hard as I knew how in order to become
proficient in the ball-playing art.
Before saying farewell to Marshalltown and its ball players let me
relate a most ludicrous incident that took place there some time before
my departure. A feeling of most intense rivalry in the base-ball line
existed between Des Moines and Clinton, Iowa, and one time when the
former had a match on with the latter I received an offer of fifty
dollars from the Clinton team to go on there and play with them in a
single game.
Now fifty dollars at that time was more money than I had ever had at any
one time in my life, and so without consulting any one I determined to
accept the offer. I knew that I would be compelled to disguise myself in
order to escape recognition either by members of the Des Moines team or
by some of the spectators, and this I proceeded to do by dying my hair,
staining my skin, etc.
I did not think that my own father could recognize me, when I completed
my preparations and started to the depot to take the train for Des
Moines, but that was where I made a mistake. The old gentleman ran
against me on the platform, penetrated my disguise at once and asked me
where I was going. I told him, and then he remarked that I should do no
such thing, and he started me back home in a hurry. When he got there he
gave me a lecture, told me that such a proceeding on my part was not
honest and would ruin my reputation. In fact, he made me thoroughly
ashamed of myself. The team from Clinton had to get along without my
services, but I shall never forget what a time I had in getting the dye
out of my hair and the stain from my skin.
That fifty dollars that I didn't get bothered me, too, for a long time
afterwards. I am glad now, however, that the old gentleman prevented me
getting it. Dishonesty does not pay in base-ball any better than it does
in any other business, and that I learned the lesson early in life is a
part of my good fortune.
CHAPTER VI. MY EXPERIENCE AT ROCKFORD.
I can remember almost as well as if it were but yesterday my first
experience as a ball player at Rockford. It was early in the spring, and
so cold that a winter overcoat was comfortable. I had been there but a
day or two when I received orders from the management to report one
afternoon at the ball grounds for practice. It was a day better fitted
for telling stories around a blazing fire than for playing ball, but
orders were orders, and I obeyed them. I soon found that it was to test
my qualities as a batsman that I had been ordered to report. A bleak
March wind blew across the enclosure, and as I doffed my coat and took
my stand at the plate I shivered as though suffering from the ague. This
was partially from the effects of the cold and partially from the
effects of what actors call stage fright, and I do not mind saying right
now that the latter had more than the former to do with it. You must
remember that I was "a stranger in a strange land," a "kid" both as to
years and experience, with a knowledge that my future very largely
depended upon the showing that I might make.
Facing me was "Cherokee Fisher," one of the swiftest of the old-time
underhand pitchers, a man that I had heard a great deal about, but whom
I had never before seen, while watching my every move from the stand
were the directors of the team, conspicuous among them being Hiram
Waldo, whose judgment in base-ball matters was at that time second to no
man's in the West, and a man that I have always been proud to call my
friend.
I can remember now that I had spent some considerable time in selecting
a bat and that I was wondering in my own mind whether I should be able
to hit the ball or not. Finally Fisher began sending them in with all
the speed for which he was noted. I let a couple go by and then I
slammed one out in the right field, and with that first hit my
confidence came back to me. From that time on I batted Fisher
successfully, but the most of my hits were to the right field, owing to
the fact that I could not at that time successfully gauge his delivery,
which was much swifter than anything that I had ever been up against.
In after years a hit to right field was considered "the proper caper,"
and the man who could line a ball out in that direction at the proper
time was looked upon as a most successful batsman. It was to their
ability in that line of hitting that the Bostons for many years owed
their success in winning the championship, though it took some time for
their rivals in the base-ball arena to catch on to that fact.
After that time I was informed by Mr. Waldo that I was "all right," and
as you may imagine this assurance coming from his lips was a most
welcome one, as it meant at that time a great deal to me, a fact that,
young as I was, I thoroughly appreciated.
The make-up of the Rockford Club that season was as follows: Hastings,
catcher; Fisher, pitcher; Fulmer, shortstop; Mack, first base; Addy,
second base; Anson, third base; Ham, left fielder; Bird center fielder;
and Stires, right fielder; Mayer, substitute.
This was a fairly strong organization for those days, and especially so
when the fact is taken into consideration that Rockford was but a little
country town then and the smallest place in size of any in the country
that sup-ported a professional league team, and that the venture was
never a paying one is scarcely to be wondered at. To be sure, it was a
good base-ball town of its size, but it was not large enough to support
an expensive team, and for that reason it dropped out of the arena after
the season of 1871 was over, it being unable to hold its players at the
salaries that it could then afford to pay.
There were several changes in the make-up of the team before the season
was over, but the names of the players as I have given them were those
whose averages were turned in by the Official Scorer of the league at
the end of the season, they having all, with one exception, played in
twenty-five games, that exception being Fulmer, who participated in but
sixteen. I led the team that season both in batting and fielding, as is
shown by the following table, a table by the way that is hardly as
complete as the tables of these latter days:
Players. Games Avg base hits Avg put out Avg assisted
Anson, 3d b 25 1.64 2.27 3.66
Mack, 1st b 25 1.20 11. 0.44
Addy, 2d b 25 1.20 2.72 3.33
Fisher, p 25 1.20 1.16 1.88
Stires, r f 25 1.20 1.27 0.33
Hastings, c 25 1.12 3.33 0.83
Ham, l f 25 1.00 1.50 0.55
Bird, c f 25 1.00 1.66 0.11
Fulmer, s s 16 1.00 2.35 3.57
These averages, in my estimation, are hardly to be relied upon, as
changes in the personnel of the team were often made without due notice
being given, while the system of scoring was faulty and not near so
perfect as at the present writing. This was not the fault of their
compiler, however who was obliged to take the figures given him by the
club scorer, a man more or less incompetent, as the case might be.
Before the regular season began my time at Rockford was mostly spent in
practice, so that I was in fairly good shape when the day arrived for me
to make my professional debut on the diamond. My first game was played
on the home grounds the Rockford team having for its opponent the Forest
City Club of Cleveland, Ohio, a fairly strong organization and one that
that season finished fourth on the list for championship honors, the
Athletics of Philadelphia carrying off the prize.
I had looked forward to this game with fear and misgivings, and my
feelings were by no means improved when I was informed that owing to the
non-arrival of Scott Hastings, the regular catcher, I was expected to
fill that responsible position, one to which I was a comparative
stranger. There was nothing to do but to make the best of the situation,
however, and this I did, though I can truthfully say that for the first
five innings I was as nervous as a kitten.
We were beaten that day by a score of 12 to 4, and though I had a few
passed balls to my credit, yet on the whole I believe that, everything
considered, I played a fairly good game; at least I have been told so by
those who were in a better position to judge than I was.
With that first game my nervousness all passed away, and I settled down
to play a steady game, which I did all through the season. As I have
said, however, the Rockford team was not a strong one, and of the
thirty-two record games in which we engaged we won but thirteen, our
winning scores being as follows: May 17th, at Rockford, Rockford 15,
Olympics of Washington 12; May 23, at Fort Wayne, Rockford 17, Kekionga
13; June 5th, at Philadelphia, Rockford 11, Athletic 10; June 15th, at
Philadelphia, Rockford 10, Athletics 7; July 5th, at Rockford, Rockford
29, Chicago 14; July 31st, at Rockford, Rockford 18, Mutual 5; August
3d, at Rockford, Rockford 4, Kekionga 0 (forfeited); August 7th, at
Chicago, Rockford 16, Chicago 7; August 8th, at Chicago, Rockford 12,
Cleveland 5; September 1st, at Brooklyn, Rockford 39, Athletics 5;
September 2d, at Brooklyn, Rockford 14, Eckford 9; September 5th, at
Troy, Rockford 15, Haymakers 5; September 16th, at Cleveland, Rockford
19, Cleveland 12.
In the final revision many of these games were thrown out for one reason
and another, so that in the official guides for that year the Rockford
Club is credited with only six games won and is given the last position
in the championship race, several of the games with the Athletics being
among those declared forfeited.
I learned more of the world that season with the Rockfords than I had
ever known before. Prior to that time my travels had been confined to
the trips away to school and to some of the towns adjacent to
Marshalltown, and outside of these I knew but little. With the Rockford
team, however, I traveled all over the East and West and learned more
regarding the country I lived in and its wonderful resources than I
could have learned by going to school for the half of a lifetime. The
Rockford management treated the players in those days very nicely. We
traveled in sleeping cars and not in the ordinary day coaches as did
many of the players, and though we were obliged to sleep two in a berth
we did not look upon this as an especial hardship as would the players
of these latter days, many of whom are inclined to grumble because they
cannot have the use of a private stateroom on their travels.
I made acquaintances, too, in all parts of the country that were
invaluable to me in after days, and though I had not finished sowing my
wild oats I think the folly of it all had begun to dawn on my mind as I
saw player after player disappear from the arena, the majority of them
being men who had given promise of being shining lights in the base-ball
world.
Of the men who played with me at Rockford but few remained in the
profession, and these but for a season or two, after which they drifted
into other lines of business. Bob Addy, who was one of the best of the
lot, was a good, hard hustling player, a good base runner and a hard
hitter. He was as honest as the day is long and the last that I heard of
him he was living out in Oregon, where he was engaged in running a tin
shop. He was an odd sort of a genius and quit the game because he
thought he could do better at something else.
"Cherokee" Fisher was originally a Philadelphian, but after the
disbandment of the Rockford Club he came to Chicago, securing a place in
the Fire Department, where he still runs with the machine. He was a good
man in his day and ranked high as a pitcher.
Charles Fulmer was a fair average player. He, too, drifted out of the
game in the early '70s, and the last that I knew of him he was a member
of the Board of Aldermen in the Quaker City.
Scott Hastings, the regular catcher, was a fair all-around player, but
by no means a wonder. After he left Rockford he went to Chicago, where
he was employed for a time in a wholesale clothing house. He is now, or
was at last accounts, in San Francisco and reported as being worth a
comfortable sum of money.
The other members of the old team I have lost sight of and whether they
are living or dead I cannot say. They were a good-hearted, jovial set of
fellows, as a rule, and my association with them was most pleasant, as
was also my relations with the Rockford management, who could not have
treated me better had I been a native son, and to whom I am indebted for
much both in the way of good advice and encouraging words; and let me
say right here that nothing does so much good to a young player as a few
words of approbation spoken in the right way and at the right time. It
braces him up, gives him needed confidence in himself, and goes a long
way further toward making him a first-class player than does continual
fault-finding.
It had been an understood thing, at least so far as the old gentleman
was concerned, when he gave his consent to my playing with Rockford for
a season, that I should at the end of it return home and resume my
studies, but fate ordained otherwise. Several times during the season I
was approached by members of the Athletic Club management with offers to
play as a member of their team the next season, that of 1872, and they
finally offered me the sum of $1,250 per annum for my services. This was
much better than I was doing at Rockford, and vet I was reluctant to
leave the little Illinois town, where I had made my professional debut,
and where I had hosts of friends.
When the end of the season came and the Rockford people offered to again
sign me et the same old figures I told them frankly of the Philadelphia
offer, but at the same time offered to again sign with Rockford,
providing that they would raise my salary to $100 per month. The club
had not made its expenses and they were not even certain that they would
place a professional team in the arena during the next season. This they
told me and also that they could not afford to pay the sum I asked for
my services, and so without consulting the folks at Marshalltown I
appended my name to a Philadelphia contract, and late in the fall bade
good-by to Rockford and its ball players, turning my face towards the
City of Brotherly Love, where I played ball with the Athletics until the
formation of the National League in 1876, and it was not until five
years had elapsed that I revisited my old home in Marshalltown, taking a
bride with me.
CHAPTER VII. WITH THE ATHLETICS OF PHILADELPHIA.
The winter of 1871 and 1872 I spent in Philadelphia, where I put in my
time practicing in the gymnasium, playing billiards and taking in the
sights of a great city.
The whirligig of time had in the meantime made a good many changes in
the membership of the Professional League, for in spite of the fact that
1871 had been the most prosperous year in the history of base-ball, up
to that time, many clubs had fallen by the wayside, their places in the
ranks being taken by new-comers, and that several of these were unable
to weather the storms of 1872 because of a lack of financial support is
now a matter of history.
Conspicuous among the absentees when the season opened was the Chicago
Club, which had been broken up by the great fire that swept over the
Queen of the Inland Seas in October of 1871, and not then reorganized;
the Forest City of Rockford, the Kekiongas of Fort Wayne, and several
others.
At the opening of the regular playing season the League numbered eleven
members, as follows: Boston, of Boston, Mass.; Baltimore, of Baltimore,
Md.; Mutuals, of New York; Athletics, of Philadelphia; Troy, of Troy, N.
Y.; Atlantic, of Brooklyn; Cleveland, of Cleveland, Ohio; Mansfield, of
Mansfield, Ohio; Eckford, of Brooklyn; and Olympic and National, both of
Washington, D. C. Of these eleven clubs but six finished the season, the
others falling out, either because of bad management or a lack of
financial support, these six being the Athletic, Baltimore, Boston,
Mutual, Atlantic and Eckford teams. The first four of these were
regularly salaried clubs, while the two last were co-operative concerns.
The make-up of the Athletics that season was as follows: Malone,
catcher; McBride, pitcher; Mack, first base; Fisler, second base; Anson,
third base; McGeary, shortstop; Cuthbert, left field; Tracey, center
field; and Meyerle, right field. Outside of the Bostons this was the
strongest team that had yet appeared on the diamond. It was even
stronger than the team that represented the Hub in some respects, though
not equal to them as a whole, the latter excelling at team work, which
then, as now, proved one of the most important factors in winning a
championship.
That the Athletics were particularly strong at the bat is shown by the
fact that six of their players that season figure among the first eleven
on the batting list, the Bostons coming next with three, and the
Baltimore third.
In some of the games that we played that season the fielders had a merry
time of it and found at least plenty of exercise in chasing the ball. In
the first games that I played with the Athletics, our opponents being
the Baltimores, the fielders did not have 'a picnic by any means, the
score standing at 34 to 19 at the end of the game, and this in spite of
the fact that the ball used was a "dead one."
During the entire season and not counting exhibition games we played
forty-six games, of which we won thirty and lost sixteen, while the
Bostons, who carried off the championship, took part in fifty-nine
games, of which they won 38 and lost 11.
Figuring in twenty-eight championship games, I finished fourth on the
list of batsmen, with forty-seven base-hits to my credit, an average of
1.67 to the game, a performance that I was at that time very proud of
and that I am not ashamed of even at this late date.
The season of 1873 saw some changes in the make-up of the Athletics, the
nine that season being made up as follows: McGeary, catcher; McBride,
pitcher; Murnane, first base; Fisler, second base; Fulton, third base;
Anson, shortstop; Cuhbert, left field; Reach, center field; Fisler,
right field; and McMullen and Sensenderfer, substitutes.
This was, if anything, a stronger all-around team than the one of the
preceding year, and if it failed to make equally as good a showing it
was because the teams that were opposed to it were also of a better
calibre. The demand for good ball players had risen, and as is usual in
such cases the supply was equal to the demand, just as it would be today
under similar circumstances.
The opening of the championship season found nine clubs ready to compete
for the championship honors, viz.: The Athletics, Atlantics, Baltimore,
Boston, Mutual, Maryland, Philadelphia, Resolute and Washington, and
five of these beside the Athletics had particularly strong teams, the
Maryland, Resolute and Washington teams being the weaklings.
During the year the Athletics took part in fifty professional games, of
which they won twenty-seven and lost twenty-three, and in fourteen
exhibition games, of which they won twelve and lost two, being defeated
in the exhibition series twice by their home rivals, the Philadelphias,
which numbered among its players several who had helped to make the
Athletics famous in former years, among them being Malone and Mack.
Between these two nines there was the strongest kind of a rivalry, and
as both were popular with the home people great crowds turned out to see
the contests between them. One of these contests resulted in a thirteen
inning game, the score then standing at 5 to 4 in favor of the
Philadelphias, greatly to our disgust, and to the intense joy of our
rivals.
For the second time since the formation of the Players' League, Boston
carried off the championship honors, while we were compelled to content
ourselves with the third position, but I still stood forth on the
batting list, and that was some consolation, at least to me.
The opening of the season of 1874 again saw nine clubs ready to do
battle for the championship, but the Maryland and Resolute Clubs were
missing from the list and in their places were the re-organized Chicagos
and the Hartford aggregation, both of which presented strong teams and
teams that, properly managed, might have made much better showing in the
pennant race.
Still more changes had been made in the make-up of the Athletic team,
which in May of that year was composed of the following players: Clapp,
catcher; McBride, second base; Sutton, third base; McGeary, shortstop;
Gedney, left field; McMullen, center field; and Anson, right field.
From the way in which I was changed around from one position to another
in those days it can be readily surmised that I was looked upon as a
sort of a general-utility man, who could play in one position about as
well as in another, which in my humble judgment was a mistake, for in
base-ball as in all other trades and professions the old adage holds
true that a jack-of-all trades is master of none.
The year 1874 will ever be memorable in the history of the game by
reason of the fact that base-ball was then introduced to the notice of
our English cousins by a trip that was made to the "Tight Little Isle"
by the members of the Boston and Athletic Clubs, a trip of which I shall
have more to say later, and also by reason of the fact that the game
that season enjoyed a veritable boom, clubs of the professional,
semi-professional and amateur variety springing up in every direction.
The clubs going to make up the Professional League were admittedly
stronger than ever before, and to take the pennant from Boston was the
avowed ambition not only of the Athletics but of every team that was to
contest against the "Hub" aggregation. The effort was, however, as
futile as those of the two preceding years had been, and for the third
successive season the teams from the modern Athens carried off the
prize, not because they were the better ball players, but for the reason
that better discipline was preserved among them and they were better
managed in every way than were any of their opponents. For the second
time we were compelled to content ourselves with the third place in the
race, the second going to the Mutuals of New York, that being the first
time since the Professional League was organized that they had climbed
so high up the ladder. The Philadelphias fell from the second to the
fourth place and the Chicago "White Stockings," of whom great things had
been expected, finished on the fifth rung of the ladder.
Of the fifty-two record games that were counted as championship contests
and that were played by the Athletics, we won thirty-one and lost
twenty-one, while of the sixty games in which the Bostons figured they
won forty-three and lost but seventeen, a wonderful showing when the
playing strength of the clubs pitted against them is taken into
consideration.
Among the batsmen that season I stood eighth on the list, the lowest
position that I had occupied since I broke into the ranks of the
professional players.
When the season of 1875 opened I little realized that it was to be the
last year that I should wear an Athletic uniform, and yet such proved to
be the case. While playing with them my salary had been raised each
successive season, until I was now drawing $1,800 a year, and the limit
had not yet been reached, as I was to find out later, although at the
time I left Philadelphia for Chicago I would, for personal reasons that
will appear later, have preferred to remain with the Athletics at a
considerable less salary than I was afterward paid. This, too, was
destined to be the last year of the Professional League, the National
League taking its place, and as a result a general shifting about among
the players took place in 1876, many of the old-time ball tossers being
at that time lost in the shuffle.
The year 1875 saw no less than thirteen clubs enter the championship
arena, Philadelphia being represented by no less than three, while St.
Louis, a new-comer, furnished two aspirants for the honors, the full
list being as follows: Boston, Athletic, Hartford, St. Louis,
Philadelphia, Chicago, Mutual, New Haven, St. Louis Reds, Washington,
Centennial, Atlantic and Western, the latter organization representing
the far Western city of Keokuk.
The series consisted of ten games, six to be played as the legal quota,
and at the close of the season but seven of the thirteen original
championship seekers had fulfilled the conditions, three of the clubs
having been disbanded when the season was but about half over. Again and
for the fourth time the Boston aggregation carried off the honors, with
a record unsurpassed up to that time, as out of seventy-nine games
played they won seventy-one and lost but eight, while the Athletics, who
finished in the second place, played seventy-three games in all, losing
twenty and winning fifty-three.
That three of the clubs that started in the race should have dropped out
as they did is not to be wondered at, and why one of them at least was
ever allowed to enter is a mystery. Looked at from a purely geographical
standpoint, the Keokuk Club, known as the Western, was doomed to failure
from the very start. It was too far away from the center of the base-ball
interests and the expense of reaching it too great to warrant the
Eastern clubs in making the trip, and the city itself was too small to
turn out a paying crowd, while the other two local clubs found the field
already too well covered and succumbed to local opposition.
Small scores in 1875 were the rule and not the exception. The sharp
fielding and the restrictions placed on the batter, which had grown
closer with each passing season, made the running up of such big scores
as marked the game in the early days impossible, while the many close
contests that took place added greatly to the popularity of what was now
fully recognized as distinctively the National Game of America.
It was not all smooth sailing for the promoters of the game, even at
this time. In the many poolrooms then existing throughout the country
and especially in the larger cities great sums of money were wagered on
the result of the various contests, and as a result "crookedness" on the
part of various players was being charged, and though these charges were
vigorously denied by those interested the denials carried but little
weight in view of the in-and-out performances of the teams in which they
were engaged.
There was a lack of discipline, too, among the players, and it was the
necessity for prompt action in stamping out the evils then existing that
caused the birth of the new National League and the death of the old
organization.
There are "crooks" in all professions, but I venture the assertion right
here that the "crooks" in base-ball have indeed been few and far
between. Once detected, they have been summarily dismissed from the
ranks, and with the brand of dishonesty stamped upon them they have been
forced to earn a living in some other way.
It has long been a maxim among the followers of racing that "a crooked
jockey" is always "broke," and this same saying holds good regarding the
crooked ball players. I might mention the names of several players who
were summarily dismissed from the league ranks because of crookedness
and who have since that time managed to eke out a miserable existence by
hanging about poolrooms and bucket-shops, but what good would it do?
They have learned their lesson and the lesson has indeed been a bitter
one.
It must be remembered, however, that the charges against these men were
proven. They were not dismissed because of idle hearsay, but because of
absolute and convincing proof. The breath of scandal has assailed more
than one ball player without any good and convincing reason, and will
doubtless do so again, just as it has assailed private reputations of
men in other walks of life. The breath of truth has blown these scandals
aside, however, and to-day the professional ball player stands as high
in the estimation of his fellow men, providing that he conducts himself
as a gentleman and not as a loafer, as does the professional man in
other walks of life.
CHAPTER VIII. SOME MINOR DIVERSIONS.
Philadelphia is a good city to live in, at least I found it so, and had
I had my own way I presume that I should still be a resident of the city
that William Penn founded instead of a citizen of Chicago, while had I
had my own way when I left Marshalltown to go into a world I knew but
little about I might never have lived in Philadelphia at all. At that
time I was more than anxious to come to Chicago and did my best to
secure a position with the Chicago Club, of which Tom Foley, the veteran
billiard-room keeper, was then the manager. As he has since informed me,
he was looking at that time for ball players with a reputation, and not
for players who had a reputation yet to make, as was the case with me,
and so he turned my application down with the result that I began my
professional career in Rockford instead of in Chicago, as I had wished
to do. "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good," however, and for the
Providence that took me to Rockford and afterward to the "City of
Brotherly Love," I am at this late day truly thankful, however
displeased I may have been at that time.
I have often consoled myself since then with the reflection that had I
come to Chicago to start my career in 1871, that career might have come
to a sudden end right there and then, and all of my hopes for the future
might have gone up in smoke, for the big fire that blotted out the city
scattered the members of the Chicago Base Ball club far and wide and
left many of them stranded, for the me being at least, on the sands of
adversity.
Shakespeare has said, "There is a Providence that shapes our ends rough
hew them as we will," and it seems to me that the immortal Bard of Avon
must have had my case in mind when he wrote that line, for I can see but
little to complain about thus far in the treatment accorded me by
Providence, though I am willing to admit that there was some pretty
rough hewing to do before I was knocked into any shape at all.
When I began playing ball at Rockford I was just at that age when, in my
estimation, I knew a heap more than did the old man, and that idea had
not been entirely knocked out of my head when I arrived in Philadelphia.
The outdoor life that I had led when a youngster, the constant exercise
that I had indulged in, together with the self-evident truth that the
Lord had blessed me with a constitution that a young bull might envy,
had all conspired to make me a young giant in strength, and as a result
I was as full of animal spirits as is an unbroken thoroughbred colt, and
as impatient of restraint.
Good advice was, to a greater or less extent, thrown away upon me, and
if I had any trouble it rolled off from my broad shoulders as water from
a duck's back and left not a trace behind. In the language of the old
song, I was, "Good for any game at night, my boys," or day, either, for
that matter, and the pranks that I played and the scrapes that I got
into were, some of them, not of a very creditable nature, though they
were due more to exuberation than to any innate love of wrong-doing.
In any contest that required strength and skill I was always ready to
take a hand, and in these contests I was able to hold my own as a rule,
though now and then I got the worst of it, as was the case when I
entered the throwing match at the Union Grounds in Brooklyn in October,
1872. The entries were Hatfield and Boyd, of the Mutuals; George Wright
and Leonard, of the Bostons, and Fisler and myself, representing the
Athletics. The ball was thrown from a rope stretched between two stakes
driven into the ground one hundred and ten yards from the home-plate.
Each competitor was allowed three throws, and the rules governing the
contest required that the ball be dropped within two large bags placed
on a line with the home-plate and about sixty feet apart. Hatfield led
us all in each of his three trials, and on the last one he beat his own
record of 132 yards made at Cincinnati in 1868 by clearing 133 yards 1
foot and 7 1/2 inches. Leonard came next with 119 yards 1 foot 10
inches, Wright third with 117 yards 1 foot 1 inch, Boyd fourth with 115
yards 1 foot 7 inches, Fisler fifth with 112 yards 6 inches, while your
humble servant brought up the tail end of the procession with a throw of
110 yards and 6 inches, not a bad performance in itself, but lacking a
long ways of being good enough to get the money with.
Among the famous characters of which the Quaker City boasted in those
days was Prof. William McLean, or "Billy" McLean, as he was generally
called, an ex-prize fighter and a boxing teacher whose reputation for
skill with the padded mitts was second to no man's in the country. To
take boxing lessons from a professional who really knew something
touching the "noble art of self-defense," as the followers of ring
sports would say, was something that I had never had an opportunity of
doing before, and it is hardly to be wondered at that I availed myself
of the chance before I had been there a very long time.
I towered over McLean like a mountain over a mole hill, and I remember
well that the first time that I faced him I thought what an easy matter
it would be for me to knock his reputation into a cocked hat, and that
before a man could say "Jack Robinson." In a very few moments, however,
I had changed my opinion. I had fancied that I was a pretty good sort of
a man myself with or without the gloves, but long before the end of that
first lesson I had come to the conclusion that my education in that
line, as well as others, had been neglected, and that I still had
considerable to learn. McLean went around me very much as a cooper goes
around a barrel, hitting me wherever and whenever he pleased, and the
worst of the matter was that I could not hit him at all. It was not
until after he had convinced me just how little I knew that he began to
teach me, beginning with the rudiments of the art. I proved to be an apt
pupil and soon became quite proficient at the game, in fact so good was
I that I sometimes fancied that I could lick a whole army of wildcats,
this being especially the case when the beer was in and the wit was out,
for be it beer or wine, the effect is generally the same, a fact that I
had not yet learned, though it dawned on me long before I left
Philadelphia, and I quit it for good and all, to which fact I attribute
the success that I have since met with both in the sporting and the
business world.
It was in 1875 and during my last season with the Athletics, if I
remember rightly, that I became involved in a saloon row, that, to say
the least of it, was not to my credit, and that I have been ashamed of
ever since. We had been out to the grounds practicing until nearly
nightfall and on the way home we stepped into a German saloon on the
corner for the purpose of refreshing the inner man and washing the dust
out of our throats. In some way the conversation turned on the doings of
various fighters and I expressed myself pretty freely concerning their
merits and demerits, for having taken boxing lessons, I was naturally
anxious to set myself up as an authority on matters pugilistic.
Just as we were in the midst of the argument a fresh policeman happened
along and "chipped into the game" with the remark that if there was any
fighting to be done he would himself take a hand in it.
That was my chance. For what had I taken boxing lessons unless I could
at least do a policeman? "Come on!" I yelled and then I smashed him. He
was not the only policeman on the beat, however. There were others--in
fact, several of them, and they clubbed me good and plenty, finally
leading me away with the nippers on.
Arriving at the police station, and a pretty tough-looking object I was,
as you may imagine, I immediately sent for the President of the club,
who, as good luck would have it, was also a Police Commissioner. When he
put in an appearance he looked at me in astonishment and then asked me
what I had been doing.
I told him that I hadn't been doing anything, but that I had tried to do
the whole police force, and with very poor success. I was released on
honor that night and the next morning appeared before Alderman Buck, who
listened to both sides of the story, and then let me go, thinking by my
appearance, doubtless, that I had already been punished enough. After
court had adjourned we all adjourned on my motion to the nearest saloon,
where we had several rounds of drink and then--well, then I started in to
celebrate a victory that was, after all, a good deal more like a defeat.
While thus engaged I was unfortunate enough to run up against the young
lady that I had already determined to make Mrs. Anson, and not being in
the best of condition, she naturally enough did not like it, but as
Rudyard Kipling says--that is another story.
That experience ended the wild-oats business for me, however, and
although the crop that I had sown was, comparatively speaking, a small
one, yet it was more than sufficient for all my needs, and I now regret
at times that I was foolish enough to sow any at all.
The only other row that I ever had of any consequence took place on a
street car one day when I was going out to the ball grounds, a game
between the Athletics and Chicagos being scheduled for decision. The
most intense rivalry existed at that time between these two
organizations and the feeling among their partisans ran high. A
gentleman on the car--at least he was dressed like a gentleman--asked me
what I thought in regard to the relative strength of the two
organizations. At that time I had some $1,500 invested in club stock and
naturally my feelings leaned toward the club of which I was a member,
still I realized that they were pretty evenly matched, and I so stated.
He then remarked in sneering tones, "Oh, I don't know. I guess they play
to win or lose as will best suit their own pockets."
I informed him that if he meant to insinuate that either one of them
would throw a game, he was a liar.
He gave me the lie in return and then I smashed him, and I am not
ashamed to say that I would do it again under the same circumstances.
I have heard just such remarks as that made even in this late day,
remarks that are as unjust to the players as they are uncalled for by
the circumstances. Lots of men seem 'to forget that the element of luck
enters largely into base-ball just as it does into any other business,
and that things may happen during a contest that cannot be foreseen
either by the club management or by the field captain.
An unlucky stumble on the part of a base runner or a dancing sunbeam
that gets into a fielder's eyes at some critical time in the play may
cost a game; indeed, it has on more than one occasion, and yet to the
man who simply judges the game by the reports that may read in the
papers the thing has apparently a "fishy" look, for the reason that
neither the sunbeam nor the stumble receives mention.
If every sport and business man in this world were as crooked as some
folks would have us to believe, this would indeed be a poor world to
live in, and I for one would be perfectly willing to be out of it.
The real truth of the matter is that the crooks in any line are few and
far between. That being the case it's a pretty fair old sort of a world,
and I for one am glad that I am still in it, and very much in it at
that.
CHAPTER IX. WE BALL PLAYERS GO ABROAD.
The first trip that was ever made across the big pond by American ball
players and to which brief reference was made in an earlier chapter,
took place in the summer of 1874. London was, as a matter of course, our
first objective point, and I considered myself lucky indeed in being a
member of one of the organizations that was to attempt to teach our
English cousins the beauties of America's National Game.
The two clubs selected to make the trip were the Bostons, then
champions, and the Athletics, and the players who were to represent
them, together with their positions, are given below:
BOSTON POSITIONS ATHLETIC
Catcher John E. Clapp
A. G. Spalding Pitcher Jas. D. McBride
Jas. O'Rourke First base West D. Fisler
Ross C. Barnes Second base Jos. Battin
Harry Schafer Third base Ezra B. Sutton
Geo. Wright Shortstop M. E. McGeary
A.J. Leonard Left field Albert W. Gedney
Cal C. McVey Right field A. C. Anson
Harry Wright Center field Jas. F. McMullen
Geo. W. Hall Substitute Al J. Reach
Thos. H. Beals Substitute J. P. Sensenderfer
Sam Wright, Jr. Substitute Tim Murnane
James White of the Boston team declined to go at the last moment, his
place being taken by Kent of the Harvard College team while Al Reach was
kept from making the trip by business engagements. Alfred H. Wright of
the "New York Clipper" and Philadelphia "Sunday Mercury," and H. S.
Kempton of the "Boston Herald" both accompanied us and scored the
base-ball games that were played on the trip, while the first-named
officiated in the same capacity when the game was cricket. In addition
to these men, both clubs were accompanied by large parties of friends
who were anxious to see what sort of a reception would be accorded to us
by our British cousins, who had never yet witnessed a base-ball game,
their nearest approach to it having been to look on at a game of
"rounders."
The entire cabin of the steamship Ohio had been engaged for ourselves
and our friends, and on July 16th a great crowd assembled at the wharf
to see us off and to wish us God-speed on our journey. The trip across
was fortunately a pleasant one and as we were a jolly party the time
passed all too quickly, the seductive game of draw poker and other
amusements of a kindred sort helping us to forget that the old gentleman
with the scythe and hourglass was still busily engaged in making his
daily rounds.
It was my first sea voyage, and to say that I enjoyed it would be to
state but the simple truth. The element of poetry was left largely out
of my make-up and so I did not go into ecstasies over the foam-crested
waves as did several of the party, but I was as fond of watching for the
flying fish that now and then skimmed the waves and for the porpoises
that often put in an appearance as any of the rest of the party. If I
speculated at all as to the immensity of the rolling deep by which we
were surrounded, it was because I wished that I might be able to devise
some plan for bottling it up and sending it out West to the old
gentleman to be used for irrigating purposes. That such an amount of
water should have been, allowed to go to waste was to me a matter for
wonderment. I was looking at the practical side of the matter, and not
at the poetical.
July 27th we arrived at Liverpool and as the majority of us had grown
tired of the monotony of sea life we were glad enough once more to set
foot on solid land. With fourteen games of ball to be played and seven
games of cricket we had but little time to devote to sight-seeing,
though you may be sure that we utilized the days and nights that we had
off for that purpose.
There was considerable curiosity on the part of our British cousins to
see what the American Game was like and as a result we were greeted by
large crowds wherever we went. We were treated with the greatest
kindness both by press and public and words of praise for our skill both
at batting and fielding were to be heard on all sides. Exhibition games
between the two clubs were played at Liverpool, Manchester, London,
Sheffield and Dublin, the Boston Club winning eight games and the
Athletics six.
When it came to playing cricket we proved to be something of a surprise
party. In these games we played eighteen men against eleven and defeated
with ease such, crack, organizations as the Marylebone, Prince's, and
Surrey Clubs in London, the Sheffield Club at Sheffield; the Manchester
Club in Manchester and the All-Ireland Club in Dublin, while the game
with the Richmond Club was drawn on account of rain, we having the best
of it at that time. While I was, comparatively speaking, a novice in
this game, at which the Wrights were experts, they having enjoyed a
reputation as first-class cricketers in America for years, yet I managed
to make the highest score of all in our game with the All-Ireland
Eleven, and to hold my own fairly well in the other cricket games that
were played.
It is impossible for me to speak too highly of the treatment that was
accorded to us on this trip both in England and Ireland, where peer and
peasant both combined to make our visit a pleasant one. We were
entertained in royal style wherever we went and apparently there was
nothing too good for us. Lords and ladies were largely in evidence among
the spectators wherever we played and among our own countrymen residing
in the British metropolis we were the lions of the day.
The contrast between the crowds in attendance at our games there and
those that greeted us at home attracted my attention most forcibly. An
English crowd is at all times quiet and sedate as compared with a crowd
in our own country. They are slower to grasp a situation and to seize
upon the fine points of a play. This, so far as base-ball was concerned,
was only to be expected, the game being a strange one, but the same fact
was true when it came to their own National game, that of cricket. There
was an apparent listlessness, too, in their playing that would have
provoked a storm of cat-calls and other cries of derision from the
occupants of the bleaching boards at home.
It was our skill at fielding more than at batting that attracted the
attention of the Britishers and that brought out their applause. Our
work in that line was a revelation to them, and that it was the direct
cause of a great improvement afterwards in their own game there can be
no reason to doubt.
Between sight-seeing and base-ball and cricket playing the thirty days
allotted to our visit passed all too quickly and when the time came for
us to start on our homeward journey there was not one of the party but
what would gladly have remained for a longer period of time in "Merry
England," had such a thing been possible. It was a goodly company of
friends that assembled at the dock in Queenstown to wish us a pleasant
voyage on August 27th, which was just one month to a day from the date
of our arrival, and we were soon homeward bound on board of the
steamship Abbotsford. The voyage back was anything but a pleasant one
and more than half the party were down at one time and another from the
effects of seasickness. Old Neptune had evidently made up his mind to
show us both sides of his character and he shook us about on that return
voyage very much as though we were but small particles of shot in a
rattle-box.
We arrived at Philadelphia Sept. 9, where we were the recipients of a
most enthusiastic ovation, in which brass bands and a banquet played a
most important part, and after the buffeting about that we had received
from the waves of old ocean we were glad indeed that the voyage was
over.
The impression that base-ball made upon the lovers of sport in England
can be best illustrated by the following quotations taken from the
columns of the London Field, then, as now, one of the leading sporting
papers of that country:
"Base-ball is a scientific game, more difficult than many who are in the
habit of judging hastily from the outward semblance can possibly
imagine. It is in fact the cricket of the American continent,
considerably altered since its first origin, as has been cricket, by the
yearly recourse to the improvements necessitated by the experience of
each season. In the cricket field there is at times a wearisome monotony
that is entirely unknown to baseball. To watch it played is most
interesting, as the attention is concentrated but for a short time and
not allowed to succumb to undue pressure of prolonged suspense. The
broad principles of base-ball are not by any means difficult of
comprehension. The theory of the game is not unlike that of 'Rounders,'
in that bases have to be run; but the details are in every way
different.
"To play base-ball requires judgment, courage; presence of mind and the
possession of much the same qualities as at cricket. To see it played by
experts will astonish those who only know it by written descriptions,
for it is a fast game, full of change and excitement and not in the
least degree wearisome. To see the best players field even is a sight
that ought to do a cricketer's heart good; the agility, dash and
accuracy of tossing and catching possessed by the Americans being
wonderful."
This, coming at that time from a paper of the "Field's" high standing
was praise, indeed, but the fact remains that the game itself, in spite
of all the efforts made to introduce it, has never become popular in
England, for the reason perhaps that it possesses too many elements of
dash and danger and requires too much of an effort to play it.
Commenting after our return to this country upon this tour and its
results, Henry Chadwick, the oldest writer on base-ball in this country
and an acknowledged authority on the game, said:
"The visit of the American base-hall players to England and the success
they met there, not only in popularizing the American National Game but
in their matches at cricket with the leading Cricket Clubs of England,
did more for the best interests of base-ball than anything that has
occurred since the first tour through the country of the noted Excelsior
Club of Brooklyn in 1860. In the first place, the visit in question has
resulted in setting at rest forever the much debated question as to
whether we had a National Game or not, the English press with rare
unanimity candidly acknowledging that the 'new game of base-ball' is
unquestionably the American National Game. Secondly, the splendid
display of fielding exhibited by the American ball players has opened
the eyes of English cricketers to the important fact that in their
efforts to equalize the attack and defense in their national game of
cricket, in which they have looked only to certain modifications of the
rules governing bowling and batting, they have entirely ignored the
important element of the game, viz., fielding; and that this element is
so important is a fact that has been duly proved by the brilliant
success of the American base-ball players in cricket, a game in which
the majority of them were mere novices, and yet by their ability as
fielders in keeping down their adversaries' scores they fully
demonstrated that skill in fielding is as great an element of success in
cricketing as bowling and batting, if it be not greater, and also that
the principles of saving runs by sharp fielding is as sound as that of
making runs by skillful batting. But, moreover, they have shown by this
self-same fielding skill that the game of base-ball is a better school
for fielding than cricket, the peculiarity of the play in the former
game requiring a prompter return of the ball from the outfield, swifter
and more accurate throwing, and surer catching than the ordinary
practice of cricket would seem to need.
"Another result of the tour has been to show our English cousins the
great contrast between the character and habits of our American
base-ball professionals and those of the English professional cricketers,
taking them as a class. One of the London players warmly complimented
the American players on their fine physique as athletes and especially
commented on their abstemious habits in contrast, as the paper stated
'with our beer-drinking English professional cricketers.' In fact, the
visit of the baseball players has opened old John Bull's eyes to the
fact that we are not as neglectful of athletic sports as he thought we
were, for one thing, and in our American baseball representatives we
presented a corps of fielders the equal of which in brilliancy of play
England has never seen even among the most expert of her best trained
cricketers. So much for our National Game of base-ball as a school for
fielding in cricket. We sent these ball players out to show England how
we played ball, but with no idea of their being able to accomplish much
at cricket; but to our most agreeable surprise they defeated every club
that they played with at that game, and Bell's Life does the American
team the justice to say that an eleven could no doubt be selected from
the American ball players that would trouble some of the best of our
elevens to defeat.
"The telegrams from England in every instance referred to the games
played as between twenty-two Americans and eleven English, but when the
regular reports were secured by mail it was found that it was eighteen
against twelve, quite a difference as regards the odds against side. The
first dispatch also referred to the 'weak team presented against the
Americans,' but the score when received showed that the eighteen had
against them in the first match six of the crack team which came over
here in 1872, together with two professionals and four of the strongest
of the Marylebone Club. Englishmen did not dream that the base-ball
novices could make such a good showing in the game, and knowing nothing
of their ability as fielders they thought it would be an easy task to
defeat even double their own number, the defeat of the celebrated Surrey
and Prince's Club twelves in one inning, and of the strong teams of
Sheffield, Manchester and Dublin by large scores, opened their eyes to
their mistake, and very naturally they began to hold the game that could
yield such players in great respect.
"Worthy of praise as the success of our base-ball representatives in
England is, the fact of their admirable deportment and gentlemanly
conduct on and off the field, is one which commends itself even more to
the praise of our home people. That they were invited to so many high
places and held intercourse with so many of the best people fully shows
that their behavior was commendable in the extreme. Considering
therefore the brilliant success of the tour and the credit done the
American name by these base-ball representatives, it was proper that
their reception on their reappearance in our midst should be
commensurate with their high salaries, for in every respect did they do
credit to themselves and our American game of `base-ball.'"
CHAPTER X. THE ARGONAUTS OF 1874.
The players that made the first trip abroad in the interest of the
National Game may well be styled the Argonauts of Base-ball, and though
they brought back with them but little of the golden fleece, the trip
being financially a failure, their memory is one that should always be
kept green in the hearts of the game's lovers, if for no other reason
than because they were the first to show our British cousins what the
American athlete could do when it came both to inventing and playing a
game of his own.
That they failed to make the game a popular one abroad was no fault of
theirs, the fault lying, if anywhere, in the deep-rooted prejudice of
the English people against anything that savored of newness and
Americanism, and in the love that they had for their own national game
of cricket, a game that had been played by them for generations.
I doubt if a better body of men, with the exception of your humble
servant, who was too young at the game to have been taken into account,
could have been selected at that time to illustrate the beauties of the
National game in a foreign clime.
They were ball players, every one of them, and though new stars have
risen and set since then, the stars of thirty years ago still live in
the memory both of those who accompanied them on the trip and those who
but knew of them through the annals of the game as published in the
daily press and in the guide books.
Harry Wright, the captain of the Boston Reds, was even then the oldest
ball player among the Argonauts, he having played the game for twenty
years, being a member of the old Knickerbockers when many of his
companions had not as yet attained the dignity of their first pair of
pants. He was noted, too, as a cricketer of no mean ability, having
succeeded his father as the professional of the famous St. George Club
long before he was ever heard of in connection with the National Game.
As an exponent of the National Game he first became noted as the captain
of the celebrated Red Stocking Club of Cincinnati, a nine that went
through the season of 1869, playing games from Maine to California
without a single defeat. As captain and manager of a ball team Mr.
Wright had few equals, and no superiors, as his subsequent history in
connection with the Boston and Philadelphia Clubs will prove. He was a
believer in kind words and governed his players more by precept and
example than by any set of rules that he laid down for their guidance.
As a player at the time of this trip he was still in his prime and could
hold his own with any of the younger men in the outfit, while his
knowledge of the English game proved almost invaluable to us. Harry
Wright died in 1895, and when he passed away I lost a steadfast friend,
and the base-ball world a man that was an honor in every way to the
profession.
A.G. Spalding was at that time justly regarded as being one of the very
best pitchers in the profession, and from the time that he first
appeared in a Boston uniform until the time that he left the club and
cast his fortunes with the Chicagos he was a great favorite with both
press and public. As Harry Chadwick once wrote of him, "In judgment,
command of the ball, pluck, endurance, and nerve in his position he had
no superior." He could disguise a change of pace in such a manner as to
deceive the most expert batsman, while as a scientific hitter himself he
had few superiors. He had brains and used them, and this made him a
success not only as a ball player but as a business man. As a
manufacturer and dealer, Mr. Spalding has acquired a world-wide
reputation, and it is safe to say that none glory in his success more
than do his old associates on the ball field.
James O'Rourke, or "Jim," as we all called him, was a splendid ball
player and especially excelled in playing behind the bat and in the
outfield, which position he played for many years. A sure catch, an
active fielder, a good thrower, and a fine batsman, O'Rourke was always
to be relied upon. Born of Irish parentage, he hailed from the Nutmeg
State and was when I last heard of him in business at Bridgeport, Conn.,
and reported as doing well. He was a quiet, gentlemanly young fellow,
blessed with a goodly share of Irish wit, and a rich vocabulary of
jawbreaking words.
Ross Barnes, who held down the second bag, was one of the best ball
players that ever wore a shoe, and I would like to have nine men just
like him right now under my management. He was an all-around man, and I
do not know of a single man on the diamond at the present time that I
regard as his superior. He was a Rockford product, but after his ball
playing days were over he drifted to Chicago and was at the last time I
saw him circulating around on the open Board of Trade.
"Harry" Schafer was a good, all-around player, but I have seen men that
could play third base a good deal better than he could. Sometimes his
work was of a brilliant character, while at others it was but mediocre.
He was a native of Pennsylvania and his usually smiling face and
unfailing fund of good nature served to make him a general favorite
wherever he went.
George Wright, a brother of the lamented Harry, was another splendid
all-around ball player, and one that up to the time that he injured his
leg had no equal in his position, that of shortstop. He was one of the
swiftest and most accurate of throwers, and could pull down a ball that
would have gone over the head of almost any other man in the business,
bounding into the air for it like a rubber ball. As a cricketer he
ranked among the best in the country. Retiring from the ball field, he
became a dealer in sporting goods at Boston, Mass., where he still is,
and where he is reported to have "struck it rich."
Andrew J. Leonard, a product of the Emerald Isle, was brought up in New
Jersey, and excelled as an outfielder, being a splendid judge of high
balls, a sure catch, and a swift and accurate long-distance thrower. He
was a good batsman and a splendid base runner, and was nearly as good a
player on the infield as in the out. He is at present in Newark, N. J.,
where he is engaged in business and reported as fairly successful.
Cal C. McVey, the heavy-weight of the team, came like myself from the
broad prairies of Iowa, and was built about as I am, on good, broad
Western lines. He was a fairly good outfielder, but excelled either as a
catcher or baseman. He was conscientious and a hard worker, but his
strongest point was his batting, and as a wielder of the ash he had at
that time few superiors. He is somewhere in California at the present
writing, and has money enough in his pocket to pay for at least a
lodging and breakfast, and does not have to worry as to where his dinner
is to come from.
Young Kent, the Harvard College man, who took Jim White's place on the
trip, was a tall, rangy fellow and a good amateur ball player. He never
joined the professional ranks, but since his graduation has written
several books, and made himself quite a reputation in literary circles.
John E. Clapp, the regular catcher of the Athletics, was a cool, quiet,
plucky fellow, and one of the best catchers at that time the profession
could boast of. He hailed originally from New York, I believe, and while
in England surprised the cricketers by his fine catching, no ball being
too hot for him to handle. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he is now a
member of the Ithaca, N. Y., police force, and an honored member of the
blue-coat and brass-button brigade.
James Dickson McBride, who was better known the country over as "Dick"
McBride, was at that time the most experienced man in his position that
the country could boast of, he having been the regular pitcher of the
Athletics since 1860. He had speed in a marked degree, plenty of pluck
and endurance and a thorough command of the ball. He was a man of
brains, who always played to win, and to his hard work and general
knowledge of the fine points of the game the Athletics owed much of
their success. "Dick" was a good cricketer, too, that being his game
prior to his appearance on the diamond. He hailed from the Quaker City,
where he still resides, having a good position in the postoffice.
West D. Fisler was a fine, all-around ball player, remarkable for his
coolness and nerve. He was a very quiet sort of fellow and one of the
last men that you would pick out for a really great player. He could
play any position on the team, was thoroughly honest and always played
the best he knew how. He is still living in the neighborhood of
Philadelphia, and though not rich in this world's goods, has still
enough to live on.
Joe Batten was the youngest member of the Athletic team and at that time
quite a promising young player. He did not last long with the Athletics,
however, and after playing on one or two other league teams he dropped
out sight. He was a bricklayer by trade, and the last time I heard of
him he was in St. Louis working at his trade.
Ezra B. Sutton then ranked as one of the best third-base players in the
country. He was one of the most accurate throwers that I ever saw; a
splendid fielder and a good batter, though not a particularly heavy one.
When he finally quit the game he settled down in business at Rochester,
where he was still living the last I heard of him. A good man was
Sutton, and one that would compare very favorably with the best in his
line at the present day.
M. H. McGeary was a Pennsylvanian by birth, though not a Dutchman, as
his name goes to prove. He was not only an effective and active
shortstop but a good change catcher as well, being noted for his
handling of sharp fly tips while in the latter position. He was in
Philadelphia when last heard from, and doing fairly well.
Albert W. Gedney was the postoffice clerk of the New York State Senate
at the time of our trip, and was one of the best of left fielders, being
an excellent judge of high balls and a sure catch, especially in taking
balls on the run. He is now a prosperous mill owner near New York City
and does not have to worry as to where the next meal is coming from.
James McMullen, who played the center field, was an active and effective
man in that position. He was also a fairly good left-handed pitcher, and
a rattling good batsman, who excelled in fair-foul hitting. McMullen was
an all-around good fellow, and when he died in 1881 he left a host of
friends to mourn his loss.
J. P. Sensenderfer accompanied the club as, a substitute, as did Timothy
Murnane, and both were good, all-around ball players, and are both still
in the land of the living and doing more than well, Philadelphia being
the abiding place of the former, while the last named is the sporting
editor of the "Boston Globe."
I take particular pride in calling the attention of the public to the
fact that but one player of all those making the trip went wrong in the
after years, that one being George W. Hall, who accompanied the Bostons
as a substitute and who in company with A. H. Nichols, James H. Craver
and James A. Devlin was expelled by the Louisville Club in 1877 for
crooked playing, they having sold out to the gamblers.
That there should have been but one black sheep among so many, in my
estimation speaks well for the integrity of ball players as a class and
for the Argonauts of 1874 in particular.
That the great majority of these men have also made a success in other
lines of business since they retired from the profession is also an
argument in favor of teaching the young athletic sports. A successful
athlete must be the possessor of courage, pluck and good habits, and
these three attributes combined will make a successful business man no
matter what that particular line of business may be.
For the companions of that, my first trip across the Atlantic, who are
still in the land of the living I have still a warm place in my heart. I
have both slept and eaten with them, and if we have disagreed in some
particulars it was an honest disagreement. Whenever the information
comes to me that some one of them is doing particularly well, I am
honestly glad of it, and I have faith enough in human nature to believe
that they have the same feeling so far as I am concerned.
For the two that are dead I have naught but kind words and pleasant
memories. They were my friends while living, and dead I still cherish
their memory.
To me they are not dead, only sleeping.
CHAPTER XI. I WIN ONE PRIZE AND OTHERS FOLLOW.
If it is true, as some people allege, that marriage is a lottery, then
all I have to say regarding it is that I drew the capital prize and
consequently may well be regarded as a lucky man, for truer, fonder, and
more sensible wife than I have, or a happier home cannot be found even
though you search the wide world over. It was in Philadelphia that I
wooed and won her, and I was by no means the only contestant that was in
the field for her heart and hand. There were others, and one in
particular that was far better looking and much more of a lady's man
than myself, but when he found that I had a pull at the weights he
retired, though not without a struggle, and left me in undisputed
possession of the field.
Just why I happened to be the successful suitor is now, and always has
been, to me a mystery. I have asked Mrs. Anson to explain, but somehow I
can get very little satisfaction. I was by no means a model man in the
early days of my courtship, as my experiences detailed elsewhere go to
prove, but I was an honest and faithful wooer, as my wife can testify,
and that perhaps had as much to do with the successful termination of my
suit as anything. I had been used to having everything that I wanted
from my babyhood up, and after I had once made up my mind that I wanted
my wife, which I did very early in our acquaintance, I laid siege to her
heart with all the artifices that I could command.
I am sometimes inclined to believe that I fell in love with her, at
least part way, the very first time that I met her, else why should I
remember her so vividly?
Her name was Virginia M. Fiegal, and she was one of a family of two, and
the only daughter, her father being John Fiegal, a hotel and restaurant
man in the Quaker City.
The first time that I ever saw her was at a ball given by the National
Guards in Philadelphia, and though she was then but a fair-haired,
blue-eyed girl of some twelve or thirteen summers, and still in short
dresses, she attracted my attention. Just how she was dressed on that
occasion I could not tell you to save my life, nor do I think I could
have done so an hour after the ball was over, but for all that the
memory of her sweet face and girlish ways lingered with me long after
the strains of music had died away and the ball-room was given over to
the flitting shadows.
Some months, or weeks, perhaps, I have really forgotten which, drifted
by before I saw her again, and then it was at a club ball, and this time
I paid her considerable attention, in fact, I liked her better than any
girl that I had yet met and was not afraid to show it, although I could
not then muster up the necessary courage to go on boldly about my
wooing. In fact, I left a great deal to chance, and chance in this case
treated me very kindly.
Some time later, when the summer days were long, I met her again in
company with a Miss Cobb, later the wife of Johnnie McMullen, the
base-ball pitcher, at Fairmount Park, and that was the day of my
undoing. After a pleasant time I accompanied her home to luncheon at
her invitation, and that I had lost my heart long before the door of
her house was reached I am now certain.
Once inside the door I asked her rather abruptly if her father or mother
was at home, and I fancied she looked rather relieved when she found out
that the only reason that I had asked her was that I wanted to smoke a
cigar, and not to loot the house of its valuables.
Prior to that time I had circulated among the ladies but little, my
whole mind having been concentrated on base-ball and billiard playing,
and the particular fit of my coat or the fashion of my trousers caused
me but little concern. From that afternoon on, however, things were
different, and I am afraid that I spent more time before the mirror than
was really necessary. I also began to hunt up excuses of various kinds
for visiting the house of the Fiegals, and some of these were of the
flimsiest character. I fancied then that I was deceiving the entire
family, but I know now that I was deceiving only myself.
I was not the only ball player that laid siege to Miss Virginia's heart
in those days. There was another, the handsome and debonair Charlie
Snyder, who was a great favorite with the girls wherever he went. I
became jealous very early in the game of Charlie's attentions to the
young lady that I had determined upon making Mrs. Anson. It was rather
annoying to have him dropping in when I had planned to have her all to
myself for an evening, and still more annoying to find him snugly
ensconced in the parlor when I myself put in an appearance on the scene.
So unbearable did this become that I finally informed him that I would
stand no more trespassing on my stamping grounds, and advised him to
keep away. But to this he paid but little attention and it was not until
my sweetheart herself, at my request, gave him his conge that he
refrained from longer calling at the house. It was the old story of "two
is company, three is none," and I was greatly relieved when he abandoned
the field.
I was now the fair Virginia's steady company, and long before I came to
Chicago we understood each other so well that I ceased to worry about
any of the callers at her home and began to dream of the time when I
should have one of my own in which she should be the presiding genius of
the hearth-stone.
She was not in favor of my coming to Chicago, and had it been possible
for me to remain with honor in Philadelphia I should have done so, but
that being impossible I left for the great metropolis of the West,
promising to return for her providing her father would give his consent
to our marriage as soon as possible.
I think one of the first things almost that I did after arriving in
Chicago was to write the daddy of my sweetheart asking for her hand. I
had been a little afraid to do so when at close range, but the farther
away I went the bolder I became, for I knew that whatever his answer
might be I was certainly out of any personal danger.
The old gentleman's answer was, however, a favorable one, and so after
my first season's play in Chicago was over I returned to Philadelphia
and there was united to the woman of my choice, and I am frank to
confess that I was more nervous when I faced the minister on that
occasion that I ever was when, bat in hand, I stood before the swiftest
pitcher in the league.
The first little visitor that came to us was a baby girl that we called
Grace, who was born October 6, 1877. That seems a long time ago now. The
baby Grace has grown to womanhood's estate and is the happy wife of
Walter H. Clough, and the proud mother of Anson McNeal Clough, who was
born May 7, 1899, and who will be taught to call me "grandpa" as soon as
his baby lips can lisp the words.
Adrian Hulbert Anson was our next baby. He was born Sept. 4, 1882, and
died four days afterward, that being the first grief that we had known
since our marriage. Another daughter, Adele, crept into our hearts and
household April 24th, 1884, and is still with us.
Adrian C. Anson Jr. came into the world on September 4th, 1887, and died
on the eighteenth day of January following. He lived the longest of all
of my boys and his death was the cause of great grief both to his mother
and myself.
The storks brought me another daughter, my little Dorothy, on August
13th, 1889, and she, thank God, is still engaged in making sunshine for
us all.
John Henry Anson was born on May 3d, 1892, but four days later the angel
of Death again stopped at my threshold and when he departed he bore a
baby boy in his arms, whither I know not, but to a better world that
this I feel certain, and one to which his baby brothers had journeyed
before him.
Virginia Jeanette arrived November 22d, 1899, and has already learned to
kick at the umpire when her meals are not furnished as promptly as she
has reason to think they should be. She is a strong, healthy baby, and
bids fair to remain with us for some years to come.
Before returning again to the ball field, on which the greater portion
of my life has been spent, I wish to record the fact that all that I
have and all that I have earned in the way both of money and reputation
in later years I owe not to myself, but to Mrs. Anson. She has been to
me a helpmeet in the truest and best sense of the word, rejoicing with
me in the days of my success and sympathizing with me in the days of my
adversity.
It was owing to her good counsel that I braced up in the days when she
was my sweetheart, and it was to please her that I have staid braced up
ever since, and am consequently still strong in mind and limb and as
healthy a specimen of an athlete as you can find in a year's travel,
albeit a little too heavy to run the bases still and play the game of
ball that I used to play.
I have never found it necessary when I have lost $250 on a horse race or
a match of any kind to go home and inform Mrs. Anson that owing to my
bad judgment I had lost $2.50, but on the contrary I have made it a
point to tell her the truth at all times, so that she knows just as well
how I stand to-day as I do myself.
She and I are not only husband and wife in the truest sense of the word,
but we are boon companions as well, and I always enjoy myself better on
a trip when Mrs. Anson accompanies me that I do if I am alone.
I am as proud of my daughters as any man can well be and my only desire
is that they shall all be as good as their mother and make the husbands
of their choice as good and true wives.
At the present writing the only one of my birds that has left its parent
nest and started out to build a home of its own is in Baltimore, where
her husband, as fine a fellow as any man could wish to have for a
son-in-law, is at present engaged in superintending the putting up of an
office building contracted for the George H. Fuller Co., of Chicago, in
whose employ he is.
CHAPTER XII. WITH THE NATIONAL LEAGUE.
It was some time in the fall of 1875 and while the National League was
still in embryo that I first made the acquaintance of William A.
Hulbert, who afterwards became famous as the founder of that
organization and the man whose rugged honesty and clear-headed counsels
made of base-ball the National Game in the truest and broadest sense of
the word.
At that time Mr. Hulbert was the President of the Chicago Base-Ball
Club, and in company with A. G. Spalding he came to Philadelphia for the
purpose of getting my signature to a contract to play in the Western
metropolis.
It was the ambition of the Chicago management to get together a
championship team, and with that object in view they had already signed
the big-four who had helped so many times to win the pennant for Boston,
viz.: Cal McVey, first base; James White, catcher; Ross Barnes, second
base; and A. G. Spalding, pitcher, and the latter, who was to captain
the Chicago team, had suggested my engagement as third baseman. I
finally agreed to play with the team at a salary of $2,000, or $200 more
than I was then getting with the Athletics.
I well remember Mr. Hulbert's appearance at that time. He stood in the
neighborhood of six feet, and weighed close to 215 pounds. He had a
stern expression of countenance and impressed one right from the start
as being a self-reliant business man of great natural ability, and such
he turned out to be. He was good-hearted and of a convivial nature when
business hours were over, but as honest as the day was long, and would
tolerate nothing that savored of crookedness in any shape or form. As an
executive he had but few equals and no superiors. He was quick to grasp
a situation and when once he had made up his mind to do a thing it took
the very best sort of an argument to dissuade him.
During the winter of 1875-6 the National League sprang into being, the
Hon. Morgan G. Bulkeley of Hartford, who was afterwards elected Governor
of Connecticut, being its first President, he being succeeded by Mr.
Hulbert the following year. The clubs composing the league were as
follows: Athletics of Philadelphia, Bostons of Boston, Hartfords of
Hartford, Chicagos of Chicago, St. Louis of St. Louis, Louisville of
Louisville, Ky., Mutuals of New York, and Cincinnati of Cincinnati,
Ohio.
When I came to consult with the future Mrs. Anson in regard to my
proposed change of base she not unnaturally objected to my going so far
from home, for I had learned to regard Philadelphia as my home by that
time.
I naturally thought it would be an easy matter for me to get my release
from Chicago, and being naturally anxious to please her I made two trips
to Chicago that winter for the purpose, and finally did what no ball
player ever did before--offered $1,000 to be released from my promise.
It was no go, however, as both Messrs. Hulbert and Spalding had made up
their minds that I should play on their team, and both of them knew me
well enough to know that I would keep my word at all hazards, no matter
what my personal likes or dislikes in the matter might be.
The last few months of my stay in Philadelphia passed all too quickly,
and a short time before the opening of the regular season found me in
the Garden City ready to don a Chicago uniform and do the very best I
could to help win the pennant for the latest city of my adoption.
The constitution of the new league provided for an entrance fee of $100
per club, and also provided that no city of less than 75,000 inhabitants
could become a member. It also provided that each city should be
represented by one club only, this prohibiting the danger of local
opposition, such as the Professional Players' Association had suffered
from in Philadelphia, St. Louis and other cities. Other reforms were the
adoption of a player's contract, which enabled the clubs to keep their
players and prevented them from being hired away by rival organizations.
This was the first step toward the reserve rule that followed later. It
also provided for the expelling of players who were guilty of breaking
their contracts or of dishonesty, and such players were to be debarred
forever afterwards from playing on the league teams. Gambling and liquor
selling on club grounds were prohibited and players interested in a bet
on the result of games or purchasing a pool ticket were liable to
expulsion.
The make-up of the Chicago team in full for the National League's
initial season was as follows; A. G. Spalding, pitcher, captain and
manager; James White, catcher; A. C. Anson, third base; Ross Barnes,
second base; Cal A. McVey, first base; J. P. Peters, shortstop; J. W.
Glenn, left field; Paul A. Hines, center field; Robert Addy, right
field; and J. F. Cone, Oscar Bielaski, and F. H. Andrus, substitutes.
All through the season of 1876 the most intense rivalry existed between
the Chicago and Boston Clubs. The management of the latter organization,
smarting under the fact that the "big four" had been hired away from
them by the Western Metropolis, had gotten together as strong a team as
was possible under the circumstances, the list including Harry Wright,
manager; J. E. Borden ("Josephs"), T. H. Murnane, F. L. Beals, H. C.
Schafer, A. J. Leonard, J. H. O'Rourke, J. F. Manning, F. T. Whitney,
George Wright, John F. Morrill, Lewis Brown, T. McGinley, and W. R.
Parks.
Our strongest opponents, however, proved to be the Hartford Club, of
which Robert Ferguson was captain and manager, and which numbered among
its players Allison, Cummings, Bond, Mills, Burdock, Cary, York, Remsen,
Cassidy, Higham, and Harbidge.
As I have said before, it was anything to beat Chicago, so far as the
Bostons were concerned, but this feat they were unable to accomplish
until the very tail end of the season, and after we had beaten them in
nine straight games.
The first game that we played on the Boston grounds that season I
remember well, because of the enormous crowd that turned out to witness
the contest. The advent of the "Big Four" in a new uniform was of course
the attraction, and long before the hour set for calling the game had
arrived the people were wending their way in steady streams toward the
scene of action. Every kind of a conveyance that could be used was
pressed into service, from the lumbering stage coach that had been
retired from active service, to the coach-and-four of the millionaire.
Street cars were jammed to suffocation, and even seats in an express
wagon were sold at a premium.
It was Decoration Day, and therefore a holiday, and it seemed to me as
if all Boston had determined to be present on that occasion. By hundreds
and thousands they kept coming, and finally it was found necessary to
close the gates in order to keep room enough in the grounds to play the
game on. With the gates closed the crowd began to swarm over the fences,
and the special policemen employed there had their hands more than full
of trouble.
The "Big Four" were given a great ovation when they put in an
appearance, and of course the whole team shared in the honors that were
showered upon them. The game that followed was, as might have been
expected, played under difficulties, but thanks to the excellent
pitching of Spalding and the fine support given him by the entire team
we won by a score of 5 to 1, and the Hubbites were sorer than ever over
the "Big Four's" defection.
Our other victories over the Boston aggregation that season were as
follows: June 1st, at Boston, Chicago 9, Boston 3; June 3d, at the same
place, Chicago 8, Boston 4; July 11th, at Chicago, Chicago 18, Boston 7;
July 12th, at the same place, Chicago 11, Boston 3; and July 15th,
again, Chicago 15, Boston 0; September 15th, at Boston, Chicago 9,
Boston 3; September 16th, Chicago 7, Boston 2; and September 22d, at
Chicago, Chicago 12, Boston 10. September 23d we met Boston for the last
time during the season, and, anxious as we were to make our victories
over them ten straight, that being the number of games called for by the
schedule, we failed to do so, being beaten by a score of 10 to 9.
I think that Harry Wright was happier that day when O'Rourke crossed the
home plate and scored the winning run than he would have been had
somebody made him a present of a house and lot, so anxious was he to win
at least one game from Chicago during the season.
Both the Athletics and Mutuals failed to play out their scheduled games
in the West that fall, and as a result they were expelled at the annual
meeting of the League held in Cleveland the December following, leaving
but six clubs to contest for championship honors in 1877.
That first year of the League was not a success when viewed from a
financial standpoint, as not a single one of the clubs that composed it
made any money, even the Chicagos, who carried off the pennant, quitting
loser. The men who had organized it were by no means discouraged,
however, and that they finally reaped the reward of their pluck and
perseverance is now a matter of history.
In the fall I again signed with Chicago, as did Spalding, McVey, Barnes,
Peters, Andrus, and Glenn of the old team, while Jim White returned to
his first love, the Bostons. The new-corners on the team were Bradley,
who had pitched for the St. Louis Club the year before, and who was
accounted as being one of the best in the business, and H. W. Smith a
change catcher and outfielder.
This was a year of disaster as far as Chicago was concerned, and we
brought up the tail end of the pennant race, the whip going to Boston,
which won 31 games and lost 17, while Louisville stood second on the
list with 28 games won and 20 lost, to its credit, Hartford being third,
St. Louis fourth, and Chicago fifth, the Cincinnatis having failed to
weather the financial storm, being expelled from the League because of
non-payment of dues.
There would doubtless have been a different tale to tell in regard to
the championship of 1877 had it not been for the crookedness of some of
the Louisville players. The team on paper prior to the opening of the
season was justly regarded as one of the strongest that had ever been
gotten together, and going off with a rush in the early part of the year
its success seemed to be almost assured. By the middle of the season the
team had obtained so great a lead that the race seemed to be all over
but the shouting.
In those days poolrooms were a much greater evil than they are at the
present time, and the betting on baseball was hot and heavy. The
Louisville having such a lead were favorites at long odds. When the club
started on its last Eastern trip they had some twelve games to play, out
of which they had less than half to win in order to land the pennant. On
this trip enough games were thrown to give Boston the pennant, and when
the directors of the Louisville Club came to sift matters down they had
but little difficulty in finding out the guilty parties, who were A. C.
Nichols, William H. Craver, George Hall and James A. Devlin.
How much money this quartette netted by its crooked work is not known to
this day, but it has been proven that Devlin secured but a beggarly $100
as his share, as once the others had him in their power they could
compel him to do just whatever they pleased under threats of exposure.
These four players were promptly expelled for selling games by the
Louisville Club, whose action was later ratified by the League, and
though they made application time after time in later years to be
reinstated, their applications were denied and they passed out of sight
and out of hearing as far as the base-ball world was concerned.
They were all of them good ball players, better than the average, and
Devlin, a really great pitcher, undoubtedly had a brilliant future
before him. The inability to stand temptation, however, caused his
downfall and left him but little better than a wreck on the shores of
time.
The year, taken as a whole, has been generally set down as being the
darkest in the history of the League. As in the preceding year, all the
clubs lost money and the outlook seemed indeed a dark one.
The darkest hour comes just before the dawn, however, and the following
year saw a change for the better in base-ball prospects.
CHAPTER XIII. FROM FOURTH PLACE TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP.
The year 1878 saw but six clubs in the league race, there being the
Boston, Cincinnati, Providence, Chicago, Indianapolis and Milwaukee
clubs, and they finished in the order named, the Hub's representatives
winning by a margin of four games from their nearest competitor. The
early part of the year saw the Cincinnatis in the lead, with Chicago
well up toward the front, and it looked for a time as though the honors
of the season might be carried off by the Western clubs. The Cincinnati
Club went into the air during the summer, however, and surrendered the
first place to Boston, the latter team playing finely together, and
though it rallied strongly afterward it found itself unable to overtake
the leaders.
The Chicago team was not a strong one that season and minor ailments and
accidents made it still weaker than it would otherwise have been. A. G.
Spalding having retired from active ball playing, had gone into the
sporting goods business, and Robert Ferguson had been selected to take
his place as manager and captain of the team, which was made up as
follows:
Robert Ferguson, shortstop and captain; Anson, left field; Start, first
base; Cassidy, right field; Remsen, center field; Hankinson, third base;
McClellan, second base; Frank Larkin, pitcher; Harbidge, catcher;
Hallman and Reis, substitutes.
There were several weak spots in this team and it was not long before
the fact became evident. Ferguson himself, while a fair shortstop, was
by no means a top-notcher, and neither was he a really good manager, he
not having the necessary control over the men that he had under him.
Harbridge was not even a fair catcher; in fact, according to my
estimate, he was a poor one. He was a left-handed thrower and made
awkward work getting a ball to the bases.
Joe Start was a good ball player, indeed, a first-class man. He was
always to be depended upon, worked hard, was a sure catch, a good
fielder and a first-class wielder of the ash. He was known far and wide
as "Old Reliable" and his reputation was in every way above reproach,
both on and off the field.
McClellan, who played the second base, I first saw play at St. Paul in
1876. He was a nice fielder, but only a moderate batsman. Taking him all
around, however, he was better than the average, but not to be compared
with some of the men who afterwards played in that position.
Cassidy, the right fielder, was only an average player, and Hankinson,
who played third base and change pitcher, was never in the first class.
Larkin, who had pitched the year before for the Hartford Club, was a
rattling good man and a really first-class pitcher, who would have won
more games than he did had he met with the support that he should have
had.
Remsen was a fine fielder and a fast base-runner, but his weak point was
in hitting. He was a good thrower, too, though I beat him in a match at
Hartford by covering 127 yards and 4 inches, a performance that
surprised some people who had wagered their money on his success.
During the greater part of that year I was troubled with a frog felon on
my right hand that nearly incapacitated me from playing altogether. It
was absolute torture to me to catch, but I managed to worry along with
it in some sort of fashion, though unable to do myself justice, and for
that reason I stood lower on the list of averages than I might otherwise
have done.
A felon is a mighty unpleasant thing to have at the best, and a man
deserves some credit for playing ball at all that is afflicted in that
way.
When the season ended none of the clubs had made any money, but the game
was growing steadily in public favor, and it was evident to even the
most superficial observer that there was "a good time coming."
The following year, 1879, saw a great many changes both in League
memberships and in the personnel of its players. At the annual meeting
held in Cleveland December 4, 1878, the Indianapolis Club resigned its
membership and the circuit was filled by the admission of clubs from
Cleveland, Buffalo and Syracuse. The Milwaukee Club afterward failing to
come to time the Troy, N. Y., Club was taken in to fill the vacancy.
George Wright, one of the greatest players of the day, and the man to
whom Boston owed much of its success in winning the pennant, deserted
Boston for Providence, taking O'Rourke with him, and after the hardest
sort of a fight with Boston, Chicago and Buffalo he succeeded in winning
the pennant with that organization, he having the services of John M.
Ward and "Bobby" Matthews as pitchers, Lewis J. Brown as catcher; Joe
Start, M. H. McGeary and W. L. Hague on the bases; with "Tommy" Stark,
Paul Hines and James O'Rourke in the field. Emil Grace and John Farrell
replaced Brown and Hague toward the close of the season.
It was a great year of changes all around and the League teams taken as
a whole were stronger than they had ever been before.
Among the pitchers outside of these I have already mentioned were such
stars as McCormick, "Jimmy" Galyin, Bradley and Will White, all of whom
are famous as twirlers in base-ball history.
The Chicago team was that season the strongest that the "Windy City" had
yet put in the field. To succeed Ferguson, who had gone elsewhere, I was
selected as captain and manager, a position that I have always had
reason to believe came to me through the influence of Mr. Hulbert, and
that I retained for many a year, through both good and evil report,
finding it but a thankless job at best. The make-up of the team in full
was as follows: Larkin, pitcher; Flint, catcher; Anson, first base;
Quest, second base; Hankinson, pitcher and third base; Peters,
stortstop; Dalrymple, Gore, Remsen and George Schaffer in the field,
with Williamson alternating with Hankinson at third base.
Quest, Flint, Williamson and George Schaffer all came from the
Indianapolis team of the year before, and Dalrymple, who afterward became
a great favorite with Chicago "fans," from the Milwaukees.
Geo. C. Gore was a newcomer in the League ranks, he hailing from New
Bedford, but he soon made for himself a name, being a first-class
fielder and a batsman that was away above the average, as is shown by
his record made in after years.
It was my first season as a first baseman, though T had played the
position at odd times before, and that it suited me is shown by the fact
that I led the League with a fielding average of .974 and stood first
among the batsmen with .407, which was the largest percentage ever made
up to that time. Flint that season stood first in the list of catchers,
and Quest led the second basemen. It was some time during the close of
the season that an unfortunate accident happened to Larkin, and one that
caused his retirement from the diamond for some time afterward. A line
ball from my bat struck him on the head, and as a result, it was at
least so stated, he had to be sent to an asylum, where he remained for
some time, though I believe that he afterwards fully recovered from the
effects of the injury.
It was during this year also that the first reserve rule was adopted, it
being in the shape of a signed agreement by the terms of which each
League club was permitted to reserve five men for the following season,
an agreement that I have always looked upon as being one of the best
things that could have happened, for the reason that it enabled all of
the clubs interested to reserve at least the nucleus of a strong team as
a foundation upon which to build.
The season of 1880 I have always looked upon as a red letter one in my
history, and for good reasons, as that year the Chicago team under my
management brought the pennant to Chicago, and this in spite of the fact
that the teams it had to, encounter were made up of first-class material
in nearly every case.
The Chicago team of that season outclassed all of its competitors, it
being made up as follows: Corcoran and Goldsmith, pitchers; Flint,
catcher; Anson, first base; Quest, second base; Williamson, third base;
Burns, shortstop; Dalrymple, Gore and Kelly in the field, and L. T.
Beals, substitute.
Unlike the majority of the clubs the Chicago Club did not have to depend
upon the services of one first-class pitcher, but had two, both of whom
were "cracker-jacks," and were therefore able to play them on alternate
days instead of breaking them down or laming them by continued and
arduous services.
In catchers, too, the club was especially fortunate, as Flint, who
ranked as one of the best of his day, had an efficient ally in Mike
Kelly, who could fill the breach when necessary.
This was an especially strong team, too, at the bat, as is shown by the
records, Gore leading the League with an average of .365, with myself
second with .338, Dalrymple third with .332, Burns fifth with .309. In
fielding Williamson led the third basemen with an average of .893, while
the fewest hits of the year were made off Corcoran's pitching. Among the
first basemen I held second place with a percentage of .977. Sullivan of
the Worcester team being first with .982 to his credit.
The Chicago Club that year made a little money, but it was the only one
of the lot that did, the others losing, that is, some of them, more
because of bad management than for any other reason.
In consequence of an agreement in regard to the sale of liquors in club
grounds the Cincinnati Club that season forfeited its membership, and at
the annual meeting of the League held in New York December 8th, 1880,
the Detroit Club was elected to the vacant place.
The team that had represented Chicago in 1880 was good enough for me,
and also good enough for the club directors, and that we were able to
hold the players was a matter for self-congratulation.
The only new man on the list in 1881 was Andrew Pearcy, who took T. L.
Beal's place as substitute, and who cut but little figure, as he was
called upon to play but seldom.
That the Chicago Club again won the pennant in 1881 was due to two
reasons. First, its strength as a batting organization, and in this
respect it was undoubtedly the superior of all its rivals, and,
secondly, the superb team work, the entire team playing together as one
man and having but one object in view, and that the landing of the
championship. Record playing was entirely lost sight of by the members
of the club, and sacrifice hitting was indulged in whenever a point
could be made by so doing.
The race throughout the season for everything except the last place was
a close and exciting one, and up to the very last week the result was in
doubt, so close together were the four leaders.
When the season finally closed, however, we had 56 games won and 28
games lost to our credit, against 47 games won and 37 games lost by the
Providence Club, which finished in the second place.
Buffalo came third with 45 games won and 38 games lost, and Detroit
fourth with 41 games won and 43 lost; Troy being fifth, Boston sixth,
Cleveland seventh and Worcester eighth on the list.
In batting that season I again led the list with an average of .399 and
stood at the head of the first basemen with .975 to my credit.
When the season came to a close the majority of the League clubs had
made money and base-ball was more popular than ever with the public, who
had learned to look upon it as a square sport, and one over which the
gamblers had no control whatever.
The grounds occupied by the Chicago Club at that time were the most
accessible of any in the country, being situated on the lake front near
the foot of Randolph street, and within five minutes' walk from any part
of the business district. The only fault that could be found with them
were that they were too small, both for the crowds that thronged them
when an important game was being played, and because of the fact that
the fences interfered too often with the performance of the League's
star batsmen.
With such a team as the champions then boasted of what was the use of
making any changes? No use whatever, and so the season of 1882 found the
same old "White-Stocking" team in the field, the only new player that
had been signed being Hugh Nichols, who came from Rockford, and who was
signed as an outfielder.
There was no change either in the clubs that went to make up the League,
each and every one of which was bent on wresting the championship from
the Garden City, and with that object in view every other club in the
league had been strengthened as far as was possible.
The attempt was a vain one, however, although the race from the start to
the finish was a hot one, and one that kept the lovers of base-ball on
tenter hooks until the season was over, while the betting in the
poolrooms throughout the country was hot and heavy, and be it said right
here, to the credit of the ball players, there was not the slightest
suspicion or whisper of crookedness in connection with the games. The
rivalry was most intense, and as a result the crowds that greeted
the players everywhere were both large and enthusiastic, this
being especially the case on the home grounds, where, owing to our
long-continued success, we were naturally great favorites. The majority
of the clubs in the League that season made money and to all appearances
an era of prosperity, so far as the National Game was concerned, had
begun.
The close of the season again saw the Chicago Club in the lead, they
having won 55 games and lost 29, while Providence stood second on the
list with 52 games won and 32 games lost to its credit.
Buffalo stood third, Boston fourth, Cleveland fifth, Detroit sixth, Troy
seventh, while Worcester, as in the preceding year, brought up the tail
end of the procession.
Brouthers of the Buffalo Club headed the batting list with a percentage
of .369, while I came next with .367, and that I had had my eye on the
ball throughout the season is a fact that the opposing pitchers could
bear witness to.
Prior to the beginning of the season, the exact date being April 10,
1882, President Hulbert, the founder of the League, and one of the best
friends that I had ever had either inside or outside of the profession,
passed away, leaving a void in base-ball circles that was indeed hard to
fill. It has often been a matter of sincere regret, both to myself and
others, that he could not have lived to witness the fruition of all his
hopes. Arbitrary and severe though he may have been at times, yet the
fact remains that he was the best friend that the ball players had ever
had.
Appreciating the possibilities of the game as a moneymaker, when rightly
conducted, he bent his energy toward rescuing it from the hands of
gamblers, into which it seemed about to fall, and place it where it
belonged, at the head of all of American outdoor sports.
Many and many a time since than have I missed his cool-headed judgment,
his cheering words and his sound advice, and I have no hesitation in
saying to-day that to him the ball players owe even now a debt of
gratitude that can never be repaid.
CHAPTER XIV. THE CHAMPIONS OF THE EARLY EIGHTIES.
The team that brought the pennant back to Chicago in the early '80s was
a rattling good organization of ball players, as the "fans" who remember
them can testify, and while they were the cracks of that time, and
perhaps as strong a team as the League had seen up to that date, yet
they were not as strong either as a team or as individual ball players
as the team that represented Chicago several years afterward. The secret
of the club's success in those days lay in its team work, and in the
fact that a goodly portion of the time was spent in studying and
developing the fine points of the game, which long practice made them
fairly perfect in. There were one or two weak spots in its make-up, but
so well did it perform as a whole that these weak spots were quite apt
to be lost sight of when the time for summing up the result of the
season's play had arrived.
In its pitching department the team was particularly strong at that time
as compared with some other of the League clubs.
Larry Corcoran, upon whose skill great reliance was placed, was at that
time in the zenith of his glory as a twirler. He came, if my memory
serves me rightly, from somewhere in the neighborhood of Buffalo. He was
a very little fellow, with an unusual amount of speed, and the endurance
of an Indian pony. As a batter he was only fair, but as a fielder in his
position he was remarkable, being as quick as a cat and as plucky as
they made them.
A sort of an all-around sport was Larry, and a boxer of no mean ability.
I remember a set-to that he had one night in the old club house with
Hugh Nichols, in which he all but knocked Hughy out, greatly to that
gentleman's surprise, as he had fancied up to that time that he was
Corcoran's master in the art of self-defense.
After his release by the Chicago Club he drifted back East, where he
pitched for a time in some of the minor leagues. Later on he was given
another trial by the Chicagos, but his work proved unsatisfactory, he
having outlived the days of his usefulness in the pitching line. After
that he again went East, where he died several years ago.
Fred Goldsmith, the other pitcher, was a great big, over-grown,
good-natured boy, who was always just a-going to do things that he
never did. He, too, came from the East, and was, I believe, pitching
for the Tecumseh, Canada, Club when he signed with us.
He was the possessor of a great slow ball and was always cool and
good-natured. As a batsman he was only fair, and as a fielder decidedly
careless. When it came to backing up a player "Goldy" was never to be
relied upon, and after the play was over and he was asked why he had not
done so, he would reply: "Oh, I'd a-bin thar ef I'd bin needed." But in
spite of this the fact remains that he was rarely on hand when he was
needed, and many an overthrown ball found its way into the field that
would have been stopped had he been backing up the basemen in the way
that he should have done.
I remember seeing him in a game at Troy, N. Y., once when pitching for
Chicago, when he was a sight to behold. He was playing and the rain was
coming down in torrents while the grounds were deep in mud and water.
Hatless, without shoes and stockings and with his breeches roiled clear
up to his thigh, as if he were preparing to ford the Hudson river,
"Goldy" was working like a Trojan, and I am not over sure but that he
was one at that time.
His arm was gone when he left us, and if he played ball any afterward,
it was only in desultory fashion. He tended bar in different places for
a time, but finally settled down to the business of market gardening
near Detroit, where, from all that I can learn, he is making a good
living.
Frank S. Flint, "Old Silver," originally hailed from St. Louis, where he
first came into notice as the back stop of an amateur team.
He came to us direct from the Indianapolis Club, where he had been
engaged in catching the delivery of "the only Nolan," who was at that
time one of the most celebrated of the League pitchers. He was a fine
ballplayer, a good, hard worker, but a weak batter, batting being his
weakest point. He was generally reliable, and that in spite of the fact
that he was a hard drinker, the love of liquor being his besetting
weakness. A pluckier man never stood behind a bat, there never coming a
ball his way that was too hard for him to handle, or at least to attempt
to. In "Old Silver's" day the catcher's glove had not come into use, and
all of his work was done with hands that were unprotected. Those hands
of his were a sight to behold, and if there is a worse pair to-day in
the United States, or a pair that are as bad, I should certainly like to
have a look at them. His fingers were bent and twisted out of all shape
and looked more like the knotted and gnarled branches of a scrub oak
than anything else that I can think of.
Long before the gloves now used by catchers were invented I had a
buckskin mitt made at Spalding's that I thought would fill a long-felt
want, and this I finally persuaded "Old Silver" to try.
He tried it for about half of an inning, then threw it down, declaring
it was no good, and went on in the old way. After his playing days in
Chicago were over he went into the saloon business and died a short time
afterwards of consumption. His wife died in California a little time
after him with the same disease, which she had contracted while nursing
him. Prior to her departure from Chicago and when she had been informed
by a physician that her days were numbered, she sent for me, and after
telling me that she had "roasted" me in the papers all her life, begged
my forgiveness, saying that she had found out her mistake. This, of
course, was granted.
Mrs. Keene and my wife saw that she had every comfort, and Mr. Keene,
Mr. Spalding and myself furnished the money that took her to the Golden
State, where she lived but a short time after her arrival.
Joe Quest, who played the second base, was another player who came to us
from the Indianapolis team, but prior to that time he had been playing
around New Castle, Pa. Joe was a good, reliable, steady fellow, but a
weak batsman. He was a conscientious player, however, and one that could
always be depended upon to play the best ball that he was capable of.
His strongest point was trapping an infield fly, and in this particular
line he was something of a wonder.
Joe played on several teams after leaving Chicago, and with varying
success. Of late years he has been employed in the City Hall at Chicago,
where he holds a good position.
Ed Wiliamson was another player who came to us from Indianapolis, where
he had already made for himself quite a reputation. He, too, hailed
originally from some-where around New Castle, and was playing in
Pittsburg the first time that I ever saw him. My wife knew him long
before I knew him, however. He was then a member of an amateur club in
Philadelphia, for which she acted as a sort of treasurer, taking care of
the money that they raised to buy balls with, etc.
Ed was, in my opinion, the greatest all-around ballplayer the country
ever saw. He was better than an average batsman and one of the few that
knew how to wait for a ball and get the one that he wanted before
striking. He was a good third baseman, a good catcher and a man who
could pitch more than fairly well, too, when the necessity for his doing
so arose. Taking him all in all, I question if we shall ever see his
like on a ball field again. He was injured some years later while the
Chicago Club was making a trip around the world, and was never the same
fellow afterward. After his retirement from the diamond he ran a saloon
in company with Jimmy Woods, another ball-player, on Dearborn street,
Chicago, which was a popular resort for the lovers of sports. He died of
dropsy at Hot Springs, Arkansas, leaving a wife, but no children.
Williamson was one of the most popular of the many players that the
Chicago Club has had. A big, good-natured and good-hearted fellow, he
numbered his friends by the hundreds, and his early death was regretted
by all who knew him.
Thomas E. Burns was playing with the Albany, N. Y., Club, who were then
the champions of the New York State League when I signed him to play
with Chicago. He was a fair average batter, but was hardly fast enough
to be considered a really good shortstop.
He was a fair base-runner, using excellent judgment in that respect, and
a first-class slider, going into the bases head first when compelled to
make a slide for them, instead of feet first, like the majority of the
players of that day and generation; in fact, he was more of a diver than
a slider, and he generally managed to get there.
After his release by Chicago he went to Pittsburg, where I had secured
him a five-year contract as manager at a handsome salary, and where he
had some trouble that resulted in the club's breaking the agreement and
in the bringing of a lawsuit, which he won.
He then took charge of the Springfield, Mass., Club, a member of the New
England League, Springfield being not far from his old home at New
Britain. Two years ago he took my place as manager of the Chicago Club,
and that he has not made a success of it is due to certain causes that
will be explained later on.
Abner Dalrymple was brought into the Chicago fold from Milwaukee, where
he had been playing. He was only an ordinary fielder, and a fair base
runner, but excelled as a batsman. I have said that he was a fair
fielder, and in that respect perhaps I am rating him too high, as his
poor fielding cost us several games that in my estimation we should have
won. Dalrymple was a queer proposition, and for years a very steady
player. He was never known to spend a cent in those days, and was so
close that he would wait for somebody else to buy a newspaper and then
borrow it in order to see what was going on. Later on he broke loose,
however, and when he did he became one of the sportiest of sports,
blowing his money as if he had found it and setting a hot pace for his
followers.
He finally settled down again, however, and now holds a good railroad
position in the Northwest, where he is living with his family. His was
about the quickest case of "loosening up from extreme tightness" that I
have ever run across.
George F. Gore, who played the center field, came here from New Bedford,
Mass., being brought out by Mr. Hulbert, who was in charge of the club
at the time he came to us. He was an all-around ball player of the first
class, a hard hitter and a fine thrower and fielder, and had it not been
for his bad habits he might have still been playing ball to-day. Women
and wine brought about his downfall, however, and the last time that I
saw him in New York he was broken down, both in heart and pocket, and
willing to work at anything that would yield him the bare necessities of
life.
Mike Kelly, who afterwards became famous in baseball annals as the
$10,000 beauty, came to Chicago from Cincinnati, and soon became a
general favorite. He was a whole-souled, genial fellow, with a host of
friends, and but one enemy, that one being himself.
Time and time again I have heard him say that he would never be broke,
and he died at just the right time to prevent such a contretemps from
occurring. Money slipped through Mike's fingers as water slips through
the meshes of a fisherman's net, and he was as fond of whisky as any
representative of the Emerald Isle, but just the same he was a great
ball player and one that became greater than he then was before ceasing
to wear a Chicago uniform. He was as good a batter as anybody, and a
great thrower, both from the catcher's position and from the field, more
men being thrown out by him than by any other man that could be named.
He was a good fielder when not bowled up, but when he was he sometimes
failed to judge a fly ball correctly, though he would generally manage
to get pretty close in under it. In such cases he would remark with a
comical leer: "By Gad, I made it hit me gloves, anyhow."
After his return to Boston he played good ball for a time, but his bad
habits soon caused his downfall, just as they had caused the downfall of
many good players before him, for it may be set down as an axiom that
baseball and booze will not mix any better than will oil and water. The
last time that I ever saw him was at an Eastern hotel barroom, and
during the brief space of time that we conversed together he threw in
enough whisky to put an ordinary man under the table. After leaving
Boston the "only Mike" had charge of Al Johnson's team at Altoona, Pa.,
but whisky had become at this time his master, and he made a failure of
the managerial business. Not being able to control himself it is hardly
to be wondered at that he failed when it came to the business of
controlling others. He died some years ago in New Jersey, a victim to
fast living, and a warning to all ball players. Had he been possessed of
good habits instead of bad there is no telling to what heights Kelly
might have climbed, for a better fellow in some respects never wore a
base-ball uniform.
Tommy Beale was a nice, gentlemanly little chap, who had played at one
time with the Boston Club. He was never a howling success as a ball
player and after being released by Chicago he umpired for a while and
then drifted down to Florida, where he had an orange grove and was doing
well until, one night, "there came a frost, a killing frost," that not
only destroyed his orange grove but that burst him up in business as
well. Since that unfortunate event happened, I have lost sight of him,
and where he is now, or what he is doing, I know not.
Hugh Nichols was a little fellow who came from Rockford, Illinois. He
was never a star player, but was a fair and showy player, lacking in
stamina. He was only a fair batsman, and after his release by Chicago he
played for a time in some of the other League teams, principally
Cincinnati. He then managed the Rockford team in the Illinois State
League, after which he settled down as a billiard-room keeper, in which
business he is still engaged.
CHAPTER XV. WE FALL DOWN AND CLIMB AGAIN.
At the annual meeting of the League held in Providence R. I., December
6th, 1882, the Worcester and Troy Clubs resigned their membership,
neither of them being cities of sufficient size to support a team as
expensive as one good enough to have a chance for championship honors in
such company must of necessity be, and New York and Philadelphia were
elected to fill the vacancies. At the same time A. G. Mills was elected
to fill the vacancy in the League Presidency caused by the death of Mr.
Hulbert.
The League Circuit in 1883 again consisted of eight cities, while the
number of games necessary to constitute a series had been increased from
twelve to fourteen. The only change in the personnel of the Chicagos was
the substitution of Fred Pfeffer for Joe Quest at second base. The fight
between Chicago and Boston, Providence and Cleveland was veritably a
battle of the giants, and as a result excitement throughout the country
ran high and big crowds everywhere were the rule.
The Boston team, with M. Hines and Hackett as catchers, Buffington and
Whitney, pitchers; Morrill, first base; Burdock, second base; Sutton,
third base; Wise, shortstop; Horning, left field; Smith, center field;
Radford, right field; and Brown, substitute, proved to be a trifle the
strongest, they carrying off the pennant with a total of 63 games won
and 35 lost, while Chicago came next on the list with 59 games won and
39 lost. Providence, which stood third, won 58 games and lost 40, while
Cleveland, which came fourth, had 55 games won and 42 games lost to its
credit.
Buffalo, New York, Detroit and Philadelphia followed in the order named.
Brouthers of the Buffalo team again stood first on the list of batsmen
with a percentage of .371, while your humble servant had fallen down to
the twelfth place on the list, my percentage being .307.
The event of the season, or of the year perhaps, I should say, was the
adoption of a document then known as the tripartite agreement, now known
as the National Agreement, which was formulated by A. G. Mills, John B.
Day and A. H. Soden, representing the League; O. P. Caylor, William
Barnier and Lewis Simmons, representing the American Association, and
Elias Mather of the Grand Rapids, Michigan, Club, acting for the
Northwestern League.
This document, among other things, provided that no contract should be
made for the services of any player for a longer period than seven
months, beginning April 1st and terminating October 31st, and that no
contract for their services should be made prior to October 20th of the
year on which such services terminated.
It also provided that on the 10th day of October of each year the
Secretary of each Association should transmit to the Secretary of each
other Association a reserve list of players, not exceeding fourteen in
number, then under contract with each of its several club members, and
of such players reserved on any prior annual reserve list, who had
refused to contract with said club's members, and of all other eligible
players, and such players, together with all other thereafter to be
regularly contracted with by such club members, are and shall be
eligible to contract with any other club members of either association
party hereto.
The object of this was to prevent what was then at that time a growing
evil, the stealing of players by one club from another, and that it was
successful in that respect there can be no denying.
The reserve clause was not popular with many of the players, however,
and it was this that later on led to the Brotherhood revolt and a
general shaking up in base-ball circles.
Such had been the boom in base-ball in 1883, and so promising did the
outlook seem from a monetary standpoint for a similar boom in 1884 that
Henry V. Lucas, of St. Louis, evidently believing that there was
millions in it, organized and took hold of the short-lived Union
Association, the failure of which wrecked him in both purse and spirit.
This Association was organized at Pittsburg in September, 1883, and was
launched with a great flourish of trumpets, the cities agreed upon for
the circuit being Washington, St. Louis, Altoona, Pa., Boston,
Baltimore, Cincinnati, Philadelphia and Chicago.
Of the fifty League players, who, it had been given out, would break
their contracts and join them, not a baker's dozen showed up when the
time came. Only five of the original clubs played out their schedules,
these being the St. Louis, Cincinnati, Boston, Baltimore and Nationals
of Washington, they finishing in the order named, Boston and Baltimore
being tied for the third place.
The Union Association season opened on April 17th. Within six weeks of
that time the Altoona Club gave up the fight, being succeeded by Kansas
City. The Keystone Club of Philadelphia lasted until August, and was
then succeeded by the Wilmington, Del., Club, which had been persuaded
to desert the Eastern League by Mr. Lucas. In September they, too,
passed it up and Milwaukee took the vacant place, they lasting but a
short time.
The Chicago Union Association Club, a weak sister at the best, played
along to almost empty benches until August, when it gave up the fight
and transferred its team to Pittsburg, but that city refused to support
it and it finally gave up the ghost about the middle of September.
In the meantime the League, which had expelled the deserting players,
was having a most exciting and prosperous season, though the majority of
clubs had signed many more players than they had any use for, the object
being to keep them away from the Union Association. For the Chicago Club
that season no less than nineteen players were signed, some of whom were
seldom called upon to play.
The regulars, that is, the men who were depended upon to do the playing,
were Corcoran, Goldsmith and Clarkson, pitchers; Flint and Kelly,
catchers; Anson, first base; Pfeffer, second base; Williamson, third
base; Burns, shortstop; Dalrymple, Gore, Kelly and Sunday in the
outfield.
In some way or other we got started off with the wrong foot first, as
the horsemen would, say, and the end of May found us in the fifth place,
Boston and Providence being the leaders, and at the end of June we had
not improved our position.
From that time on the Providence Club played great ball, the wonderful
endurance of Pitcher Radbourne being one of the features of the season,
and though we rallied in September and October, winning every game that
we played in the last-named month, the best that we could do was to beat
New York for the fourth place, each club winning 62 games and losing 50.
The championship record showed 84 games won and 28 lost for the
Providence Club, 73 games won and 38 lost for Boston, and 64 games won
and 47 lost for Buffalo, while Philadelphia, Cleveland and Detroit
brought up the rear.
In the matter of averages James O'Rourke again led the list, with a
percentage of .350 to his credit.
The position that the club occupied at the close of that season was not
satisfactory to me, as I felt that it should have been better, but there
was no use crying over spilt milk, the only thing to do being to try it
again.
At the close of the season Corcoran, whose pitching days were about
over, was released, as was also Goldsmith, whose work had not been of
the first class, and Clarkson and McCormick, the latter having played
with the Cleveland team the year before, were relied upon to puzzle the
opposing batsmen, the other members of the team being Flint, Kelly,
Anson, Pfeffer, Williamson, Burns, Dalrymple, Gore and Sunday. O. P.
Beard, C. Marr, E. E. Sutcliffe and Joe Brown were all given a trial,
but released early in the season.
The St. Louis Club, of which Mr. Lucas was the President, was taken in
in order to fill the vacancy caused by the withdrawal of Cleveland, and
this act on the part of the League so incensed President Mills that he
resigned, the three offices of President, Secretary and Treasurer being
combined in Nicholas E. Young, who is still at the head of the League
affairs, with headquarters at the National Capital.
The records of 1885 show that there were really but two clubs in the
race from start to finish, these representing the rival clubs of New
York and Chicago, and as between them it was nip and tuck almost to the
last minute.
At the end of the month of May the New York team was in the lead, they
having won 17 out of the 21 games they had played that month, while
Chicago, which stood second, had only won 14 out of the 20 games that it
played. The month of June saw a change in the program, however, Chicago
winning 21 games out of the 23 played that month, while New York only
won 15 out of the 20 that it took part in.
During the month of July it looked like anybody's race as between the
two leaders, each winning 18 games, though Chicago sustained but six
defeats as against seven for the representatives of the Eastern
metropolis. In the succeeding month New York had a shade the better of
it, they winning 18 out of 21 games played, while Chicago won only 15
out of 19. In September it was again our turn, however, and we won 17
games out of 20, New York having to be content with 13 out of 19.
The last of September and the first of October saw the pennant
"cinched," so far as we were concerned. The New Yorks finished the
season with four games at Chicago and three of these they needed in
order to win the championship. They had already won nine out of the
twelve games that they had played with us during the season, and looked
upon the result here as a foregone conclusion. They reckoned without
their host, however, on this occasion, as we won three straight games
from them, the scores being 7 to 4, 2 to 1, and 8 to 3 respectively.
Our totals for the season showed 87 games won and 25 lost, as against 85
games won and 27 lost for the Giants. Philadelphia came third with 56
games won and 54 lost, while Providence occupied the fourth place with
53 games won and 57 lost. Boston, Detroit, Buffalo and St. Louis
finished as named.
There were a good many funny stories told about those closing games
between New York and Chicago. The admirers of the Giants came on to
witness the games in force, and so certain were they that their pets
would win that they wagered their money on the result in the most
reckless fashion.
Even the newspaper men who accompanied them on the trip caught the
contagion. P. J. Donohue, of the New York "World," since deceased, was
one of the most reckless of these. He could see nothing in the race but
New York, and no sooner had he struck the town than he began to hunt for
someone who would take the Chicago end of the deal.
About nine o'clock the night before the playing of the first game he
appeared in the "Inter Ocean" office and announced that he was looking
for somebody who thought Chicago could win, as he wished to wager $100
on the result. He was accommodated by the sporting editor of that paper.
The next night after the Giants had lost P. J. again appeared on the
scene and announced his readiness to double up on the result of the
second game. He was accommodated again, and again. New York was the
loser.
Still a third time did P. J. appear with an offer to double up the whole
thing on the result of the next game. This looked like a bad bet for the
local man, but local pride induced him to make the wager. For the third
time the Giants went down before the White Stockings, and that night P.
J. was missing, but a day or two afterwards he turned up quite
crestfallen, and had a draft on New York cashed in order that he might
get back home again.
Mr. Donohue was not the only man who went broke on the result, however.
There was not a man on the delegation that accompanied the Giants that
did not lose, and lose heavily on the games, which went a long ways
toward illustrating the glorious uncertainties of base-ball.
The season of 1886 saw another change in the National League circuit,
Buffalo and Providence dropping out of the fight. The vacant places were
taken by Kansas City and Washington. The Detroit Club, thanks to a deal
engineered by Fred Stearns, was greatly strengthened by securing the
quartette of players from the Buffalo Club known as the "Big Four,"
these being White, Rowe, Richardson and Brouthers, which made them a
most formidable candidate for championship honors, and which, indeed,
they might have won had it not been for the Philadelphia Club, of which
Harry Wright was the manager.
Commenting on the League season for that year Spalding's Official Guide
for 1887 says: "The past season of 1886 proved to be a very profitable
one to a majority of the eight League clubs, those of Chicago, New York,
Philadelphia, Boston and Detroit all finding it a successful season
financially, while Chicago profited by bearing off the honors of the
League championship for the sixth time during the eleven years'
existence of the National League.
"The clubs of St. Louis, Kansas City and Washington, however, failed to
realize expectations, all three being on the wrong side of the column in
profit and loss, As hitherto, good and bad management of the club teams
had a great deal to do with the results of the season's campaign,
financially and otherwise.
"A feature of the season's championship contest was the telling work
done by the Philadelphia Club. This club closed their first season in
the League as the tail end of the eight clubs which entered the list
that year, the eight including Cleveland, Providence and Buffalo. In
1884 Philadelphia closed the season as sixth. In 1885 they finished
third and in October of 1886 they held third place, but finally had to
close a close fourth, after giving Detroit and Chicago a terrible
shaking up. In fact, the championship games in Philadelphia, the latter
part of September and first week in October, were among the most
noteworthy of the season, for from the 22d of September to the close of
the season in October the club in games with Chicago, Detroit, St.
Louis, Kansas City and Washington won 13, lost 3 and had two draws.
"The struggle for the pennant after the May contest lay entirely between
the Chicago, Detroit, New York and Philadelphia Clubs, the other four
having no show from the very outset.
"A notable incident of the campaign was the fact that in the closing
month it lay entirely in the hands of the Philadelphia Club to decide
whether' the pennant was to go to Detroit or Chicago.
"When Chicago left Philadelphia for Boston the last of September all
Detroit was in a fever of excitement at the prospect of their club's
success. The only question of interest was, 'Would they go through
Philadelphia safely?' It was only when Harry Wright's pony League team
captured the Detroits twice out of four games, one being drawn, that
Chicago felt relief from anxiety as to the ultimate outcome of the
pennant race. It was a gallant struggle by Philadelphia, and it made the
close of the campaign season one of the most exciting on record.
"The League schedule had been raised that season from sixteen to eighteen
games, nine to be played on the grounds of each club, and of these only
twenty-four remained unplayed at the close of the season, fifteen of
which were drawn with the score a tie."
This was one of the hardest seasons that I had ever gone through, and
when it was over I felt that we were lucky, indeed, to have captured the
pennant for the third successive time.
The champion team of that year showed but little change in make-up from
that of the preceding year, Clarkson, McCormick and John Flynn being the
pitchers; Kelly, Flint and Moolie, catchers; Anson, first base; Pfeffer,
second base; Burns, third base; Williamson, shortstop; Dalrymple, left
field; Ryan and Gore, center field; and Sunday, right field.
It was a close race that season between, Mike Kelly and myself for the
batting honors of the League, and Michael beat me out by a narrow margin
at the finish, his percentage being .388 as against .371, while
Brouthers came third on the list with .370.
That was the last season that the championship pennant was flown in
Chicago up to the present writing, and looking back at it now it seems
to me an awful long time ago.
CHAPTER XVI. BALL-PLAYERS EACH AND EVERY ONE.
The team that brought the pennant back to Chicago in the years 1885 and
1886 was, in my estimation, not only the strongest team that I ever had
under my management but, taken all in all, one of the strongest teams
that has ever been gotten together in the history of the League, the
position of left field, which was still being played by Dalrymple being
its only weak spot. The fact, however, that "Dal" was a terrific batter
made up for a great many of his shortcomings in tile field, which would
scarcely have been overlooked so easily had it not been for his ability
as a wielder of the ash. In its pitching department it was second in
strength to none of its competitors and behind the bat were Flint and
Kelly, both of whom were widely and favorably known. The outfield was,
to say the least, equal to that of any of the other League clubs, and
the infield admittedly the strongest in the country. This was the
infield that became famous as "Chicago's stone wall," that name being
given to it for the reasons that the only way that a ball could be
gotten through it was to bat it so high that it was out of reach. The
members of that famous infield were Williamson, Pfeffer, Burns and
myself, and so long had we played together and so steadily had we
practiced that there was scarcely a play made that we were not in
readiness to meet. We had a system of signals that was almost perfect,
and the moment that a ball was hit and we had noted its direction we
knew just what to look for. We were up to all the tricks of the game,
and better than all else we had the greatest confidence in each other.
I had shifted the positions of Williamson and Burns and the former was
now playing shortstop and the latter third base. At third base Burns was
as good as the best of them, he excelling at the blocking game, which he
carried on in a style that was particularly his own and which was
calculated to make a base-runner considerable trouble. At short
Williamson was right in his element and in spite of his size he could
cover as much ground in that position as any man that I have ever seen.
While his throwing was of the rifle-shot order, it was yet easy to
catch, as it seemed to come light to your hands, and this was also true
of the balls thrown by Pfeffer and Burns, both of whom were very
accurate in that line. Of the merits of Williamson and Burns as ball
players I have already spoken in another chapter.
Fred Pfeffer, who came from Louisville, Ky., was a ball-player from the
ground up, and as good a second baseman as there was in the profession,
the only thing that I ever found to criticize in his play being a
tendency to pose for the benefit of the occupants of the grand stand. He
was a brilliant player, however, and as good a man in this position
according to my estimate as any that ever held down the second bag. He
was a high-salaried player and one that earned every cent that he
received, being a hard worker and always to be relied upon. He was a
neat dresser, and while not a teetotaler, never drank any more than he
knew how to take care of. As a thrower, fielder and base runner he was
in the first class, while as a batsman he was only fair. Later on he
became tangled up in the Brotherhood business, in which he lost
considerable of the money that he had laid by for a rainy day. It was
some time after the Brotherhood revolt, in which Fred had been one of
the prime movers, and a brief history of which is recorded elsewhere,
that he was taken back into the fold. He was anxious to play again in
Chicago, and I gave him the chance. His health was, however, bad at that
time and he was unable to do himself justice and to play the ball that
when a well man he was capable of. I hung on to him as long as I could,
but when the papers began to howl long and loud about his shortcomings I
was finally forced to release him. It was his, health that put him out
of the business and nothing else, and had it not been for that drawback
he might still be playing ball. At the present writing he is engaged in
the poolroom and bookmaking line at Chicago and making a living, to say
the least of it.
John Clarkson was a really great pitcher, in fact, the best that Chicago
ever had, and that is saying a great deal, as Chicago has had some of
the very best in the profession since the game first became popular
within its suburbs. He was the possessor of a remarkable drop curve and
fast overhand lifting speed, while his change of pace was most
deceiving. He was peculiar in some things, however, and in order to get
his best work you had to keep spurring him along, otherwise he was apt
to let up, this being especially the case when the club was ahead and he
saw what he thought was a chance to save himself. As a fielder he was
very fair, and as, a batsman above the average, so far as strength went,
though not always to be depended upon as certain to land upon the ball.
His home was down at Ocean Spray, near Boston, but he came to us from
Grand Rapids, Michigan. He was released to the Bostons in the spring of
1888 for the sum of $10,000, and played with that team for several
years. He is now in the cigar business in Michigan and is, I ant glad to
learn, successful. Pitchers of Clarkson's sort are few and far between,
as club managers of these latter days can testify.
Jim McCormick, who was Clarkson's alternate in the box, was also one of
the best men in his line that ever sent a ball whizzing across the
plate. He was a great big fellow with a florid complexion and blue
eyes, and was utterly devoid of fear, nothing that came in his direction
being too hot for him to handle. He was a remarkable fielder and a good
batsman for a pitcher, men who play that position being poor wielders of
the ash, as a rule, for the reason, as I have always thought, that they
paid more attention to the art of deceiving the batsman that are opposed
to them than they do to developing their own batting powers. The most of
McCormick's hits landed in the right field, owing to the fact that he
swung late at the ball. He came to Chicago from Cleveland, Ohio, but
prior to that had pitched in Columbus, Ohio. He was going back when he
joined us, but for all that he pitched a lot of good ball and won many a
good game, thanks both to himself and also to the good support that he
received. After he left us he drifted down to Paterson, N. J., which
seems to be a sort of Mecca for broken-down ball players, and became
identified with the racing business, owning and training for a time
quite a string of his own and horses that won for him quite a
considerable sum, of money. He is now running a saloon in that New
Jersey town, and is fairly well-to-do.
John Flynn, who was the third pitcher in the string, came to Chicago
from Boston and was another good man in the twirling line. He had a
wonderful drop ball, good command of the sphere and great speed. He was
also a good batter for a pitcher, and a fast fielder. His arm gave out
while he was with us, however, and besides that he got into fast company
and, attempting to keep up the clip with his so-called friends, found
the pace much too rapid for him and fell by the wayside. John was a good
fellow, and with good habits, and had his arm held out, he might have
made his mark in the profession, but the good habits he lacked and the
arm was not strong enough to bear the strain, so he dropped out of the
business, and what has become of him I know not, though I think he is in
Boston.
Moolie, who had been signed to relieve Kelly and Flint behind the bat
and to handle the delivery of Flynn, was never much of a factor in the
game, he not being strong enough to stand the strain. He was let out
early for that reason and never developed into a player of any note. He
is somewhere in New England at the present time, but just where and what
engaged at I am unable to state.
James T. Ryan was at that time and is now a good ball player. His home
was in Clinton, Mass., and he came to us from the Holy Cross College, in
which team he had been playing. He was a mere boy when he first signed
with Chicago but promised well, and though for a time he did not come up
to the expectations that I had formed regarding him, I kept him on the
team. His greatest fault was that he would not run out on a base hit,
but on the contrary would walk to his base. This I would not stand, and
so I fined him repeatedly, but these fines did little good, especially
after the advent of James C. Hart, who refused to endorse them and
supported Ryan in his insubordination, in regard to which I shall have
more to say later. Ryan was a good hitter, not an overly fast base
runner, and a good judge of a fly ball. He was also an accurate
left-handed thrower. He could never cover as much ground as people
thought, and though he ranked with Lange as a batsman, he was not in
the same class with that player either as a base runner or a fielder,
the Californian in the two latter respects being able to race all around
him. Ryan at the present writing is still a member of the Chicago team,
and, though by no means as good a player as he was some years ago, is
quite likely to remain there as long as Mr. Hart continues at the head
of affairs.
William A. Sunday, or "Billy," as we all called him in those days, was
born in Ames, Iowa, and was as good a boy as ever lived, being
conscientious in a marked degree, hardworking, good-natured and
obliging. At the time that I first ran across him he was driving an
undertaker's wagon in Marshalltown, though it was not because of his
skill in handling the ribbons that he attracted my attention. There was
a fireman's tournament going on at the time of my visit, in which Sunday
was taking part, and it was the speed that he showed on that occasion
that opened my eyes to his possibilities in the base-ball playing line.
He was, in my opinion, the fastest man afterwards on his feet in the
profession, and one who could run the bases like a scared deer. The
first thirteen times that he went to the bat after he began playing with
the Chicagos he was struck out, but I was confident that he would yet
make a ball player and hung onto him, cheering him up as best I could
whenever he became discouraged. As a baserunner his judgment was at
times faulty and he was altogether too daring, taking extreme chances
because of the tremendous turn of speed that he possessed. He was a good
fielder and a strong and accurate thrower, his weak point lying in his
batting. The ball that he threw was a hard one to catch, however, it
landing in the hands like a chunk of lead. Since "Bill" retired from the
diamond he has become noted as an evangelist, and I am told by those who
should know that he is a brilliant speaker and a great success in that
line. May luck be with him wherever lie may go!
I have said that Sunday threw a remarkably hard ball to catch, and this
was true, but I have noted the same peculiarity in regard to other
players that I have met. How to explain the reason for this is a
difficult matter. He was not as swift a thrower as either Williamson,
Burns or Pfeffer, all of whom sent the ball across the field with the
speed of a bullet and with the accuracy of first-class marksmen. In
spite of the extreme speed with which they came into the hand, however,
they seemed to sort of lift themselves as they came and so landed
lightly, while Sunday's balls, on the contrary, seemed to gain in weight
as they sailed through the air and were heavy and soggy when they struck
the hands. This is a strange but true fact, and one that, perhaps some
scientists can explain. I confess that I cannot, nor have I ever been
able to find anybody that could do so to my satisfaction.
Of the members of this old team the most famous in the history of
Chicago as a base-ball city, three are dead, Flint, Williamson and
Kelly, while the others are scattered far and wide, Ryan being the only
one of them that is still playing. Over the graves of three of them the
grass has now been growing for many a year, and yet I can see them as
plainly now as in the golden days of the summers long ago, when, greeted
by the cheers of an admiring multitude, we all played ball together. If
it were possible for the dead to come back to us, how I should like once
more to marshall the members of that championship team of 1884, '85 and
'86 together and march with them once more across the field while the
cheers of the crowd rang in our ears. But that I can never do. The past
is dead, and there is no such thing as resurrecting it, however much we
may wish to do so.
I cannot close this chapter without mentioning little Willie Hahn, our
mascot in those days, and, a mascot of whom we were exceedingly proud.
Not more than four or five years ago his parents lived in a three-story
house not far front the old Congress street grounds. The first time that
I ever saw him he came on the grounds arrayed in a miniature Chicago
uniform, and so cunning was he that we at once adopted him as our
"mascot," giving him the freedom of the grounds, and he was always on
hand when the club was at home, being quite a feature, and one that
pleased the lady patrons of the game immensely. I had lost sight of him
for years, but one day a fine, manly-looking fellow walked into my
billiard-room and introduced himself as the mascot of those other days.
I was glad to see him and also glad to learn that he has a good position
and is getting on in the world.
CHAPTER XVII. WHILE FORTUNE FROWNS AND SMILES.
Should I omit to mention herein the two series of games that the
Chicagos played with the St. Louis Browns, champions of the American
Association, in 1885 and 1886, somebody would probably rise to remark
that I was in hopes that the public had forgotten all about them. Such
is not the case, however. The games in both cases were played after the
regular season was over and after the players had in reality passed out
of my control, and for that reason were not as amenable to the regular
discipline as when the games for the League championship were going on.
The St. Louis Browns was a strong organization, a very strong one, and
when we met them in a series of games for what was styled at the time
the world's championship, in the fall of 1885, they would have been
able, in my estimation, to have given any and all of the League clubs a
race for the money.
In the series of games, one of which was played at Chicago, three in St.
Louis, one at Pittsburg, and two at Cincinnati, we broke even, each
winning three games, the odd one being a tie, and as a result the sum of
$1,000, which had been placed in the office of the "Mirror of American
Sports," of which T. Z. Cowles, of Chicago, was the editor, to be given
to the winning team, was equally divided between the two teams.
At the close of the season of 1886 the St. Louis team, having again won
the championship of the American Association, another series of games
was arranged and a provision was made that the gate money, which
hitherto had been equally divided between the two clubs, should all go
to the winner. The series consisted of six games, three of which were
played in Chicago and three in St. Louis. The first and third of these
games we won by scores of 6 to 0 and 11 to 4, but the second, fourth,
fifth and sixth we lost, the scores standing 12 to 0, 8 to 5, 10 to 3
and 4 to 3 respectively, and as a result we had nothing but our labor
for our pains.
We were beaten, and fairly beaten, but had some of the players taken as
good care of themselves prior to these games as they were in the habit
of doing when the League season was in full swim, I am inclined to
believe that there might have been a different tale to tell.
There was a general shaking up all along the line before the season of
1887 opened. The Kansas City and St. Louis clubs, neither of which had
been able to make any money, dropped out, their places being taken by
Pittsburg and Indianapolis.
The sensation of the year was the sale of Mike Kelly to the Boston Club
by the Chicago management for the sum of $10,000, the largest sum up to
that time that had ever been paid for a ball player, and Mike himself
benefited by the transaction, as he received a salary nearly double that
which he was paid when he wore a Chicago uniform.
The Chicago team for that season consisted of Mark Baldwin, Clarkson and
Van Haltren, pitchers; Daly, Flint, Darling and Hardie, catchers; Anson,
Pfeffer, Burns and Tebeau, basemen; M. Sullivan, Ryan, Pettit, Van
Haltren and Darling, fielders. Pyle, Sprague and Corcoran, pitchers, and
Craig, a catcher, played in a few games, and but a few only.
The season, taken as a whole, was one of the most successful in the
history of the League up to that time, both from a financial and a
playing standpoint. The result of the pennant race was a great
disappointment to the Boston Club management, who, having acquired the
services of "the greatest player in the country," that being the way
they advertised Kelly, evidently thought that all they had to do was to
reach out their hands for the championship emblem and take it. "One
swallow does not make a summer," however, nor one ball player a whole
team, as the Boston Club found out to its cost, the best that it could
do being to finish in the fifth place.
The campaign of 1887 opened on April 28th, the New York and Philadelphia
Clubs leading off in the East and Detroit and Indianapolis Clubs in the
West. At the end of the first month's play Detroit was in the lead, with
Boston a good second, New York third, Philadelphia fourth and Chicago
fifth. The team under my control began a fight for one of the leading
positions in June, and when the end of that month came they were a close
fourth, Detroit, Boston and New York leading them, while Philadelphia,
Pittsburg, Washington and Indianapolis followed in the order named.
The boys were playing good ball at this stage of the game and our
chances for the pennant had a decidedly rosy look. During the month of
July we climbed steadily toward the top of the ladder, and at the end of
that month we were in second place, and within striking distance of
Detroit, that team being still the leader, while Boston had fallen back
to the third and New York to fourth place. These positions were
maintained until the last week of August, when the Chicago and Detroit
teams were tied in the matter of games won. At this time it was still
anybody's race so far as the two leaders were concerned.
The middle of September saw a change in the condition of affairs,
however, Detroit having secured a winning lead, and from that time on
all of the interest centered in the contest for second place between
Chicago, Philadelphia and New York. By the end of September New York was
out of the fight so far as second place was concerned, the battle for
which had narrowed down to Chicago and Philadelphia, which finally went
to the latter after a hard struggle.
The Detroits that season won 79 games and lost 45, the Philadelphias won
75 games and lost 48, the Chicagos won 71 games and lost so, Boston,
Pittsburg, Washington and Indianapolis finishing in the order named.
The champions of that year also succeeded in doing what we had failed to
accomplish, that is, they beat the St. Louis Browns by one game in the
series for the world's championship that was played after the close of
the regular League season.
In the matter of the batting averages for that year I stood second on
the list, with a percentage of .421, having taken part in 122 games,
while Maul, of the Pittsburg team, who led the list with .450, had only
taken part in sixteen games, these figures including bases on balls as
base hits.
The League circuit for 1888 remained the same as in 1887, and all of the
clubs made money with the exception of Detroit, Washington and
Indianapolis, and their losses were small.
The attendance at the games everywhere was something enormous, and the
race between the four leaders a hot one from start to finish.
Early in the spring the Chicago club management pocketed another check
for $10,000 for the release of a player, the one to join the Hub forces
this time being John Clarkson, a man who had often pitched the Chicago
Club to victory, and a player that I personally regretted to part with.
With the assistance of this really great pitcher the Boston management
hoped to get even for their disappointment of the preceding season and
once more fly the pennant over their home grounds, to which it had for
some years been a stranger.
With Clarkson and Kelly out of the way we were looked upon prior to the
opening of the season as a rather soft mark by the other League clubs,
but that they reckoned without their host is shown by the records. We
were in it, and very much in it, from start to finish, finishing in the
second place, the championship going to New York, the team from the
Eastern metropolis winning 84 games and losing 47, while Chicago won 77
games and lost 58, Philadelphia came third on the list with 69 games won
and 61 lost, and Boston fourth with 70 games won and 63 lost, Detroit,
Pittsburg, Indianapolis and Washington following in the order named.
The Chicago team that season consisted of Baldwin, Tener, Krock and Van
Haltren, pitchers; Daly, Flint, Farrell and Darling, catchers; Anson,
Pfeffer and Burns on the bases; Williamson, shortstop, and Sullivan,
Ryan, Pettit and Duffy in the outfield.
Among the men signed, and who were given a trial, were Hoover, Sprague,
Brynon, Clark, Maine and Gumbert.
In the matter of batting averages I again led the League with .343,
Beckley of Pittsburg being second with .342, a difference in my favor of
only a single point.
A long time before this season was over I became interested financially
in a proposed trip to be made by the Chicago Club and a picked team, to
be called the All-Americans, to Australia and New Zealand, A. G.
Spalding, Leigh S. Lynch and one or two others being associated in the
venture. The management of this trip and the details thereof were left
entirely in the hands of Messrs. Spalding and Lynch, the latter-named
gentleman having been associated with A. M. Palmer in the management of
the Union Square Theater at New York, and having passed some time in
Australia in connection with the theatrical business, had a wide
acquaintance there. When the subject was first broached, it is safe to
assert that there was not a man connected with the enterprise that had
any idea that the journey would be lengthened out to a trip around the
world, but such proved to be the case.
In February of 1888 Mr. Lynch departed for Australia in order to make
the necessary arrangements there for the appearance of the tourists.
Posters of the most attractive description were gotten ready for the
trip, and long before the season was over the fact that we were going
became known to every one in the land who took any interest in base-ball
whatever, the proposed trip even then exciting a large amount of
interest. Mr. Lynch, who had returned, had awakened considerable
interest among the Australians, and long before the actual start was
made the prospects, both from a sight-seeing and money-making standpoint
seemed to be most alluring.
One would naturally have thought that with such a chance to travel in
strange lands before them, every ball player in America would have been
more than anxious to make the trip, but such was not the case, greatly
to my astonishment, and to the astonishment of Mr. Spalding, upon whose
shoulders devolved the duty of selecting the players who should
represent the National Game in the Antipodes.
Ten players of the Chicago team signed to go at once, these being Ned
Williamson, Tom Burns, Tom Daly, Mark Baldwin, Jimmy Ryan, Fred Pfeffer,
John Tener, Mark Sullivan, Bob Pettit and myself, but the getting
together of the All-American team was quite a difficult matter. Many of
the players who had at first signed to go backed out at almost the last
moment, among them being Mike Kelly of the Bostons and Mike Tiernan of
the New Yorks. The following team to represent All-America was finally
gotten together: John M. Ward, shortstop and captain; Healy and Crane,
pitchers; Earle, catcher; Carroll, Manning and Wood on the bases, and
Fogerty, Hanlon and T. Brown in the outfield. George Wright accompanied
the party to coach the two teams in their cricket matches. One of the
pleasantest incidents of the year 1888 that I can recall to mind
occurred during our last trip to Washington. Frank Lawler, who was them
a member of Congress from Chicago, and who was as big-hearted and
wholesouled a fellow as ever stood in shoe leather (he is dead now,
more's the pity), learned of our projected trip and procured for us an
audience with President Cleveland at the White House, where we met with
a most cordial reception, and I think I am violating no confidence when
I say that had we been at home when the election took place in November
following, he would have received the vote of every man in the team,
though I am afraid this would not have affected the result to any
appreciable extent.
When I was introduced to him as the captain and manager of the Chicago
Club he shook hands with me in a most cordial fashion and remarked that
he had often heard of me, a fact that did not seem so strange to me as
it might have done some seventeen years earlier, when my name had never
been printed in anything besides the Marshalltown papers.
The impression that I gained of President Cleveland at that time was
that he was a level-headed, forceful business man, a genial companion,
and a man that having once made up his mind to do a thing would carry
out his intentions just as long as he believed, that he was right in
doing. For each and every member of the team he had a cheerful word and
a hearty grip, and when we finally took our departure he wished us a
pleasant trip and a successful one.
I had made up my mind to take Mrs. Anson with me, and so, as soon as the
playing season was over, we began making the necessary preparations for
our departure. These did not take long, however.
The afternoon of October 10th the Chicago and All-American teams played
a farewell game in the presence of 3,000 people on the League grounds at
Chicago, which was won by the Chicagos by a score of 11 to 6, and that
night we were off for what proved to be the first trip around the world
ever made by American ball players, a trip that will ever live in
base-ball annals and in the memories of those who were so fortunate as
to make it.
CHAPTER XVIII. FROM CHICAGO TO DENVER.
It was a jolly party that assembled in the Union Depot on the night of
October 20th, 1888, and the ball players were by no means the center of
attraction, as there were others there to whom even the ball players
took off their hats, and these were the ladies, as Mrs. Ed. Williamson,
the wife of the famous ball player, and Mrs. H. I. Spalding, the stately
and white-haired mother of Mr. Spalding, as well as my own blue-eyed
wife, had determined upon making the trip that few people have the
opportunity of making under circumstances of such a favorable nature. In
addition to these outsiders, so far as ball playing was concerned, were
President Spalding, of the Chicago Club; Harry Simpson, of the Newark,
N. J., team, who acted as Mr. Spalding's assistant; Newton McMillan, the
correspondent of the New York "Sun;" Mr. Goodfriend, of the Chicago
"Inter Ocean;" Harry Palmer, correspondent of the Philadelphia "Sporting
Times" and New York "Herald," and James A. Hart, then of the Milwaukee
Club, but now of Chicago.
The Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad had provided for our
accommodation two handsomely furnished cars, a dining and a sleeping
car, and in these we were soon perfectly at home. It was just seven
o'clock when the train pulled out for St. Paul, that being our first
objective point, with the cheers and good wishes of the host of friends
that had assembled at the depot to see us off still ringing in our ears.
We had dinner that night in the dining car shortly after leaving
Chicago, and long before the meal was over the tourists had become a
veritable happy family.
As we sailed along through the gathering darkness over bridges and
culverts and by stations that seemed like phantoms in the dim light the
song of the rail became monotonous in our ears, and we turned for
recreation to that solace of the traveler, cards, with which every one
in the party seemed well provided. It was not long before the rolling of
the chips made the sleeper resemble a gambling hall more than anything
else, and the cheering and enthusiastic crowds that greeted us at every
stopping place received but a small share of our attention at our hands.
As the ladies in the party had given the boys permission to smoke where
and when they pleased, the blue veil that hung over the various tables
was soon thick enough to cut with a knife. A mandolin and guitar in the
party added to our enjoyment, and it was not until the midnight hour had
come and gone that we sought our couches.
When we arrived at St. Paul on Sunday morning we found a large crowd at
the depot to greet us. A game had been scheduled for that afternoon, St.
Paul being in those days a wide-open town, and Sunday the one great day
in the week so far as base-ball was concerned.
"The frost was on the pumpkins" and the air so chilly that a winter
overcoat would have felt much more comfortable than a base-ball uniform.
Nevertheless it would not do to disappoint the people, 2,000 of whom had
assembled at the grounds to see us play.
In the absence of Mike Kelly, who had faithfully promised Mr. Spalding
that he would join us at Denver, and didn't, Frank Flint, "Old Silver,"
who had been prevailed upon to accompany the party as far as Denver, was
sent in to catch for the All-Americans, and as Kelly's name was on the
score card it was some time before the crowd discovered that it was "Old
Silver" and not the "Ten Thousand Dollar Beauty" that was doing the
catching. Flint's batting was not up to the Kelly standard, however, and
they soon tumbled to the fact that Flint was an impostor. At the end of
the sixth inning, and with the score standing at 9 to 3 in favor of the
Chicagos, the game was called in order that the Chicago Club might play
a game with the St. Pauls, then under the management of John S. Barnes.
This game attracted far more interest than the preceding one, owing to
the local color that it assumed, and the crowd waxed decidedly
enthusiastic when the game was called at the end of the seventh inning
on account of darkness, with the score standing at 8 to 5 in St. Paul's
favor.
So elated was Manager Barnes over the victory of his pets that he at
once challenged me for another game with the Chicagos, to be played at
Minneapolis the following day, a challenge that I accepted without the
least hesitation.
The special cars in which we journeyed were run down to Minneapolis the
next morning, where we had a royal reception, in which a parade in a
dozen landaus drawn by horses with nodding plumes of old gold and new
gold blankets, and headed by a band of twenty-one pieces, led by a
drum-major resplendent in scarlet and gold, was not the least of the
attractions. In spite of the fact that the day was even colder than the
one that we had encountered at St. Paul, some 2,000 people assembled to
witness the game. Van Haltren pitched an excellent game for the
All-Americans on this occasion, while Tener was freely hit and badly
supported, the result being that we were beaten by a score of 6 to 3,
but four innings being played. Then followed the game that the crowd was
most anxious to see, that being the one between the Chicagos and St.
Pauls. For the St. Pauls Tuckerman pitched and Billy Earle caught, while
I sent in Mark Baldwin to do the twirling for the Chicagos. It was a
pretty game, and as neither side scored for four innings the excitement
ran high.
In the fifth inning the St. Pauls were again retired with a goose egg
and Pfeffer crossed the home plate with a winning run for the Chicagos.
It was a great game for the St. Paul Club to play, and Manager Barnes
had a right to be proud of the showing they had made, as he certainly
must have been.
There was but little time for sight-seeing left when the game was over,
and at seven o'clock that evening we were on the road for Cedar Rapids,
Iowa, which was to be our next stopping point. The great majority of us
retired early, but the sleep that we got was scarcely worth talking
about, as Tom Daly, whose propensity for practical jokes was unbounded,
kept the car in a roar of laughter. No one was exempt that could be
reached, and as a result there was no sleep for any of us.
At Cedar Rapids, where we arrived Tuesday morning, we were the
recipients of quite an ovation, and our cars, which had been switched on
a side-track near the Union Depot, attracted as much attention as though
they contained a whole menagerie instead of a few traveling ball
players. Special trains were run in from adjacent towns, and long before
the hour set for the game the town was crowded with visitors. The day
was a beautiful one and the crowd that assembled at the grounds would
have done credit to a League city, the attendance numbering 4,500. A
crowd like that deserved to see a good game, and that is what they were
treated to, the score being a tie in the fifth inning and again in the
eighth, it then standing at five each. In the ninth inning Ryan crossed
the plate with the winning run for Chicago, and the crowd cheered
themselves hoarse over the result, though they would doubtless have
cheered just as long and hard had the All-American team been the
victors.
At 6:30 that evening we left Cedar Rapids for Des Moines, arriving at
the State capital the next morning. Thus far all of our traveling had
been done in the darkness, but as there was nothing to be seen save the
rolling prairies, that I had been familiar with as a. boy, this
occasioned no regret so far as I was concerned.
At Des Moines some 2,000 people turned out to witness the game, which
proved to be close and exciting. At the request of some of the citizens
Hutchinson and Sugie, of the Des Moines Club, were allowed to fill the
points for the All-Americans, Baldwin and Ryan doing the pitching for
Chicago. The local men proved to be decidedly good in their line, and as
a result the score at the end of the ninth inning stood at 3 to 2 in
favor of the All-Americans.
On across the prairies, where the ripened corn stood in stacks, the
train sped to Omaha, where we arrived the morning of October 25th, and
we were met with another great reception. Here Clarence Duval turned up,
and thereby hangs a story. Clarence was a little darkey that I had met
some time before while in Philadelphia, a singer and dancer of no mean
ability, and a little coon whose skill in handling the baton would have
put to the blush many a bandmaster of national reputation. I had togged
him out in a suit of navy blue with brass buttons, at my own expense,
and had engaged him as a mascot. He was an ungrateful little rascal,
however, and deserted me for Mlle. Jarbeau, the actress, at New York,
stage life evidently holding out more attractions for him than a life on
the diamond.
Tom Burns smuggled him into the carriage that day, tatterdemalion that
he was, and when we reached the grounds he ordered us to dress ranks
with all the assurance in the world, and, taking his place in front of
the players as the band struck up a march, he gave such an exhibition as
made the real drum major turn green with envy, while the crowd burst
into a roar of laughter and cheered him to the echo.
When, later in the day, I asked him where he had come from, he replied
that Miss Jarbeau had given him his release that morning. I told him
that he was on the black list and that we had no use for deserters in
our business.
"Spec's you's a' right, Cap'n," he replied and then he added, with a
woe-begone expression of countenance that would have brought tears of
pity to the eyes of a mule: "I'se done had a mighty ha'd time of et
since I left all you uns." I told him that he looked like it, but that
he had deserved it all, and that we were done with him, and this nearly
broke his heart. When I got back to the car I found the little "coon"
there, and ordered him out, but the boys interceded for him, raised a
purse, in which I chipped in my share, of course, and I finally
consented that he should accompany us as far as San Francisco, and
farther, provided that he behaved himself.
The little coon did not prove to be much of a mascot for Chicago that
afternoon, as the All-Americans dropped to Ryan's slow left-handed
delivery after the fifth inning, he having been a puzzle to them up to
that time, and pounded him all over the field, they finally winning by a
score of 12 to 2. The heavy batting pleased the Omaha people, however,
and they cheered the All-Americans again and again.
That night we were off for Hastings, Neb., where we were scheduled to
play the next day. Arriving there Clarence Duval was taken out, given a
bath, against which he fought with tooth and nail, arrayed in a light
checked traveling suit with a hat to match, new underwear and linen,
patent leather shoes and a cane. When he marched onto the field that
afternoon he was the observed of all observers, and attracted so much
attention from President Spalding, who had been absent on a trip to
Kansas City, and who had returned just in time to see his performance,
that it was at once decided to take him to Australia. The contract that
he was made to sign was an ironclad one, and one that carried such
horrible penalties with it in case of desertion that it was enough to
scare the little darkey almost to death. When I looked him over that
night on the train I told him that I should not be in the least
surprised were he again to desert us at San Francisco, and especially if
Miss Jarbeau should run across him.
"Den dat's jest 'case you doan' know me," he retorted; "I specs dat if
dat 'ooman sees me now," and here he looked himself over admiringly,
"she's jes' say to me, 'My gracious, Clarence, whar you been? Come right
along wid me, my boy, an' doan' let me lose sight ob you no more.' I
know she'd just say dat."
"What would you say then?" I asked.
"What I say? Why, I jes' say, 'Go on, white 'ooman, don't know you now,
an' I nebber did know you. No, sir, Mr. Anson, I'se done wid actresses
de rest ob my nat-rel life, you heah me."
To my astonishment he kept his word, remaining with us all through the
trip and returning with us to Chicago. Outside of his dancing and his
power of mimicry he was, however, a "no account nigger," and more than
once did I wish that he had been left behind.
Just before the game at Hastings began a section of the grand stand,
some twenty feet in height, gave way, but as no one was killed, and as
there were 3,000 people present, many of whom had come from the
surrounding towns to witness the game, the accident was soon lost sight
of. The game resulted in a victory for Chicago by a score of 8 to 4.
Baldwin pitched for the Chicagos and Van Haltren for the All-American
team.
On our way from Hastings to Denver that night we met the train from St.
Louis at Oxford, Neb., and were joined by Capt. John Ward and Ed Crane
of the New York team; Capt. Manning of the Kansas Citys had joined us at
Hastings, and when Billy Earle of St. Paul, who had been telegraphed
for, met us at Denver, the party was complete, Hengle, Long and Flint
leaving us at that point to return to Chicago.
The early morning of the 27th found us speeding over the plains some
fifty miles east of Denver. As we looked out of the car windows while at
breakfast that morning we caught glimpses of the snow-capped mountains
in the distance, and so near did they seem to be in the rarefied
atmosphere that they seemed not more than six or seven miles away,
consequently we were much surprised when informed by the conductor that
they were forty-eight miles distant. I have since been told the story of
a sleeping-car conductor who had been running into Denver for some time,
and who sat in the dining-room at Brown's Palace Hotel one morning
looking over toward the foothills, remarked to the steward that the next
time he came there he intended to take a little run over there before
breakfast. Asked how far he thought it was he replied, some two or three
miles, and was astonished when informed that they were twenty-two miles
distant.
We found Denver a really beautiful city and both my wife and myself were
astonished by the handsome buildings that were to be seen on every side
and by the unmistakable signs of prosperity that surrounded us. The
parade to the grounds that afternoon was a showy one and we were greeted
by great crowds all along the line.
The game was witnessed by 7,500 people, who recognized every player the
moment he appeared. The field was a bad one, and this, combined with the
rarefied atmosphere, to which the players were not accustomed, caused
both teams to put up a decidedly poor game, as is shown by the score,
which stood at 16 to 12 in favor of the Chicagos.
The next day, however, in the presence of 6,000 people, the players more
than redeemed themselves, John Ward making his first appearance with the
All-Americans, and playing the position of shortstop in a masterly
fashion. The fielding on both sides was superb, and it was not until two
extra innings had been played that the victory finally remained with the
All-Americans, the score standing at 9 to 8. The feature of the game and
the play that captured the crowd was Hanlon's magnificent running catch
of Sullivan's long fly, which brought the crowd to its feet and resulted
in a storm of cheers that did not cease until that player had raised his
cap to the grand stand in recognition of the ovation. Our two days' stay
in Denver was made decidedly pleasant, and we saw as much of the city as
possible, although not as much as we should have liked to have seen had
we had more time at our disposal.
CHAPTER XIX. FROM DENVER TO SAN FRANCISCO.
Colorado Springs, the fashionable watering place of all Colorado, was to
be our next stopping place. Leaving Denver on the night of October 27th,
we were obliged to change from the broad-gauge cars in which we had been
traveling, into narrow-gauge cars, in which we journeyed as far as
Ogden, and they seemed for a time cramped and uncomfortable as compared
with the "Q." outfit.
We soon became used to them, however, and managed to enjoy ourselves as
thoroughly as though we had no end of room in which to turn around and
stretch ourselves.
I have neglected to say that the old gentleman, or "Pa" Anson, as the
boys soon began to call him in order to distinguish him from myself, had
joined us at starting, and the fact that accommodations for poker
parties were rather cramped, gave him a chance to grumble, that he was
not slow to take advantage of. He soon became a great favorite with all
the party and as base-ball and poker had always been his favorite
amusements, he found himself for at least once in his life in his
natural element, it being one of his theories of life that he would
rather play poker and lose right along than not to play at all. He found
no difficulty in that crowd in getting up a poker party at any time, and
was consequently happy, though whether he won or lost, and how much, I
cannot say.
There was a large crowd at the Denver depot to see us off, and we left
the Colorado metropolis with many regrets, so pleasant had been our
visit there. The day was just breaking when we arrived at Colorado
Springs the next morning, and save for a few early risers, the depot was
deserted. At the depot awaiting our arrival were carriages and saddle
horses, which had been telegraphed for from Denver in order that we
might enjoy a flying visit to Manitou and the Garden of the Gods before
playing the afternoon game.
There was a general scramble at the depot for a choice of steeds, the
park wagons, three in number, having been reserved for the use of the
ladies and such members of the party whose education in the riding line
had been neglected. I was not as quick as I might have been and had the
comfort of Mrs. Anson to look after beside; as a result there fell to my
lot a cross-eyed sorrel that had evidently spent the greater part of his
life in chasing cattle among the mountains, and that true to his natural
proclivities gave me no end of trouble before the morning was over. The
sun was just turning the top of Pike's Peak, some eighteen miles
distant, into a nugget of gold, when we left the depot, but so plainly
could we see the crevices that seamed its massive sides that it looked
not to be more than five miles distant. To our right rose the peaks of
sandstone that form the gateway to the Garden of the Gods, and below us
ran the narrow roadway through the valley like a belt of silver.
Manitou, six miles distant, was reached without accident, and here we
stopped to have breakfast at the Cliff House, and to drink of the clear
waters of the Silver Springs that have become justly famous the world
over. Breakfast over we resumed our ride, turning off into a little
valley a mile below the hotel that formed the rear entrance to the
Garden of the Gods. The sandstone formation here was of the most
peculiar character and the ladies of the party went into ecstasy over
"Punch and Judy," "The Balanced Rock," "The Mushroom Rock," "The Duck,"
"The Frog," "The Lady of the Garden," and the "Kissing Camels." The
great sandstone rocks that form the gateway come in for their share of
admiration and I think we could still have found something to look at
and admire had we remained there for a month instead of for the brief
time that was at our disposal.
That one morning's experience did more to convince me than anything else
that there is no use for the American to travel in search of scenery, as
he has some of the grandest in the world right here in his own country.
After admiring the many remarkable things that were to be seen there we
made on through the gateway down the valley and then to the summit of
the hill, some two miles in height. Here we debouched on to a little
plateau, from which we obtained a magnificent view of Pike's Peak
crowned with its eternal snows; Cheyenne Mountains, looking dark and
sullen by contrast, and the ranges of the Rocky Mountains that upraised
themselves twenty-five miles away, and yet seemed but a few miles
distant.
That cross-eyed sorrel of mine had persisted in taking me off on a
cattle herding exhibition not long after we had left the Springs, and at
Manitou I had turned him over to the tender mercies of Bob Pettit, who
had more experience in that line than I had, and in whose hands he
proved to be a most tractable animal--in fact, quite the pick of the
bunch, which goes to show that things are not always what they seem,
horses and gold bricks being a good deal alike in this respect. Mark
Baldwin's mustang proved to be a finished waltzer, and after the
saddle-girth had been broken and Mark had been deposited at full length
in the roadway, he turned his animal over to Sullivan, who soon managed
to become his master.
It was a morning filled with trials and tribulations, but we finally
turned up at Colorado Springs with no bones broken, and so considered
that we were in luck. The Denver and Rio Grande people had promised to
hold the train an hour for our accommodation, but greatly to our
surprise word came to us right in the middle of the game that we had but
fifteen minutes in which to catch the train, and so we were obliged to
cut the game short and make tracks for the depot.
The exhibition that we put up in the presence of that crowd of 1,200
people at Colorado Springs was a miserable one, the rarefied air being
more to blame for it than anything else, and when we stopped play at the
end of the sixth inning with the score at 16 to 9 in our favor I could
hardly blame the crowd for jeering at us. At this point Jim Hart came
very near to being left behind, he having stopped at the ground to
adjust the matter of finances, and had he not made a sort of John Gilpin
ride of it he might even now be browsing on the side of a Colorado
mountain, and if he were, base-ball would have been none the loser.
I am very much afraid that the residents of Colorado Springs have not to
this day a very high opinion of the Australian base-ball tourists,
but if they are any sorer than I was after my experience with that
cross-eyed sorrel, then I am sorry for them.
The trip through the Grand Canon of the Arkansas that we entered just as
the sun was going down, was a never-to-be-forgotten experience, we
viewing it from an observation car that had been attached to the rear of
the train. Through great walls of rock that towered far above the rails
the train plunged, twisting and turning like some gigantic snake in its
death agony. Into the Royal Gorge we swung over a suspended bridge that
spanned a mountain torrent, and that seemed scarcely stronger than a
spider's web, past great masses of rock that were piled about in the
greatest confusion, and that must have been the result of some great
upheaval of which no records have ever come down to us.
We stopped for supper at the little mountain station of Solida, and then
with the train divided into two sections steamed away for Marshall Pass,
the huge rocks around us looking like grim battlements as they loomed up
in the gathering darkness. Up and still up we climbed, the train running
at times over chasms that seemed bottomless, upon slender bridges and
then darting through narrow openings in the rocks that were but just
wide enough for the train to pass. Reaching the summit of the pass,
10,858 feet above the sea level, we jumped from the coaches as the train
came to a standstill and found ourselves standing knee-deep in the snow.
In the brief space of six hours we had passed from a land of sunshine to
a land of snow and ice, and the transition for a time seemed to bewilder
us. We had now climbed the back bone of the continent and in a few
minutes afterward we were racing down its other side, past the Black
Canon of the Gunnison, that we could see but dimly in the darkness, we
thundered, and it was long after midnight when, weary with sight-seeing
and the unusual fatigue of the day, we retired to our berths.
Breakfasting the next morning at Green River, we soon afterwards entered
the mountains of Utah, that seemed more like hills of mud than anything
else after viewing the wonders of the Rockies.
On the night of October 30th we reached Salt Lake City, the stronghold
of the Mormon faith, and one of the handsomest and cleanest cities that
the far West can boast of. That morning we took in the tabernacle, the
Great Salt Lake and other sights of the town, returning to the Walker
House in time for dinner. The ball ground there was a fairly good one,
and we started to play our first game in the presence of 2,500 people.
In the first half of the fifth inning it started to rain, and how it did
rain! The water did not come down in drops, but in bucketfuls. The game,
which was called at the end of the fourth inning resulted in a victory
for the All-Americans, they winning by a score of 9 to 3. All night long
the rain fell, and as it was anything but pleasant under foot, we were
content, that is, most of us, to remain within the friendly shelter of
the hotels. The grounds next day were still in bad shape, and long
before the game was over we were covered with mud from head to heels.
The game was a good one so far as the All-Americans were concerned, but
a bad one on the part of the Chicago players, the game going against us
by a score of 10 to 3.
That we could not have had pleasant weather and seen more of Salt Lake
City and its environs is a matter of regret with us to this day. The
evening of November 1st found us aboard the cars and off for 'Frisco,
the Paris of America. Arriving at Ogden at midnight, we found two
special sleepers awaiting us, and were soon once more en route.
The next day time hung somewhat heavy on our hands and the view from the
car window soon became monotonous. Dreary wastes of sage brush greeted
us on every hand, walled in by the mountains that, bare of verdure,
raised their heads above the horizon some thirty miles away. To the
pioneers who crossed those arid wastes in search of the new El Dorado,
belongs all honor and praise, but how they ever managed to live and to
reach the promised land is indeed a mystery.
The morning of November 3d found us away up among the mountains of the
Sierra Nevada range, and here the scenery was a magnificent description,
the great peaks being clothed almost to their very summits in robes of
evergreen. Down toward the valleys clad in their suits of emerald green
we rolled, the mountains giving away to hills and the hills to valleys
as the day drew on, until we finally reached Sacramento, where we
stopped for breakfast. Here we found just such a crowd to greet us as
had met the train at Denver, the base-ball enthusiasts, who had been
notified of our coming, having turned out in full force. Leaving
Sacramento we passed through a most prosperous country dotted with
orchards and vineyards as far as the eye could reach until we finally
came to a standstill at the little station of Suison, thirty miles from
San Francisco.
Here we were met by Mr. Hart, who, in company with Frank Lincoln, the
humorist, and Fred Carroll, had gone on ahead of us to 'Frisco from Salt
Lake City, and who had come out to meet us accompanied by a party of
Pacific Coast base-ball managers, railroad men and representatives of
the San Francisco press.
A telegram from E. J. Baldwin, better known by his soubriquet of "Lucky
Baldwin," had been received by Mr. Spalding during the day, welcoming us
to the city and to the Baldwin Hotel, and apprising us that carriages
would be found in waiting for us at the foot of Market street. Landing
from the ferry boats that carried us across the bay from Oakland, we
found the carriages and proceeded at once to the Baldwin Hotel, where
comfortable quarters had been provided for us. I had been notified by
Mr. Hart while on the steamer, as were a half a dozen other members of
the party, to get into a dress suit as soon as possible, and this I did
with the help of Mrs. Anson, shortly after our arrival at the hotel. At
6 o'clock the invited members were escorted by members of the San
Francisco Press and the California Base-ball League to Marchand's, one
of the leading restaurants of the city, where we found a dainty little
supper awaiting us, to which I for one at least did full justice.
After supper we attended a performance of "The Corsair" at the Baldwin
Theater, two proscenium boxes having been reserved for the members of
the two teams, all of whom were in full dress, and it seemed to me as if
we were attracting fully as much attention, if not more, than were the
actors.
There was a big Republican parade the night that we arrived there and
the streets in the neighborhood of the hotel were literally jammed with
people, while the cheering and the noise that continued long after the
bells had proclaimed the hour of midnight made sleep an impossibility.
Tired as we were, it was not until the "wee sma' hours" had begun to
grow longer that Mrs. Anson and I retired, and even then the noise that
floated up to our ears from the crowds below kept us awake for some
time, and that night in my dreams I still fancied that I was on the
train and that I could hear the surging of the rails beneath me. Glad,
indeed, was I the next morning to wake and find that I was once more on
solid ground.
CHAPTER XX. TWO WEEKS IN CALIFORNIA.
We were booked for a stay of two weeks in San Francisco, and that two
weeks proved to be one continual round of pleasure for every member of
the party. The appearance of the city itself was somewhat of a
disappointment to me, and I soon grew somewhat tired of climbing up hill
only to climb down again. The really fine buildings, too, were few and
far between, the majority of them being low wooden structures that
looked like veritable fire-traps. They are built of redwood, however,
and this, according to the natives, is hard to burn. The fact that the
towns had not burned down yet would seem to bear out the truth of their
assertion, though the Baldwin Hotel was built of the same material, and
that went up in flames a little over a year ago in such a hurry that
some of the people who were stopping there thought themselves lucky to
get off with the loss of their wardrobes and baggage, while others who
were not so lucky never got out at all.
The natural surroundings of the city are, however, decidedly handsome,
and I doubt if there is a handsomer sight anywhere than San Francisco
Bay, a bay in which all of the navies of the world could ride at anchor
and still have plenty of room for the merchant vessels to come and go.
The shores of this bay are lined with beautiful little suburban towns
that are within easy reach by boat and sail from San Francisco, and it
is in these towns that a large proportion of the people doing business
in the city reside. The people are most hospitable and at the time of
our visit the base-ball foes and cranks, both in the same category, were
as thick as were the roses, and roses in California greet you at every
turn, not the hot-house roses of the East, that are devoid of all
perfume, but roses that are rich with fragrance and that grow in great
clusters, clambering about the doorways of the rich and poor alike,
drooping over the gateways and making bright the hedges. Flowers were to
be seen everywhere, and their cheapness at the time of our visit was
both the wonder and delight of the ladies.
The day after our arrival, November 4th, dawned bright and beautiful,
but the haggard faces and the sleep-laden eyes of the tourists when they
assembled at a late hour in the Baldwin Hotel rotunda boded ill for a
good exhibition of the art of playing base-ball that we were to give
that day.
My forebodings in this respect proved true. The Haight grounds were
crowded, 10,500 people paying admission to see the game, and great
crowds lined the streets and greeted us with cheers as we drove in
carriages to the scene of action. The practice work on both sides prior
to the opening of the game was of a most encouraging character, but as
for the game itself--well, the least said the better. Tired out with
travel and the late hours of the night before, we were in no condition
to do ourselves justice. We were over-anxious, too, to put up a great
game, and this also told against us. Baldwin who pitched for us had no
control of the ball, and the stone wall infield of the Chicagos, which
included yours truly, was way off and could not field a little bit. The
score, All-American 14 and Chicago 4, tells the story of the game. That
the crowd was disappointed was easy to see. They were good-natured about
it, however, and it is safe to say that they did not feel half so badly
as we did. Our reputation was at stake and theirs was not. That was the
difference.
Two days afterward the All-Americans played the Greenwood and Morans on
the same grounds, and the 3,000 people who had assembled to witness the
game saw the All-Americans get a most disgraceful trouncing at the hands
of the local team, the score at the end of the game standing at 12 to 2.
It was my misfortune to umpire this game, and I have often been accused
since of having given the All-Americans the worst of the decision. It is
always the privilege of the losers to kick at the umpire, however, and I
have even been known to indulge in a gentle remonstrance myself when I
thought the circumstances were justifiable. The truth of the matter is
that it was the old story of late hours and a lack of condition, Crane
being unsteady and the support accorded him not up to the standard,
while the local club played a good game throughout, getting their hits
in where they were needed and playing a really strong game in the field.
Before another crowd of 4,000 people, on November 6th, the All-Americans
played the Pioneers, another local organization, and though Healy
pitched a good game for the visitors they were beaten this time by a
score of 9 to 4. Ward did not take part in the game on this occasion, he
having taken a day off to shoot quail, and the defeat was largely
chargeable to the costly errors divided up among Hanlon, Crane, Manning,
Von Haltren, Wood and Fogarty.
In the meantime I had taken the Chicago team to Stockton, where on the
same grounds as the All-Americans and Pioneers played we stacked up
against the Stockton Club, then one of the strongest organizations in
the Golden State. The 4,000 people assembled at the grounds there saw on
that occasion as pretty a game as they could wish to see, the fielding
on both sides being of the prettiest sort, and the work of the opposing
pitchers, Tener for Chicago and Daly for Stockton, of the most effective
character. At the end of the ninth inning the score was tied at 2 each,
and the darkness coming on we were obliged to let it go at that, the
people of Stockton being well pleased with the exhibition that they had
been treated to by both teams, and especially jubilant over the fact
that their own boys had been able to tie a nine of our calibre. The next
day the Stockton team came down to San Francisco to measure strength
with the All-Americans, Baker and Albright being their battery on this
occasion, as opposed to Crane and Earle. The All-Americans, smarting
under their two defeats at the hands of the local team, simply wiped up
the ground with the Stockton boys on this occasion, pounding Baker all
over the field and running up a score of 16 as against a single for
their opponents. The showing made by the visitors on that occasion
opened the eyes of the Californian ball-players and from that time on
both the Pioneers and the Stocktons fought shy of both the visiting
teams.
On the afternoon of November 10th we, and by that I mean the Chicago
team, played the Haverlys before 5,000 spectators and defeated them
after a pretty contest by a score of 6 to 1, Baldwin pitching an
excellent game for the Chicagos, and Incell, who was at that time the
idol of the Pacific Coast, a good game for the local team, though his
support was weak.
The following day 6,000 people passed through the gates at the Haight
street grounds to witness the second game between Chicago and
All-American teams, and though this was marred by poor work here and
there, the fielding was of such a brilliant character, especially the
work of Chicago's stone wall, as to work the enthusiasm of the crowd up
to the highest pitch. Tener and Von Haltren did the twirling on this
occasion for Chicago and All-Americans respectively, and both of them
were at their best. The All-Americans showed strongest at the bat,
however, and as a result we were beaten by a score of 9 to 6. During the
next week the team made a flying trip to Los Angeles, where two games
were played, we being white-washed in the first one and beaten by a
score of 7 to 4 in the second. This ended our ball-playing in California,
for though it had been the intention to play a farewell game prior
to our sailing for Australia, a steady rain that set in made this
impossible.
When we were not playing ball we were either sightseeing in the
neighborhood of San Francisco or else being entertained by some of the
numerous friends that we made during our stay in "the glorious climate
of California," the first supper at Marchand's being followed by a host
of others, and dinner parties, banquets and theater parties were so
thickly sandwiched in that it was a matter of wonderment that we were
ever able to run the bases at all.
There was scarcely a single place of interest accessible to the city
that we did not visit, from the Cliff House, which is one of the most
popular resorts that Sari Francisco boasts of, its spacious grounds and
verandas being thronged with people on Sundays and holidays, to the
Chinese quarter, a portion of the city that no visitor to the Golden
State should miss seeing, even if he has to make a journey of one
hundred miles to do so.
The Chinese quarter of San Francisco is a city in itself, and one in
which the contrasts between wealth and poverty is even more marked than
it ever was in the Seven Dials of London.
The stores of the well-to-do Chinese merchants are filled with the
richest of silks, the rarest of teas and the most artistic of
bric-a-brac, the carvings in ivory and fancy lacquer work being especially
noticeable, but close to them in the narrow streets are the abodes of
vice and squalor, and squalor of the sort that reeks in the nostrils and
leaves a bad taste for hours afterward in the mouths of the sight-seer.
At the time of our visit both the opium dens and the gambling houses
were running in full blast, and this in spite of the spasmodic efforts
made by the police to close them. John Chinaman is a natural born
gambler, and to obtain admission to one of his resorts is a more
difficult matter than it would be for an ordinary man to obtain an
audience with the Queen of England. He does his gambling behind walls of
steel plate and behind doors that, banged shut as they are at the
slightest sign of danger, would have to be battered down with sledges or
blown open with dynamite before one could gain admission, and by that
time the inmates would have all escaped and nothing would be left behind
to show the nature of the business carried on.
Crime runs rampant in this section of the town, and when a Chinaman is
murdered, in nine cases out of ten the slayer escapes punishment at the
hands of the law, though he may have it meted out to him in some
horrible form at the hands of the dead man's friends and relatives.
To go through the Chinese quarters by daylight is a sight well worth
seeing, but to go through there with a guide after the night's dark
shadows have fallen, is more than that. It is a revelation. These guides
are licensed by the city, and are under the protection of the police.
They are as well known to the Chinamen as they are to the officers of
the law, and the visitor is always safe in following wherever they may
lead.
The tenement houses in the poorer sections of any great city are a
disgrace to modern civilization, but a Chinese tenement house is as much
worse than any of these as can be imagined. In one section of the
Chinese quarter at San Francisco is a four-story building above ground,
with a double basement below, one being under the other, and with an
open court extending from the lower basement clear to the roof. In this
building, which is jocularly styled by the guides, "The Palace Hotel of
the Chinese quarter," and in which a hundred Americans would find
difficulty in existing, over a thousand Chinamen live, sleep and eat,
all of the cooking being done on a couple of giant ranges in the
basement, which is divided up into shops, opium dens and sleeping
quarters.
In these shops are some clever artisans in brass and ivory, and the
locks that are turned out by hand by some of these brass-workers, and
made to a great extent on the same principles as the celebrated locks
made in this country by the Yale Company, are marvels of workmanship in
all of their parts, the joints being as neatly filled in as though
turned out by the latest improved machinery, the wonder of it all being
that the principles upon which they were made have been known to the
Chinese for thousands of years, the Yale locks being apparently nothing
but a slight improvement on the original John Chinaman ideas.
In the opium dens one sees nothing but squalor and misery. A visit to
one of them is a visit to them all, and one visit is generally enough to
disgust the seeker after strange sensation, the acrid smell of the smoke
and the noisome stench of the close rooms being almost unbearable.
The Joss Houses, in which are hideous idols before which tapers and
incense are constantly burning, and the Chinese theaters, with their
never-ending performances, are all strange sights in their way, and
sights that are well worth the taking in. The Chinese quarter is a blot
on the fair name of San Francisco, however, and leaving it one wonders
how and why it has ever been allowed to grow into its present huge
proportions. The memories of these after-dark trips still linger with me
even now, like the shadow of some dark dream, and yet I am glad that I
made them, if only for the purpose of seeing how the other half of the
world manages to exist.
In company with Tom Daly, Bob Pettit, Harry Palmer and others of the
party I enjoyed several horseback rides through the residence and
suburban portions of the city, where I found much to wonder at and
admire.
During our stay President Spalding, Captain Ward, Captain Hanlon, Mr.
and Mrs. Ed Williamson, Messrs. McMillan and Palmer, and Mrs. Anson and
myself were handsomely entertained at Oakland by Mr. Waller Wallace, of
the California "Spirit of the Times," a paper now defunct, and the
glimpses of the bay and city that we caught at that time made the day a
most pleasant one, to say nothing of the hospitality that greeted us on
every hand. Messrs. Spalding, Ward, McMillan, Palmer and myself were
also handsomely entertained by the Press Club, and also by the
Merchants' Club of San Francisco, an organization that numbered among
its members at that time many of the leading business men of San
Francisco and vicinity.
The day of our departure for Australia had been finally fixed for
November 18th, and the evening before Spalding, as a recognition of the
kindness with which we had been treated during our stay, gave a farewell
banquet to the members of the California League and the San Francisco
Press Club at the Baldwin Hotel, covers being laid for seventy-five
guests, among them being several men of prominence in the social and
business world of the Pacific Coast. The menu card for that occasion,
which is circular in form and represents a base-ball cover, now lies
before me, the idea originating in the fertile brain of Frank Lincoln.
Under the heading of "score-card," on the inside, is the magic
injunction, "Play Ball," with which the majority of us who sat at the
table were so familiar, and among the courses, "Eastern oysters on the
home run," "Green turtle a la Kangaroo," "Petit pate a la Spalding,"
"Stewed Terrapin, a la Ward," "Frisco Turkey a la Foul," together with
other dishes, all of which had some allusion either to base-ball or to
our contemplated Australian trip.
After we had played ball, the debris cleared away and the cigars
lighted, there followed a succession of impromptu speech-making, the
toasts and those who replied being as follows: "Early Californian
Ball-players," Judge Hunt of the Superior Court; "The National League
Champions, the New York Base-ball Club," ex-Senator James F. Grady, of
New York; "The San Francisco Press," W. N. Hart, of the San Francisco
Press Club; "The Good Ship Alameda," Capt. Henry G. Morse; "A G.
Spalding and the Australian Trip," Samuel F. Short-ride; "The Chicago
Nine," yours truly; "The All-Americans," Capt. John M. Ward; "The
'Base-ball' Cricketers," George Wright. In closing Spalding thanked the
press and the base-ball people of the coast for the magnificent reception
that we had received, and for all the kindness which had been showered
upon us since our arrival, after which we bade farewell to those of our
friends that we should not see again before our departure.
That night all was bustle and confusion about, the hotel. With an ocean
journey of 7,000 miles before us there was much to be done, and it was
again late before we retired to dream of the King of the Cannibal
Islands and the Land of the Kangaroo.
Eleven years have rolled away since that trip to San Francisco was made
and many of the friends that we then met with and that helped to
entertain us so royally have passed over the Great Divide that separate
the known from the unknown, but their memory still lingers with us and
will as long as life shall last.
There was not a minute of the time that was spent on the coast that I
did not enjoy myself. I found the Californians a warm-hearted, genial
and impulsive people, in whose make-up and habits of life there still
live the characteristics of those early pioneers who settled there in:
"The days of old, the days of gold,
The days of '49."
and to whom money came easily and went the same way.
CHAPTER XXI. WE VISIT THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS.
"We sail the ocean blue, Our saucy ship's a beauty.
We're sailors good and true, And attentive to our duty."
So sang the jolly mariners on the good ship Pinafore, and so might have
sung the members of the Chicago and All-American base-ball teams as they
sailed out through the Golden Gate and into the blue waters of the
Pacific on the afternoon of November 18, 1888. Only at that time we were
not in the least sure as to whether the Alameda was a beauty or not,
pleasant as she looked to the eye, and we had a very reasonable doubt in
our minds as to whether we were sailors "good and true." There was a
long ocean voyage before us, and the few of us that were inclined to
sing refrained from doing so lest it might be thought that, like the boy
in the wood, we were making a great noise in order to keep our courage
up. We were one day late in leaving San Francisco, it having been
originally planned to leave here on Saturday, November 17th, and this
delay of one day served to cut short our visit at Honolulu. The morning
of our departure had dawned gray and sullen and rainy, but toward noon
the clouds broke away and by two o'clock in the afternoon, the hour set
for our departure, the day had become a fairly pleasant one.
At the wharf in San Francisco, a great crowd had assembled to wish us
bon voyage, conspicuous among them being my paternal ancestor, who would
have liked well enough to make the entire trip, and who would doubtless
have done so could he have spared the necessary time from his business
at Marshalltown. Here, too, we bade farewell to Jim Hart, Van Haltren
and others of the party who had accompanied us on our trip across the
country, and who were now either going to return to their homes or spend
the winter in San Francisco. Hardly had we left the narrow entrance to
the harbor, known as the Golden Gate, and entered the deep blue waters
of the Pacific before a heavy fog came down upon the surface of the
deep, shutting out from our gaze the land that we were fast leaving, and
that we were not again destined to see for many months. The steamer was
now rising and falling on the long swells of the Pacific Ocean, but so
gently as to be scarcely perceptible, except to those who were
predisposed to seasickness, and to whom the prospects of a long voyage
were anything but pleasant. I am a fairly good sailor myself, and,
though I have been seasick at times, this swell that we now encountered
bothered me not in the least. Some ten miles from the harbor entrance,
the steamer stopped to let the pilot off, and with his departure the
last link that bound us to America was broken.
Our party on board the steamer numbered thirty-five people, and besides
these there were some twenty-five other passengers, among them being
Prof. Wm. Miller, the wrestler, whose name and fame are well known to
athletes the world over, and who in company with his wife was bound for
Australia. Sir Jas. Willoughby, an effeminate-looking Englishman of the
dude variety, whose weakness for cigarettes and champagne soon became
known to us, and who was doing a bit of a tour for his own pleasure;
Major General Strange, of the English army, a tall, awkward-looking man,
with eagle eyes, gray beard and a bronzed complexion, who had for years
been quartered in India, and who had taken part in the Sepoy rebellion,
some of the incidents of which he was never tired of relating; Frank
Marion, his pretty wife and bright-eyed baby, the parents being a pair
of light comedians, whose home was in the United States and who were
going to Australia for the purpose of filling an engagement at Sidney,
and to whose ability as musicians and skill in handling the guitar and
banjo we were indebted for a great deal of pleasure before reaching our
destination; Colonel J. M. House and a Mr. Turner, both from Chicago,
where they did business at the stock yards, and who were hale and hearty
fellows, a little beyond the meridian of life, and who were making the
Australian trip for the purpose of business and pleasure; and last but
not least Prof. Bartholomew, an aeronaut, who hailed from the wilds of
Michigan and talked in a peculiar dialect of his own, and who joined our
party for exhibition purposes at San Francisco, and proved to be a
constant source of amusement to us all.
We could not have had a more delightful trip than the one from San
Francisco to Honolulu had the weather been made expressly to our order,
the sea being at all times so smooth that one might almost have made the
entire trip in a racing shell, and that without shipping water enough
'to do any damage. It was blue above and blue below, the sky being
without a cloud and the water without so much as even a gentle ripple,
save at the bow of the boat where the water parted to let us through,
and at the stern, where it was churned into masses of foam by the
revolving screw of the steamer. But if the days were beautiful the
nights were simply grand, and the ladies were to be found on deck until
a late hour watching the reflections of the moon and the stars upon the
water and enjoying the balmy salt breezes that came pure and fresh from
the caves of old Ocean. The second afternoon out of San Francisco the
passengers were suddenly startled by the clanging of a bell and the mad
rush on deck of a lot of half-clad seamen, who seemed to come from all
sorts of unexpected places, and who, springing to the top of the cabins
and boiler rooms began quickly to unreel long lines of hose and attach
them to the ship hydrants, while a score or more of sailors stood by the
life buoys and the long lines of water buckets that lined the deck. That
the ship was on fire was the thought that naturally came to the minds of
many of us, and it is not to be wondered at that pale cheeks were here
and there to be seen, for I can conceive of nothing in my mind that
could be more horrible than a fire at sea. The alarm proved a false one,
however, it being simply the daily fire practice of the ship's crew, in
which we afterwards took considerable interest.
In spite of the fact that we were steaming along the beaten paths of
navigation it was not until our fifth day that we encountered another
ship, and then it was about eleven o'clock at night, and after the
majority of the passengers had "sought the seclusion that a cabin
grants," to again quote from Pinafore. Suddenly, as we plowed the
waters, the scene was brilliantly illuminated by a powerful calcium
light on top of the wheel-house, and by its glare we saw not far distant
a steamer that we afterward ascertained to be the one bound from
Honolulu to San Francisco. She had left San Francisco for the islands
before the Presidential election had taken place, and as the Hawaiian
Islands were not connected by cable with the United States, its
passengers were ignorant of the result. It had been arranged, however,
that a single rocket was to be sent up from the Alameda in case of
Harrison's election, and two in case of, his defeat. As Harrison had
been elected only a single rocket from our steamer cleft the blue,
leaving behind it a trail of fiery sparks, and this was answered by a
shower of rockets from the "Australia," that being the name of the
sister ship that we had met, after which her lights grew dimmer and
dimmer until they were finally lost to sight below the horizon.
With music, cards and games of chance of every kind and variety the days
and nights passed pleasantly enough on board ship, and if there was
anything that we had not bet upon before the ship arrived at Honolulu it
was simply because it had been overlooked in some careless manner by the
tourists. When it came to making up a poker party the old gentleman was
greatly missed, as "Pa Anson" had never been found wanting when there
was a card party on hand and a chance to wager his chips.
Before leaving San Francisco Mr. Spalding had met the Liverpool,
England, agent of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad, a Mr. S. A.
Perry, and as a result of a long conversation it was agreed upon that
the latter should visit such European cities as the tourists might
desire to play ball in, and cable the result of his investigations to
Australia. III case he found the indications were favorable to our doing
a good business in Great Britain, where we were again desirous of giving
exhibitions, it had been about decided by Mr. Spalding and myself that
we should continue on around the world instead of returning directly
home from Australia, as we had first intended. The possibility of a
change in our plans we had, however, kept to ourselves, the newspaper
correspondents only being taken into our confidence. The matter was
allowed to leak out, however, during the voyage to Honolulu and the
proposed trip was greeted with great enthusiasm by the ball players, who
looked forward to it with the most pleasant anticipations, and who
talked of but little else until the details were finally agreed upon at
Melbourne and the proposed trip became a reality instead of a mere
"castle in the air."
The details of this trip had already been made public in the United
States the week after our departure from San Francisco, so that the
people at home were aware of what might occur even before the ball
players themselves had had a chance to realize that they were to become
globetrotters.
Owing to the fact that we had left San Francisco a day late we were a
day late in arriving at the capital of the Hawaiian Islands, where we
had been scheduled to play a game on Saturday, November 24th, but where,
owing to an unfortunate combination of circumstances, we were fated not
to play at all in spite of the fact that every preparation for our doing
so had been made and that King and court were more than anxious to see
the American athletes in action. The nightfall of Saturday found us
still plowing the blue waters of the Pacific 150 miles from the islands,
and as we sat on deck in the moonlight we could picture in fancy the
despair of our advance agent, Mr. Simpson, who had gone on ahead of us
from San Francisco and who was still in ignorance of the cause of our
detention.
It was just as the day began to break on the morning of Sunday, November
25th, that the cry of "Land ho!" from the lookout on the bridge echoed
over the steamer's decks, and it was but a few minutes afterward when
the members of our party had assembled next the rail to gaze at what was
then but a faint blur upon the distant horizon. An hour later the green
verdure of the islands and the rugged peaks of the mountains that loomed
up against the rosy tint of the changing sky were plainly discernible,
as were the white buildings of the city of Honolulu and the little fleet
of shipping that was anchored in its bays. The sight was a beautiful
one, and one upon which we gazed with delight as the steamer sailed in
past Diamond Head and slowed down in the still waters of the bay upon
whose shores Honolulu is located.
Nearing the shore we were met by a ship's boat containing Mr. Geoffrey,
the steamship company's resident agent; Harry Simpson, our advance
guard; Mr. F. M. Whitney and Mr. Geo. N. Smith, the latter a cousin of
Mr. Spalding, then residing in Honolulu, together with a party of
natives bearing baskets that were filled with wreaths of flowers called
"Leis," with which they proceeded to decorate each member of our party
as a token of welcome and good will. As the steamer cables were made
fast and we were drawn slowly to our berth at the dock we looked down
from our perch on the rail at a crowd of fully 2,000 people that
assembled there to bid us welcome, the King's band, "The Royal
Hawaiian," with dark complexions and uniforms of white duck, occupying a
conspicuous place and playing for our benefit such familiar tunes as
"The Star Spangled Banner," "Yankee-.Doodle," and "The Girl I Left
Behind Me," each and every one of them bringing out an answering cheer
from the Alameda's passengers.
The morning was a bright and beautiful one and the mountains touched
with the gold: of the sunrise, the plantations lying green and quiet
along the shores, and the rapidly-growing crowd upon the dock, all
combined to make the picture beautiful, and one that will never be
forgotten.
The officers of the U. S. Cruiser "Alert," which lay not far distant,
had given us a hearty cheer as we passed, while the cheers that greeted
us from the dock were almost incessant and told us in an unmistakable
manner that we were indeed welcome to the "Paradise of the Pacific."
Looking down from the steamer deck one saw people of almost every clime,
the dark complexioned, straight-haired and intelligent-looking natives
being in the majority, their white suits and dark faces adding greatly
to the color of the scene. Pretty girls, too, were very much in
evidence, and the eyes of many of our party strayed in their direction,
especially those of the unmarried men, which variety composed the
majority of our party.
Business in Honolulu the day before had been entirely suspended in
expectation of our arrival, and great was the disappointment when the
day passed without the steamer being sighted. It was then thought that
we would not put in an appearance before Monday, and so, when the word
went around on Sunday morning that the "Alameda" was coming in, the
entire city was taken by surprise and everything was bustle and
confusion.
King Kalakuau had set up a great portion of the night awaiting our
coming, and so disappointed was he when we failed to put in an
appearance that he accumulated an uncomfortable load, and this he was
engaged in sleeping off when he was awakened by his courtiers and
informed of our arrival.
Shortly after we had shaken hands with the members of the reception
committee and the steamer had been made fast to the dock we entered the
carriages that had been provided for us and were driven to the Royal
Hawaiian Hotel, passing by the palace of King Kalakuau on the way. The
streets were in themselves a novelty, being lined by stately palms,
cocoanuts and bananas, laden with fruits and nuts, while there were
flowers everywhere. The hotel, which stood in the center of beautifully
laid out grounds, seemed like some palatial residence, and we were no
sooner seated in the spacious dining-room, with its open windows
extending from floor to ceiling, than the Royal Band began a concert in
the music-stand beneath the windows.
This band was certainly a magnificent one, and one that has but few
equals in the world, or had at that time, it being then under the
leadership of Bandmaster Berger, a musician of the first class.
At breakfast that morning we were served for the first time with the
native dish of "Poi," a pink-colored mush that, to be appreciated, must
be eaten in the native manner, the people to the manner born plunging a
forefinger into the dish, giving it a peculiar twist that causes it to
cling, and then depositing it between the lips, where the "Poi" remains
and the finger is again ready to seek the dish. In eating in such a
fashion Frank Flint would have had away the best of it, and, as it was,
I noticed both then and afterward that men like Williamson, Ward and
others, who boasted of a base-ball finger, managed to get away with
something more than their share of the delicacy.
On the balconies after breakfast we again listened to the sweet strains
of the "Aloha Oe," the welcome song of the native Islanders, with which
we had been greeted on our arrival at the docks.
As we stood on the balconies taking in the beautiful sights by which we
were surrounded, we were informed that his majesty, "the King of the
Cannibal Islands," as some members of the party irreverently referred to
him, would be pleased to receive us at eleven o'clock at the palace. An
invitation from a King is equivalent to a command, and so we at once
made ready for the reception. When the appointed hour arrived Clarence
Duval, clad in the full regalia of a drum major, took his place at the
head of the Royal Band, which had formed in front of the hotel, and
behind the music, headed by United States Minister Morrill and Mr.
Spalding, were the members of the two teams in double file, the ladies
following in carriages. In this order the procession marched to the
palace, where the King and his cabinet were awaiting our arrival.
The grounds surrounding the palace were beautiful, indeed, and as we
reached the massive portico at the entrance the band formed on one side
as, with hats off, we filed up the steps, being met on the landing by
members of the King's Cabinet, and by attendants, who directed us to the
blue room, where we deposited our hats and canes. We were then requested
to follow Minister Morrill, who took Mr. Spalding's arm and led the way
across a great hall hung with pictures of the Island's dead-and-gone
rulers, and into the throne room, the latter an imposing apartment large
enough for several hundred couples to dance in, where the King, arrayed
in citizen's clothes, stood before his throne with a Gentleman of Honor
in court costume on either side. Minister Morrill introduced Mr.
Spalding to the King, and he in turn introduced the other members of our
party as they filed in by him, be bowing to each of the party as the
name was mentioned. After the reception was over we wrote our names on
the court register, and then, after being shown through the palace, were
escorted back to the hotel by the band.
King Kalakuau was by no means a bad-looking fellow, being tall and
somewhat portly, with the usual dark complexion, dark eyes and white
teeth, which were plainly visible when he smiled, that distinguished all
of the Kanaka race. Somehow, and for no apparent reason, there came to
my mind as I looked at him the lines of that old song:
"Hokey, pokey, winky wum,
How do you like your murphys done?
Sometimes hot and sometimes cold,
King of the Cannibal Islands,"
and I tried hard to fancy what might have happened had we landed on
those same islands several centuries before.
Sunday amusements of all kinds being prohibited by an old Hawaiian law,
a relic of the old missionary days, made an exhibition by the members of
the two teams an impossibility, although the members of the Reception
Committee, backed by many of the native Islanders, petitioned that we
should do so, offering to bear any and all of the expenses incurred by
us should any trouble be forthcoming. Couriers bearing petitions to the
same effect were also sent around the city, and soon over a thousand
names to these had been obtained. The risk was too great a one to be
taken, however, as in case anything did happen we were almost certain to
miss our boat and be detained in Honolulu for a longer period of time
than we could afford to spend there. Our refusal to defy the law and
play ball anyhow was a great disappointment both to the American
contingent and to the natives, they having been looking forward to the
game for weeks with most pleasant anticipations. They took their
disappointment good-naturedly, however, and proceeded to make our stay
among them as pleasant as possible. The most of our time was devoted to
sight-seeing, some of the party going in one direction and some in the
other.
In company with several others, Mrs. Anson and myself drove out to the
Pali, viewing the magnificent scenery to be found there from the
plateau, where, according to the tales of the natives, it rains every
day in the year between certain hours. I was not there long enough to
swear to the truth of the story, but as it rained the one day that we
were on hand I am willing to assume that it rained the other three
hundred and sixty-four, and let it go at that. We then drove through
many of the city's most beautiful avenues, past the Royal mausoleum,
where sleep the former Kings and Queens of Hawaii, from Kamehameha to
the Princess Like Like, who was the last of those that had been interred
there at the time of our visit. The parks and roadways of Honolulu are
of rare beauty, and many of the principal residences and public
buildings of a kind that would do credit to any country in the world. At
the residence of the Hon. A. S. Claghorn, where we stopped for a few
minutes, we were introduced to the Princess Kaiulani, a really beautiful
Hawaiian girl, and one who was the possessor of rare accomplishments and
of a most winning manner. We also paid a visit to the residence of one
Hon. John H. Cummins, one of the Hawaiian sugar kings, where we were
entertained in a most handsome manner. The time spent in driving around
passed all too quickly, and, reaching the hotel, we began to prepare for
the grand Luau, or native feast, that was to be given in our honor by
King Kalakuau and Messrs. Samuel Parker, John Ena and George Beckley,
and which proved to be one of the most novel and delightful features of
our trip.
This feast was given in the Queen's grounds, in the center of which was
placed her private residence. As we drove past the King's palace and
through an avenue lined by towering palms and came unexpectedly upon the
brilliantly illuminated-grounds, with their magnificent groves of
banana, date, cocoanut, royal palms and other trees and plants of a
tropical nature, the scene was a never to be forgotten one. The spacious
enclosure was literally ablaze with light. Japanese lanterns of all
colors, flaming torches of oil gleaming close together among the
foliage.
As the uniformed officers at the gates made way for us we entered the
grounds. Minister Morrill, Mr. Spalding, Capt. Morse of the "Alameda,"
and the ladies leading the way and walking toward a great tree near the
center of the grounds, beneath which stood the King, the Hon. John
Cummins, and the members of the King's Cabinet. At the birth of each
member of the Royal family, according to custom, a tree was planted upon
royal ground, and as this tree flourishes or decays it is supposed to
foreshadow the future of the child for whom it was planted. King
Kalakuau on this occasion stood beneath his own birth-tree, planted
some, fifty years before, which at that time gave no indication of the
fate that a few years later was to overtake him in a strange land.
Greeting each of his guests cordially he bade all make ourselves
thoroughly at home, a thing that we proceeded at once to do without
further ceremony, wandering about the grounds and seeing whatever was to
be seen.
An hour after our arrival the King, offering his arm to Mrs. Spalding,
led the way toward the grove where the banquet was to be served, he
being followed by H. R. H. Lilino Kalani, the King's sister, Prince
Kawanonakoa, Mr. Spalding, Capt. Morse and the rest of the party. The
tables were laid upon blocks elevated not more than six inches from the
ground, in the shape of a letter U, and upon each side lay long strips
of matting, upon which we sat cross-legged, like Turks, while shapely
Kanaka girls in flowing robes of white stood over us moving fans of
gorgeous colors. Poi was given to us in huge calabashes, while upon the
big platters that were set before us and incased in the long,
coarse-fibred leaves in which they had been baked, were portions of
beef, pork, veal, fish, chickens and other viands usual to a banquet
in our own land. Bands of native boys with stringed instruments played
continuously' during the feast, making music of a peculiar character,
that rose and fell as the busy hum of conversation and mingled with the
joyous laughter of the men and maidens that were gathered about the
table.
At last silence was requested, and as the noise died away the King's
Attorney General, speaking for his majesty, expressed the pleasure that
the Hawaiian ruler felt in entertaining such a representative body of
Americans in his own islands. To this speech President Spalding
responded in well-chosen words, thanking both the King and the residents
of Honolulu for the hospitality shown us, after which, at the King's
request, Lincoln entertained the guests with his satire on after-dinner
speeches, his "A B C" orations, and his mixing of a soda cocktail, all
of which provoked roars of laughter. After the banquet the King and the
members of his court and family held a levee beneath his birth-tree,
where, just before nine o'clock, we all filed by to bid him farewell,
Clarence Duval having danced for him in the meantime to the patting of
hands by Burns, Pfeffer, Ryan and Williamson, a performance that amused
his majesty greatly, a tea-dollar gold piece being the reward that he
gave to the little coon for his performance.
At the outskirts of the grounds we paused to give three cheers for King
Kalakuau, three more for our Honolulu friends, and three more for the
ladies, after which we were driven to the hotel and thence to-the
steamer, which was to sail at ten o'clock. At the dock another great
crowd had assembled to see us off, and as we swung out to sea there came
to our ears the sweet strains of the "Aloha" song, from the members of
the Royal Band, growing fainter and fainter as the distance between the
steamer and the shore increased, until at last it died away altogether
as we rounded the headlands, and it was heard no more.
CHAPTER XXII. FROM HONOLULU TO AUSTRALIA.
The majority of our party, and among them Mrs. Anson and myself,
remained upon the deck that evening chatting of the many beautiful
things that we had seen and gazing in the direction of the
fast-vanishing islands until they were at last lost to sight behind the
mystic veil of the moonlight, and then we sought our stateroom to dream
of the wonderful sights that were yet to come. There was now an ocean
trip of 3,900 miles before us, before we should set foot on shore at New
Zealand, and with never a stop between save a brief wait for the mail at
the Samoan Islands. We were all pretty fair sailors by this time, having
become used to the motion of the vessel, and so the long voyage had for
us no terror, though we could not help but hope that the sea would
remain as smooth as it had been up to that time, and that we should
encounter no storms before reaching our destination.
How to keep the members of the two teams in anything like good condition
for playing had been a problem with me for several days and one that I
had spent some time in studying over during the first week of our
voyage. The boys were all getting restless for lack of active exercise,
and it was plain to me that something would have tot, be done or they
would be in no condition when Australia was reached to do themselves or
the country that, they represented justice.
"See here, George," I said to Wright the afternoon after we had left
Honolulu, as we were sitting beside the steamer rail and looking across
the blue expanse of waters, "this sort of a life will never do for
American ballplayers who expect to exploit the beauties of the game in
foreign lands. We shall be as stiff as old women and as fat as a lot of
aldermen by the time we reach Australia unless we take exercise of some
kind during the voyage. Can't we manage to get some cricket practice in
some way?"
George thought we could do so, and a little later we held an interview
with Capt. Morse, who was one of the best fellows that I ever sailed
with. The result was on the following morning half a dozen sailors were
set to work to roof over and wall in with canvas the rear end of the
quarter deck promenade, upon the larboard side of the ship, which being
done prevented the balls from going into the sea. This, when completed,
gave us an enclosed cricket alley of about forty feet long, eight feet
wide and ten feet high. The wickets were set in the extreme edge of this
alley, the bowler facing the opening of the tent, twenty feet beyond it,
so he had plenty of room to swing his arm and ample distance in which to
break the ball in spite of the smooth decks and the rolling of the ship.
A fifty-foot stretch of cocoa matting that Mr. Wright had thoughtfully
provided gave a surface upon which to bowl almost as goad as genuine
turf, and each day from that time on until the voyage was over several
hours were put in by the boys at practice, the exercise proving to be
just what was needed, the members of both teams, thanks to this,
reaching Australia in good playing condition. After our cricket alley
had been built the time did not hang as heavily on our hands as before,
and between practice at the English national game, cards, music,
conversation and reading, the days glided by both swiftly and
pleasantly. The weather became very warm soon after we left Honolulu and
many of the boys preferred sleeping, in the steamer chairs upon the deck
rather than in the close staterooms that had been allotted to them. The
decks at this time presented some queer sights, and the practical jokers
in the party managed to extract a lot of fun at the expense of the
sleepers. At 5:30 in the morning the slumberers were awakened by the
sailors who started in to wash down the decks, when they would retire to
their staterooms, doff their pajamas and return en natural to the
vicinity to the smoker, where there were two perforated nozzles, and get
their salt water baths. A sponge-off in fresh water followed and then a
cup of black coffee and a soda cracker that was provided by the steward,
and that stayed their stomachs until the welcome sound of the gong
called us to breakfast.
We crossed the Equator some time between 1 and 2 o'clock on the morning
of December 1st, and the occasion was celebrated by a musicale in the
cabin under the supervision of Frank Lincoln, during the progress of
which everybody who could help entertain in the least was pressed into
service. A thrilling account of his own experiences during the Sepoy
mutiny in India and his adventures during the celebrated siege of
Lucknow, told by Gen. Strange, proved most interesting. Later on at the
bow of the ship the whole party assembled and whiled the time away with
song and story until Capt. Morse came himself to inform us that we had
crossed the line and were now safe on the Southern Seas. I did not see
the line nor did I even feel the bottom of the steamer scrape it as she
went over, but it may be that owing to the darkness and the music I
noticed neither of these things.
Early in the morning of December 2d it began blowing hard and by the
time the noon hour had arrived the steamer was rolling about like a
bass-wood log in a mountain torrent. There were some familiar faces
missing from the tables at meal time that day and the stewards who
waited upon those whose stomachs were still in eating order worked under
difficulties, it being always a question of where they would bring up
when they entered the cabin door. All that day:
It was rough, mighty rough,
But the boys they stood by,
And they ran on a bluff
On the grub on the sly,
while the sick ones that lay in their staterooms were hoping and praying
they'd die.
That night there was no comfort to be had on deck, which was wet and
slippery, so a mock trial was held in the cabin that afforded
considerable amusement, General Strange acting as the presiding judge
and Sir James Willoughby as the prisoner at the bar. Charges had been
preferred to the effect that Sir James was not a peer of the realm as he
had represented himself, and that he was carrying concealed weapons in
violation of the ship's law. John Ward acted as counsel for the
defendant, Col. House as prosecuting attorney, and Jimmy Forgarty as
court crier. The witnesses were all sworn not to tell the truth, and
anything but the truth, and as a result there were such whoppers told as
would have made the original Annanias turn green with envy. Thanks to
the eloquence of John Ward, however, Sir James was acquitted with all
honor, but that trial was one of the most amusing incidents of the
voyage.
The spell of heavy weather lasted but a few hours, after which time the
wind died away, the waves calmed down and the sun shone as brilliantly
as ever. On the night of December 30th and while the weather still left
much to be desired, we sighted the Northernmost Island of the Samoan
group, which are famous by reason of the destruction of a fleet of
United States cruisers anchored in one of the harbors by a tornado, a
native insurrection that threatened to bring about war between the
United States and Germany, and as the home and burial place of Robert
Louis Stevenson, the famous writer. Ed Crane and several others of the
party and myself were sitting on deck and under the shelter of an awning
watching for a glimpse of the land that we all knew was not far away,
when a little after 11 o'clock we ran suddenly under the lee of a
mountainous ridge of land that loomed up like a huge shadow in the
uncertain light, and almost immediately found ourselves in smooth water.
Walking toward the bow of the boat we reached there just as a green
signal light was flashed from the bridge. Before us lay the land, and as
we watched, a light twinkled on the shore nearly five miles away in
answer to our signal. Slowly we steamed toward it, the signal lights
flashing their messages at short intervals through the darkness until we
reached the harbor, where we lay about half a mile from the land until a
sloop and a dory reached us with the mail and passengers for Auckland.
Of both the land and the natives we had but a glimpse, one of the
latter, a red-headed and stalwart specimen of his race, clambering to
the steamer's deck in order to get a receipt for the mail and a glassful
of gin, both of which were given him by the purser. The former he stowed
away somewhere in his scanty clothing and the latter he gulped down as
though it were water, after which he swung himself over the rail and
disappeared from sight in the darkness. A few moments later we had left
Samoan Islands behind us and were again tossing on the foam-topped
waves. Samoa was left not far behind, however, when the weather turned
colder and before many hours had passed we were all glad to change our
clothing of a tropical weight for garments that were much heavier, and
to seek comfortable places in the cabin at night rather than the open
deck. Even the cricket practice had begun to get monotonous, and we were
all looking forward with pleasure to the time when we might once more
feel the solid land beneath our feet.
It was with feelings of delight therefore that we heard early on the
morning of December 9th that we were within sight of our destination and
that we should be on shore, barring accident, by the noon hour. Standing
on deck long before it was time for breakfast, we feasted our eyes on
the green hills that were in plain sight, and then fell to wondering
what sort of a welcome awaited us in the New Zealand seaport that we
were rapidly nearing.
While at the breakfast table that morning Capt. Morse was presented by
Gen. Strange, on behalf of the passengers, with a purse of $200 as a
testimonial to his skill, kindness and uniform courtesy. The big Captain
was taken by surprise, but he acknowledged the gift in a brief and manly
speech that brought out a round of applause from the listeners.
The harbor at Auckland is reached by means of a winding passage walled
in by hills of volcanic origin, and the bay itself is second only to
that of Sydney in beauty, the sides of the high hills that wall it in
being dotted here and there by pretty residences of white stone,
surrounded by broad porticos and handsomely arranged grounds. The town
was as quiet as a country funeral and this we marveled at until we were
informed that we had lost a day from our calendar and that instead of
being Saturday as we had thought, it was Sunday. Leigh Lynch, who had
been detained at Sydney, had sent his cousin, Will Lynch, to meet us and
as the steamer was made fast to the dock he came on board with a bouquet
of flowers for the different members of the party. Several newspaper
men, who followed him shortly afterward, expressed their regret that we
had not arrived the day before, as then we could have played to some
eight or ten thousand people. We had expected to remain in Auckland but
a few hours and were therefore agreeably surprised when Capt. Morse
informed us that the Alameda would remain there to coal until 5 o'clock
the next afternoon.
After a good dinner at the Imperial Hotel, Mrs. Anson and myself,
accompanied by others of the party, drove about Auckland and its
environs and though a drizzling rain was falling we found much to admire
and to wonder at in the vicinity of that New Zealand seaport. Soon after
sundown the skies cleared and that evening we enjoyed ourselves in
strolling about the streets, being determined to make the most of the
short time on shore that was allotted to us.
The next day dawned bright and beautiful, and, after paying a visit to
the City Hall, where we received a warm welcome from Mayor Devore, we
proceeded to get into our base-ball uniforms and prepare for the game
that was to take place that afternoon.
During the noon hour the local band came marching down the principal
street to the dock, and shortly afterward it started at the head of a
procession of carriages containing the ball players and two tally-hos
containing the passengers of the Alameda, who attended the game as our
guests. The enclosure in which we played that day was as handsome as any
that we saw in New Zealand, the grounds being as level as a billiard
table and the turf as smooth and soft as velvet. The game was one that
was remarkable on both sides for its heavy batting, the ball rolling
away over the smooth surface of the outfield in a way that almost broke
the hearts of the fielders and at the same time gave them more exercise
than they had had for weeks. The 4,500 people that witnessed the contest
waxed enthusiastic over the heavy batting of the visitors from the
"States" and also over the splendid fielding. Baldwin was in the box for
us in this game and pitched great ball, Crane doing the twirling for the
All-Americas. The Chicago: proved to be the winners and the score, 22 to
13, shows the cannonading done on both sides. This was a good game for
both teams to play when the fact is taken into consideration that the
players still had their sea legs on and simply shows the good condition
that the cricket practice on board the ship had kept them in.
When the "Alameda" left the dock at Auckland that afternoon, a crowd of
at least 2,000 people had assembled to see us off. With Sydney 1,243
miles distant we still had quite a voyage before us. That night we
skirted the coast until after the darkness had fallen and watched the
green hills that seemed to rise abruptly from the water's edge. When the
morning came and we once more sought the deck there was no land in sight
and nothing to be seen save the watery waste of the ocean that stretched
away to the horizon on every side. We had a rough voyage from Auckland
and were glad enough when, on the afternoon of December 14th, we sighted
the Australian coast. At five o'clock that evening, after a hearty
dinner, we again assembled on the deck to watch the headlands that grew
each moment more and more distinct, and' soon afterward a tugboat came
to meet us, bringing the pilot and Manager Leigh Lynch, the latter
notifying us as soon as he could gain the deck of the great reception
that was awaiting us at Sydney.
The harbor at Syndey is a delight to the eye, and as we steamed through
the Heads with the white-winged gulls circling around our masts and the
dolphins playing about our bow, we drank in the beautiful sight with
greedy eyes. Several steamers laden with gentlemen and ladies, and with
bands of music playing our national airs, steamed down the harbor to
meet us, and long ere we reached the quay we were surrounded by a fleet
of small craft gaily decked in colors and carrying crowds of cheering
and kerchief-waving people. Our national colors were to be seen
everywhere, even the lighthouse on the point being draped from top to
bottom in clouds of red, white and blue bunting. The Stars and Stripes
greeted the eye on every hand, and, let me say right here, that there is
no place where the flag of our country appears so handsome to the eyes
of an American as when it greets him in some foreign harbor. The storm
of cheers that greeted us from the throats of the enthusiastic
Sydneyites we answered as best we could, and the strain upon our vocal
organs was something terrific. Viewed from the steamer's deck the city
of Sydney and the beautiful harbor, surrounded by the high hills and
bold headlands, presented a most entrancing picture. Clear down to the
water's edge extend beautifully-kept private grounds and public parks,
and these, with grandly built residences of white stone, with
tower-capped walls and turrets that stand among the trees upon the
hillside, glistening in the sunshine, made the whole picture seem like
a scene from fairyland. At the quay there was another crowd of cheering
people, and it was with difficulty that we made our way to the four-horse
tally-ho coaches and to the Oxford Hotel, where quarters had been
arranged for us.
The entrance to the Oxford Hotel, as well as the dining-room, was
handsomely decorated in red, white and blue, evergreens and colored
lanterns, and, after receiving a brief greeting from U. S. Consul
Griffin, we retired to our rooms to prepare for the formal welcome to
Australia that was to be given to us that night at the Royal Theater.
We were to spend some little time in Australia, and that we had fallen
among friends was evident at once from the reception that had been
accorded us. It was a relief to know that our voyage was at least over
for a time and to feel the solid land once more beneath our feet, though
we parted with Capt. Morse with regret, he having endeared himself to us
all by the uniform kindness and courtesy that he had shown our party on
the long ocean trip.
CHAPTER XXIII. WITH OUR FRIENDS IN THE ANTIPODES.
That night after the gentlemen of the party had donned their dress suits
and the ladies their best bibs and tuckers, we repaired in a body to the
Royal Theater, where a large and fashionable audience had assembled to
bid us welcome. The theater, presided over at that time by Jimmy
Williamson, an American, was handsomely decorated for the occasion with
American flags, and as we took our places in the private boxes and in
the section of the dress circle reserved for us, we were greeted with
round after round of applause.
After the closing act of "Struck Oil," in which both Mr. Williamson and
his wife appeared, our entire party passed through the box circle to the
stage, upon, which we were arranged in a semi-circle facing the
audience, which cheered us heartily as the curtain rose.
Just as the curtain went up a kid in the gallery, who must have been an
American, who at some time in his career had seen me play, and to whom
my face and form were familiar, cocked his head over the rail and
shouted in tones that could be heard all over the theater, "'Rah for
Baby Anson," a salutation that came so unexpectedly that it almost took
my breath away and that caused both audience and players to laugh
heartily. Mr. Daniel O'Connor, a member of the Australian Parliament,
then introduced us to the audience in a brief address that was full of
kind allusions to the country that we came from and eulogistic of our
fame as ball players, he referring particularly to our pluck in coming
so far without any guarantee against financial loss or artistic failure
except our own confidence in the beauties of our National Game and in
the sport-loving spirit of the Australian people. He tendered us a
hearty welcome on behalf of the Colonies, and bespoke for us a generous
patronage on behalf of the lovers of square sports, both in Sydney and
elsewhere.
To this address Mr. Spalding responded for the American ball players in
happy fashion, his remarks being greeted with generous applause on the
part of the audience, after which we returned to our seats to witness an
after-piece illustrating in farcical style the evils of Chinese
immigration, and then, returning to the hotel, we were introduced to
many of the leading business men of the city, remaining up until a late
hour.
At eleven o'clock the next morning we again assembled in the office of
the Oxford for the purpose of making a formal call upon Mayor Harris at
the City Hall, and as we drove through the principal streets to our
destination we were greeted all along the line by cheering and
enthusiastic crowds. We were received in the Council Chamber of the City
Hall by the Mayor, who was dressed in his official robe of purple and
ermine, and who escorted us across the hall to his chamber, where an
elaborate lunch awaited us, and the champagne corks were soon popping in
lively fashion. The Mayor's speech of welcome was what we Americans call
a "dandy," and I wish right now that I had a copy of it in order that I
might reproduce it for the benefit of my readers. He stated among other
things that, while he did not understand the game of baseball thoroughly
himself, yet he thought well enough of it to predict that in time
Australia would have a league of her own, the professionals of which
would be able to hold their own with the professionals of the United
States. He then tendered us the freedom of the city during our stay, and
bade us make ourselves at home. This address was responded to in our
behalf by U. S. Consul Griffin, after which his Honor again arose to
remark that so long as America treated Australia with the kindness and
consideration that they had in the past, the Australians would do their
best to make it pleasant for their American cousins while they were on
Australian soil.
"My reason for believing that our athletes will emulate your ball
players," concluded the Mayor, "are manifold. In the first place, we
have adopted your American ideas of trading, and we have managed to
scrape up material enough to beat you! best oarsman," here his Honor
turned toward Ned Hanlan, the ex-champion sculler, who had quietly
entered the room and taken a seat near Mr. Spalding, the reference
securing a cheer for the modest little athlete from the members of our
party, "and," continued the Mayor, after the applause had subsided, "if
all Americans will yield the palm with as good grace as Mr. Hanlan has
done, we will entertain as high an opinion of them as we now do of Mr.
Hanlan." After responses to the Mayor's address had been made by Messrs.
Spalding and Lynch, and a dozen or more toasts proposed and drunk, we
gave the Mayor of Sydney three cheers and a tiger and returned to our
hotel, feeling certain that if all Australians were like the ones we had
met thus far, a good time in Australia was assured to us.
We played our first game in Australia that afternoon upon the grounds of
the Sydney Cricket Association, and it is but fair to say that we had
nothing in the United States at that time, nor have we now, that will
compare with them either for beauty or convenience. The playing field,
with its covering of green turf, was as level as a floor and was
surrounded by sloping lawns that were bright with flowering shrubs,
while the club houses were models of their kind. The great annual
foot-races at Botany that afternoon, and the horse-races elsewhere
proved to be strong rival attractions, but in spite of them, and of the
threatening weather, 5,500 people had assembled to see how the American
National Game was played. Fortunately the members of bath teams were on
their mettle, and the result was a game full of exciting features from
start to finish, the pitching of Teller for the Chicagos and Healy for
the All-Americas being of the gilt-edged order, while the fielding and
base-running of both teams was up to the mark. At the end of the first
inning the game was a tie, each team having scored four runs, and it so
remained until the ninth inning, when the All-Americas sent a man across
the plate and scored the winning run in what proved to be one of the
hardest fought games of the entire trip. At the end of the sixth inning
there was an interval of fifteen minutes, and during that time we were
received at the Association Club House by Lord Carrington, who was at
that time Governor of New South Wales, and who gave, us a warm welcome
to the Colonies and wished us every success in introducing the game in
Australia. After Mr. Spalding had thanked Lord Carrington for his good
wishes on behalf of the players, and we had cheered everybody from Lord
and Lady Carrington to Queen Victoria, we returned to finish the game,
being heartily cheered by the crowds as we again took up our positions
on the diamond. That exhibition gave the game quite an impetus in
Australia, where it is now quite popular, thanks, I believe, to the
visit of the American ball players.
The ride back from the grounds was an enjoyable one and after dinner
there was a general exodus from the hotel on the part of the tourists,
who were determined to see everything that there was to be seen and to
let no opportunity in that line escape them. Just how Mrs. Anson and
myself passed the evening I have forgotten, but that we passed it
pleasantly I am certain, for how could it be otherwise in a place where
everyone had combined apparently to make our visit a pleasant one, and
where nothing was left undone that could add to our comfort and
pleasure.
The following day, Sunday, was bright and beautiful, and in parties we
drove over the city and its suburbs, going, among other places, to
Coogee Bay, the fashionable watering resort of the Sydney people, and a
beautiful place, too, it is. Sydney Bay was in itself a sight well worth
seeing, when viewed from the surrounding hills, and the "Point," from
which a magnificent view is to be obtained, impressed one with its
rugged grandeur. Many of the residences of Sydney are extremely handsome
and picturesque, and Mrs. Anson and I picked out more than one during
the day's outing that we should like to have owned, that is, providing
that we could have moved both the house and its surroundings back to
Chicago.
The next morning the Chicago and All-America teams played their first
game of cricket on the Sydney grounds, Messrs. Spalding, Wright, Earl
and George Wade doing the greater part of the bowling, and this game
resulted in a victory for the All-Americas by a score of 67 to 33. I had
been bragging considerably during the trip in regard to my abilities as
a cricketer, and was therefore greatly chagrined when I struck at the
first ball that was bowled to me and went out on a little pop-up fly to
Fogarty. This caused the boys to guy me unmercifully, but I consoled
myself with the reflection that they had to guy somebody, and if it were
not me then somebody else would have to be the sufferer.
That second afternoon we played our second game of ball in Sydney, in
the presence of some 3,000 people, the batteries being Baldwin and
myself for the Chicagos and Healy and Earl for the All-Americas. It was
another pretty exhibition on the part of both teams, the All-Americas
finally winning by a score of 7 to 5.
We played our first game with the Australian Cricketers the next day,
and, though we played seventeen men against their eleven, we were
ignominiously beaten, the Americans making 87 runs while the Australians
ran their score up to 115, for only six wickets, the game, which had
begun at eleven o'clock in the morning, being called at four p.m., to
allow of another game of base-ball, which resulted at the end of five
innings in another victory for the All-Americas by a score of 6 to 2,
both teams being too tired to do themselves justice. The cricket game
was the last of its kind that we played in Australia, and I am confident
now that had we been as strong in bowling as in fielding we would have
beaten the Australians at their own game, though our batting on this
occasion was also decidedly on the weak side.
That night we attended a banquet tendered us by the citizens of Sydney,
at the Town Hall. Two hundred plates were laid in the reception hall of
the big building, the columns, dome, and windows of which were almost
hidden by the English and American flags with which they were draped.
The marble floor was covered with soft carpets and great banks of cut
flowers and rare plants were arranged on every side, while at the end of
the hall a raised platform had been built upon which a musical and
literary entertainment was given after the banquet. That banquet at
Sydney was certainly a memorable affair, and one that overshadowed in
magnificence all that had gone before. The toasts, which included "The
Queen," "The President," "The Governor," "Our Guests," "The Ladies,"
"The Press," and "The Chairman," were responded to by U. S. Consul
Griffin, Daniel O'Connor, M. P., John M. Ward, Leigh Lynch, Newton
McMillan, E. G. Allen of the Sydney Star, and others, after which
followed a musicale in which some of the best amateur and professional
talent in Sydney took part, the cornet solos of Mrs. Leigh Lynch being
the bright particular feature of the entertainment. Mrs. Lynch, who was
formerly a member of the Berger Family of Bell Ringers, is a most
accomplished musician, and one that afterwards helped us to while away
many an hour when time would otherwise have hung heavily on our hands.
The next afternoon we were to depart for Melbourne, and as we had
nothing else to do we spent the greater part of the time in strolling
about the streets and in bidding farewell to the many friends that we
had made in Sydney. With button-hole badges of the Stars and Stripes and
red, white and blue bands on the soft straw hats that we wore, it was an
easy matter for the Australians to distinguish us wherever we went. At
the Grosvenor Hotel we all assembled about an hour before departure, at
the invitation of the Hon. Daniel O'Connor, to bid farewell to himself
and to other prominent representatives of New South Wales. Here we were
handsomely entertained, and when we left to take our seats in the
special train that had been prepared, it was with cheers that fairly
shook the rafters. My memories of Sydney are all pleasant ones, and it
was with sincere feelings of regret that I left the many friends that I
had made while there.
The coaches in which we journeyed to Melbourne were built in the English
style, with compartments, and are not nearly so comfortable as the
sleeping and drawing-room cars to be found in America, and had the old
gentleman been with us I am afraid he would have kicked loud and long
over the poker playing facilities that they afforded. The road itself is
excellently built, however, and the country through which it runs rich,
fertile and well wooded. It was a little after nightfall when we got
supper at a small way station, after which we proceeded to rest as best
we could. At 5:30 in the morning we were routed out on the borders of
the Colony to have our baggage examined by the custom house authorities,
which caused Mrs. Anson and myself but little annoyance, as we had left
all our dynamite at home on the piano. At 6 o'clock we were again on the
way and at eleven o'clock that morning we pulled into the station on
Spencer street in Melbourne, where quite a crowd was waiting to greet
us.
The Reception Committee, made up of American residents of Melbourne and
members of the Victorian Cricket Association, met us with four-in-hand
drags appropriately trimmed with the American colors, and as we entered
them and drove up Collins street we felt that we were the observed of
all observers. At the Town Hall we were received by Mayor Benjamin and
the members of the City Council, and here a crowd of several thousand
people had assembled to bid us welcome, which they did in the hearty
fashion of the Australian people, who are as warm-hearted and as
hospitable a class as any people that I ever met. In the audience hall
up stairs, was a great pipe organ, and there we were treated to some
beautiful music by the town organist, Mr. David Lee. The rendering of
"Home, Sweet Home," carried us back again to the land that we had left,
and as the strains of "God Save the Queen" rang through the hall we
stood with uncovered heads until the music died away along the lofty
corridors. In the Mayor's private room a generous lunch was awaiting us,
and among those present to receive us were the Hon. Mr. Choppin, Consul
General of the United States at the Melbourne Exposition; Mr. Smyth,
Acting Consul; the Hon. J. B. Patterson, D. Gaunson, and Messrs. Smith
and Pierce, together with a large delegation of the lovers of outdoor
sports, including cricketers and base-ball players. The Mayor's speech
of welcome was a plain and hearty one, and was followed by addresses of
welcome by the Hon. Mr. Smith, of the Victoria Cricket Association;
Acting United States Consul Smyth and Mr. S. P. Lord, the latter being
introduced as "an old Colonist, who came from America in 1853," and a
"base-bailer." Mr. Spalding followed in a brief speech, expressing our
appreciation of the cordial welcome that had been accorded us and hoping
that the Victorians would take as kindly to the game itself as they had
to its exponents, after which Captain Ward and myself were called upon
to say something, which we did to the best of our ability, though I
somehow have never managed to acquire fame in the speech-making line,
and would rather play ball at any time than make even a few remarks,
that is, unless I could talk to an umpire.
Brief addresses by Mayor Wardell, Town Clerk Fitzgibbon and Mr. David
Scott followed, after which we were driven to the Grand Hotel, where we
found most comfortable quarters and a good dinner awaiting us.
This hotel was in close proximity to the exposition buildings, the
Treasury building, the Parliament building and the Fitzroy Gardens, and
was convenient to a great many of the objects and places of interest
with which Melbourne abounds. One feature of the hotel, and one that
greatly pleased the majority of our tourists, was the fact that a number
of pretty colonial girls were employed in nearly every department,
they waiting on the table and taking the place of the bellboys, in
fact, doing everything except to fill the positions of porter and
baggage-smasher.
That evening, at the invitation of Manager Musgrove, a partner of Mr.
Williamson of the Royal Theater, in Sydney, we occupied a full section
of the dress circle in the Princess Theater, where we witnessed a
splendid production of "The Princess Ida," by an English company. At the
end of the third act we were called out to drink the health of Mr.
Musgrove, who informed us that the door of his theater were open to us
at all times.
It was after midnight when we returned to the hotel, and so tired were
we that we were glad to go at once to our rooms without stopping for the
customary chat in the office or corridors, knowing that we had yet to
make our first appearance as ball players before a Melbourne crowd, and
must rest up if we wished to make even a creditable showing.
CHAPTER XXIV. BASEBALL PLAYING AND SIGHTSEEING IN AUSTRALIA.
We played our first game at Melbourne on Saturday, December 22d, the
second day after our arrival from Sydney, and in the presence of one of
the largest crowds that ever assembled at the Melbourne Oval, the
handsomest of their kind in Australia. The surroundings were of the most
beautiful character and the day itself as perfect as any one could have
desired for base-ball purposes. The lawn in front of the Club House was
thronged with ladies in light attire, and the many-hued sunshades that
they carried gave to it the appearance of an animated flower garden. The
Club House balconies were crowded and even the roof had been pre-empted
by the ladies and their escorts as a coign of vantage from which to view
the game. The grand stand was filled to overflowing and the crowd that
overflowed from it encircled the field, extending from the grand stand
clear around to the Club House grounds. The scene was indeed an
inspiring one, and it is not to be wondered that a good exhibition of
the beauties of the game were given under such circumstances. The
base-running was of the most daring character, the fielding sharp on the
part of both teams, and the batting heavy. Baldwin and Crane were both
at their best and pitched in superb style, while the exhibition of
base-running that was given by some of the boys brought the onlookers
fairly to their feet and they cheered themselves hoarse in their
excitement.
Up to the seventh inning the score was a tie, but we managed to get a
man across the plate in the seventh inning, as a result of Burns'
three-bagger, and Baldwin' single, and another in the eighth, the result
of a single by Sullivan and a long right-field hit for three bases by
myself, and that I foolishly tried to make a home run on, being put out
at the plate by Brown's magnificent throw from the field. The game
finally resulted in a victory for Chicago by a score of 5 to 3, and
leaving the field we congratulated ourselves on the fact that both at
Sydney and Melbourne we had played first-class ball.
Supper parties and banquets were now becoming every-day occurrences with
us, and that night we were handsomely entertained by an English actor of
note, Mr. Charles Warner, who was at that time touring the colonies, the
place selected for the entertainment being the Maison Dore, the swell
restaurant of Melbourne. Here we spent a very pleasant evening until it
was again time to retire.
The next morning, in the big reading room of the hotel, the boys were
given some information by Mr. Spalding that I was already acquainted
with, viz., that we should continue our trip around the world, returning
home by the way of Egypt, the Mediterranean and Continental Europe. In
spite of the fact that it was Sunday morning, this announcement was
greeted with a burst of applause by the players, many of whom, even in
their wildest dreamings, had never thought that such a trip would be
possible for them.
After giving the players some good advice regarding their habits and
physical health, Mr. Spalding stated that he wished to land every member
of the party in New York sound and well and with only pleasant
recollections of the tour, and that he hoped that all would, co-operate
with him to that end. That morning the proposed trip was about the only
subject of conversation among the members of the party, and pleasant
indeed were the anticipations of one and all concerning it.
There was scarcely a spot of interest in or about Melbourne that we did
not visit, the weather being delightful, while so constantly were we
being entertained that there was scarcely an evening that our dress
suits were given a chance to rest. It was the day before Christmas--not
the night before--that we played our second game of base-ball in
Melbourne, and the crowd, while not so large as that which witnessed the
first game, was still of goodly proportions, some 6,000 people passing
through the gates. Ryan pitched for the Chicagos and Healy and Crane for
the All-Americas on this occasion, and all three of them were pounded in
a lively fashion, there being a perfect fusillade of base hits on both
sides, and the hard hitting seemed to the liking of the spectators, who
cheered every drive to the outfield frantically. In spite of the hard
hitting the game was closely contested, the All-Americas finally bearing
off the honors by a score of 15 to 13. Following the game Prof.
Bartholomew gave his first balloon ascension and parachute drop in
Australia, a performance that was new to the Australians, and that they
watched with almost breathless interest.
Christmas day in Melbourne the weather was terrifically hot and the
lightest sort of summer attire even was uncomfortable. It seemed strange
to us to think that at home on that same day there was probably snow on
the ground and an icy wind blowing. Christmas in a hot country somehow
does not seem like Christmas at all, an opinion that was shared by both
Mrs. Anson and myself. That afternoon at three o'clock we departed for
Adelaide, where we were scheduled to play three games, and this time we
were delighted to find that "Mann boudoir cars" had been provided for us
instead of English compartment coaches.
We missed the ladies on the trip, they having been left at Melbourne
because of the heat, as had Ed Crane, with whom the hot weather did not
seem to agree. At Ballarat, about four hours' distance from Melbourne,
where we were scheduled to play a game on our return, we found 'a
reception committee at the depot to meet us, together with a number of
ladies. The country through which we journeyed that afternoon was fairly
attractive, but thinly settled and literally overrun with that pest of
the Australian farmer, the rabbits, which, like good race-horses, seemed
to come in all shapes, color and size. The country swarmed with them and
for the first time we began to realize what an immense damage they were
capable of doing to the growing crops in that section.
It was about half-past ten o'clock the next morning when we reached
Adelaide, and so hot that a Fourth of July day in St. Louis would have
seemed like Arctic weather by comparison. At the depot we found United
States Consul Murphy and a committee of citizens in waiting, and were at
once driven to the City Hall, where Mayor Shaw made us welcome to the
city. The usual spread and speeches followed, after which we were driven
to the hotel. That afternoon we played our first game on the Adelaide
Oval, which was the equal of either the Sydney or Melbourne grounds, so
far as the actual playing grounds were concerned, though far inferior to
them in buildings and natural surroundings. Owing to the intense heat
and the fact that it was the opening day of the great race meeting at
Melbourne there were only about 2,000 people present, and they witnessed
a game remarkable for its heavy batting, both Teller and Healy being
severely punished. The game went to the credit of the All-Americas by a
score of 19 to 14.
That night our party occupied the Governor's box in the Royal Theater,
where we attracted far more attention than did the play, the house being
a crowded one.
The next morning we were the guests of Mayor Shaw, who took us for a
drive in a big four-horse drag, and this proved a delightful experience
to us all, the Sea Beach road, over which we drove, being cool and
comfortable. Ten miles out we stopped at the wine yard of Thomas Hardy &
Sons, who were at that time the most extensive grape and fruit raisers
in Australia. Here we were shown over the immense wine yards and wine
cellar, after which we drove to Henley Beach, returning in time for the
game that afternoon.
At this second game the attendance was somewhat better than the first,
and with Baldwin pitching for Chicago and Healy and Ward for All-America,
we managed to turn the tables on our conquerors of the day before and
win by a score of 12 to 9.
The next day was a holiday, and of these the Australians have many, it
being the fifty-second anniversary of South Australia's existence as a
colony, and as we were to leave in the afternoon we played our farewell
game in the morning, play being called at ten o'clock. With Ryan in the
box for Chicago and Simpson for All-America we won the easiest sort of a
game by a score of II to 4, having Sir William Robinson, Governor of the
Colony, for a spectator during the last four innings. After the game he
came out on the grounds and shook hands with us all, complimenting us in
a nice little speech on the skill that we had shown and expressing his
own liking for the game that he had that morning seen for the first
time.
That afternoon we left for Ballarat, the great gold-mining center of
Australia, and at one time famous as the home of the bushrangers who for
years terrorized that section of the country.
It was six o'clock in the morning when we arrived there, and we were
just climbing into the drag that was awaiting us when some one missed
Tom Daly. After a search he was found fast asleep in one of the
compartments of the car, and being awakened was released by an obliging
guard, looking a bit the worse for wear. In the early gray of the
dawning we reached Craig's Hotel, where lunch had been arranged for us,
after partaking which we were driven to the Botanical Gardens, the
roadway winding along the shores of a beautiful lake. The gardens were
well worth a visit, and after spending a brief half hour in admiring the
flowers and statuary, we were driven back to the hotel for breakfast,
stopping on the way for a plunge in the great Ballarat Swimming
Aquarium. After breakfast we were driven to the Barton Gold Mines,
situated on the edge of the town, going down to a depth of ii,000 feet
after we had attired ourselves in overalls, slouch hats and other
nondescript disguises. From the mine we were driven to the Town Hall, of
West Ballarat, Ballarat being divided into two municipalities, West and
East, where we met with the usual Australian welcome at the hands of
Mayor Macdonald, thence to East Ballarat, where Mayor Ellsworth did the
honors, the latter afterwards accompanying us on a visit to the Ballarat
Orphan Asylum, where an invitation was given to the youngsters to the
number of 200 to witness the game that afternoon, and that they were all
on hand is a certainty.
The crowd that attended the game was 4,500 strong, and they saw the
All-Americas win a rather easy game by a score of 11 to 7, the boys being
too nearly tired out to play good ball. The ascent and fall of Professor
Bartholomew was, however, the sensation of the day, the parachute
failing to sustain his weight in that high altitude, and as a result he
came down with great speed, and, striking a cornice of a building in the
business district, was laid up for a month, it being a lucky thing for
him that he was not killed outright. At seven o'clock that night we left
for Melbourne, arriving there some four hours later in an all but used
up condition.
The next day, Sunday, our whole party started for a drive of twenty-five
miles over the mountains in a big four-horse drag, we being the guests
for that day of Mr. J. K. Downer, a wealthy citizen of Melbourne.
Through a rolling and well-settled country we bowled along until we
reached the foot-hills, that were green and well-wooded, the clear notes
of Mrs. Leigh Lynch's cornet every now and then waking the echoes. After
three hours' ride we reached Fern Glen, the residence of a Mr. Bruce, a
friend of the gentleman whose guests we were, and to whose broad veranda
we were soon made welcome. The scenery here was beautiful, the house
itself being situated in a rift of the mountains and surrounded by giant
trees on every side, the grounds about being possessed of great natural
beauty. After enjoying a splendid lunch provided for the occasion at
Melbourne, and sent out ahead by wagon, we strolled through the
beautiful glen, with its great ferns that arched the pathway, and the
roots of which were watered by a little mountain stream.
After an extempore entertainment we again climbed to our seats in the
drag and were driven back to Melbourne, stopping en route at the stock
farm of J. H. Miller, who had gone into the business of breeding
American trotters, and who again persisted in wining and dining us
before he would let us go. "The Travelers' Rest," "The Golden Swan,"
"The Bull's Head Inn," and other resorts of a like kind were stopped at
on our way back, and it was eleven o'clock at night when we were finally
set down at the doors of the Grand Hotel, having spent one of the most
enjoyable days since our arrival in Melbourne.
A great day's program of sport had been prepared for Monday, the last
day of the year, in which cricket, baseball and foot-ball were all to
have had an inning. The weather, however, interfered with the base-ball
and cricket part of the program. The foot-ball game between the Carleton
and St. Kilda foot-ball teams proved to be a most interesting contest,
however, and one that we were glad to have the opportunity of
witnessing, a heavy shower driving us back to the hotel before we could
indulge in either base-ball or cricket.
Two games were scheduled for New Year's day, but only one of these was
played and that in the morning, the attendance being 2,500, and the
Chicagos winning by a score of 14 to 7, Tener pitching for us and Healy
for the All-Americas. That same day there were 4,000 people at the races
and probably as many more at the various cricket matches and athletic
games going on in the city and vicinity, so it can readily be seen that
Melbourne was a decidedly sporty place and that we had pretty hard
competition to go up against, even for New Year's day. After luncheon at
the cricket grounds we were treated to an exhibition of rope-skipping
and boomerang throwing by a lot of aborigines that was little short of
wonderful, and that must be seen to be appreciated. The natives could
make these curved pieces of wood do all kinds of seemingly impossible
things, while for us they would simply do nothing, but I expect that
with a set of billiard balls several of our party could have made them
look as much like monkeys as they did us with their boomerangs.
We were booked to sail from Port Melbourne for Ceylon on Monday, June
7th, and Saturday afternoon we played our farewell game in the Victoria
capital before a crowd that tested the capacity of the grounds, the gate
count showing that 11,000 people had paid their way into the enclosure.
The program for the afternoon was a varied one, a two-inning game
between the Australian Cricketers and the All-America team being the
starter, and in this the American players easily demonstrated their
superiority. Next came a game of foot-ball between the Port Melbourne
and Carleton teams that was played under a modification of the old Rugby
rules, and that proved close and exciting. A four-inning game between
Chicago and All-America followed, Baldwin and Daly and Crane and Earle
being the batteries, and it is safe to assert that a prettier exhibition
of base-running and fielding was never witnessed in Australia than the
one given on that occasion. With not a fielding error on either side my
boys won by a score of 5 to 0, Pettit finally ending the game with a
splendid running catch of Earle's long fly to right field, a performance
that the spectators cheered again and again.
An exhibition of long distance throwing followed, Crane, Williamson and
Pfeffer attempting to beat the Australian record of 126 yards 3 inches,
for throwing a five and one-half ounce cricket ball, and this feat Crane
accomplished, he sending the ball 128 yards 10 1/2 inches, a performance
that the crowd appreciated.
At three o'clock on Monday afternoon, having said farewell to all of our
friends in Melbourne, we took the train for Port Melbourne, seven miles
distant, and were soon assigned to our staterooms on board of the
"Salier," which was to begin her voyage the next morning.
The scene about the dock where the "Salier" lay that afternoon was an
impressive one, the Turks and Hindoos, with their dark skins, red
turbans and bright costumes, the circling seabirds with their peculiar
cries, and the many craft of various kinds that moved hither and thither
over the blue waters, all combining to make a picture that once seen can
never be forgotten.
We left Australia with many genuine regrets. In the matter of
hospitality that country easily stands at the head of the list of all
of those that we visited, and if we could have shot a kangaroo or two
before our departure and run up against a party of bushrangers,
black-bearded and daring, even though they had managed to relieve us
of a few of our valuables, we should have been made happy, but alas! the
bushrangers, like the bad men of our own glorious West, had been wiped
out by the march of civilization, and even the kangaroo had taken to the
woods when he heard that we were coming, so we bore our disappointment
as best we could, trusting for better luck in case we should ever be so
fortunate as to again visit Her Majesty's Australian Colonies.
CHAPTER XXV. AFLOAT ON THE INDIAN SEA.
The "Salier," which was one of the German Lloyd line of steamers, sailed
from Port Melbourne at daybreak on the morning of January 8th, 1889, and
before many of us had put in our appearance on deck, although we were
awakened long before by the cries of the sailors and the usual noise and
bustle that precedes the departure of a steamer from her dock in all
parts of the world. Long before we had left Port Melbourne out of sight,
however, we had assembled at the rail to wave our last adieus to the
many friends who had come down from Melbourne to see us off. The
"Salier" was a delightful vessel and one that was most comfortably
equipped, as are all of the vessels of this line, and the quarter deck,
with its open-windowed smoking and card-rooms, soon became the chosen
lounging place of the boys by day and the sleeping place of many of them
by night, they preferring to don pajamas anti sleep in the easy steamer
chairs rather than to seek the seclusion of the staterooms, which, as a
rule, were hot and sultry. Captain Tallenhorst, who commanded the
"Salier," was a fine fellow, and both he and his officers were inclined
to do pleasant one, and a pleasant one indeed it proved.
In the steerage we carried a mixed lot of emigrants from all sections of
the world, among them being Chinamen, Hindoos, Turks, Cingalese,
Italians and Germans, and to walk through their quarters and listen to
the strange languages that they spoke was to get a very good idea of the
confusion that must have reigned when the building of the tower of Babel
was in progress, and gave us at the same time a chance to study some of
the manners and customs of a people that were strange to us.
The meals that were served on board the "Salier" were an improvement on
those of the "Alameda," though we had found no fault with those given us
on the latter, but there was one drawback to our enjoyment of them,
however, and that was that the waiters spoke nothing but German, and
consequently those of us who were unfamiliar with the language had some
difficulty in making ourselves understood, our efforts to make known our
wants by the sign language often resulting in ludicrous blunders. Fred
Pfeffer was right at home, however, and as a result he managed to get
the best there was going, the waiters evidently mistaking him for
nothing less than a German Count, judging from the alacrity with which
they flew about to execute his orders. We had been out but a few short
hours before we began to miss Frank Lincoln, whose never-failing fund of
humor had helped to while away many an hour and who had bid us farewell
at Melbourne, having decided to remain for some little time in
Australia. Among our fellow-passengers in the cabin were a couple of
civil engineers from England, who had been making a tour of Australia,
and very pleasant companions they proved to be; a Melbourne lady who was
taking her two little daughters to Germany to be educated; and last but
not least in his own estimation, if not in that of others, a Mr.
Theophilus Green, a loud-mouthed, bald-headed, red-faced and portly
gentleman of middle age, who, according to his own story, was possessed
of unlimited funds, a desire to travel, and an inclination to pass
himself off wherever he might happen to be as a representative American,
God save the mark! Mr. Green journeyed with our party as far as Suez,
and when he left us the long-drawn sigh of relief that went up from all
hands was like unto the rushing sound that is caused by the passage of a
hurricane over the surface of the waters.
Among the second cabin passengers were two stalwart Australians who were
bound for Zanzibar, Africa, and who meant to penetrate into the interior
of that wild country in search of big game. They were well equipped with
firearms, of the most improved designs, and unlimited quantities of
ammunition, and had the appearance of men who were perfectly capable of
taking care of themselves in any country, no odds how wild and
uncivilized it might be. They accompanied us as far as Aden, where they
left us, taking with them our best wishes for their success and safe
return.
The second night after leaving Port Melbourne we stopped at Port
Adelaide, a little seaport seven miles distant from Adelaide, where we
remained until two o'clock the next afternoon to take on a cargo of
Australian wool. This was a hot town, at least to look at, the streets
being dusty and devoid of shade trees of any kind, and the buildings of
a low and inferior description. We had considerable sport while laying
there fishing from the rail of the steamer and watching a big shark that
came nosing around the stern of the boat in search of food. After he
swam away for some distance some of the boys amused themselves by
shooting at him with their revolvers, but if they succeeded in hitting
him, of which I have my doubts, his sharkship gave no sign of being in
trouble and pursued the even tenor of his way until he was lost to
sight.
For days after we left Port Adelaide the weather was of the most
disagreeable variety, the sky being overcast by clouds of a leaden hue
while the huge waves were lashed into foam by the wind, and this,
together with a heavy ground swell, gave to the steamer a most
uncomfortable motion. This sort of affair was too much for my wife, and
also for the other ladies in the party, with the exception of Mrs.
Williamson, who proved to be a good sailor, and they remained in their
staterooms. I had thought that I, too, was an immune, not having been
sick since we left San Francisco, but the motion of the boat proved to
be too much even for me, and I was forced to pay common tribute to
Neptune that the King of the Seas is wont to exact from most
land-lubbers. Tener and Fred Pfeffer were about the only ball players
that escaped, and that Pfeffer did so I shall always insist was due to
the fact that he could speak German and so got all the good things to
eat that he wanted, while the rest of us, not being so fortunate, were
obliged to put up with what we could get. Even Daly and Fogarty were
obliged to keep quiet for a time, and this was something of a relief to
the more sober members of the party. One afternoon after the last-named
gentleman had begun to feel a little better he called to a passing
waiter and asked for a cheese sandwich. The Dutchman, doubtless thinking
that he was doing that irrepressible a favor, brought up a big plate of
sauerkraut and steamed bolognas, and the effect of this on the weak
stomachs of those who happened to be in that vicinity can be better
imagined than described. If John Tener had not happened along and
grabbed that waiter by the scruff of the neck and the slack of his
pants, hustling him out of sight, there is no telling what might have
happened, but I am inclined to think that murder might have been done.
After we had left the Australian Bight behind us and entered the Indian
Ocean the seas calmed down and, the weather, which prior to that time
had been cool and uncomfortable, became warm and pleasant. The ladies
were again enabled to join us on deck and with music, cards, books and
conversation the time passed pleasantly enough.
The steerage passengers were to us a never-ending source of amusement
and interest, as we watched them working in their various ways and
listened to their strange and incomprehensible gibberish. An old Hindoo
one day raffled off a richly-embroidered silk pillow at a shilling a
chance, and this, with my usual good luck I won and turned over to Mrs.
Anson for safe keeping.
The Hindoos and Mohammedans on board would eat nothing that they did not
cook themselves, even killed a sheep every few days, when it became
necessary, and carrying their own supply of saucepans and other cooking
utensils. One of the Hindoos, a merchant of Calcutta, who had been ill
from the time that the steamer left Port Adelaide, died when our voyage
was about half over. His body was sewn up in a piece of canvas with a
bar of lead at the foot and laid away in his bunk. It was in vain that
we asked when he was to be buried, as we could get no satisfactory
answer to our queries, but the next night, when the starlight lay like a
silver mantle on the face of the waters, the steamer stopped for a
moment, a splash followed, and the body of the Hindoo sank down into the
dark waters, and in a few days the episode had been forgotten. Such is
life.
Clarence Duval, our colored mascot, had been appreciated on the
"Alameda" at his true value, but on the "Salier" for a time the waiters
seemed to regard him as an Indian Prince, even going so far as to
quarrel as to whom should wait on him. A word from Mr. Spalding
whispered in the ear of the captain worked a change in his standing,
however, and he was set to work during the meal hours pulling the punka
rope which kept the big fans in motion, an occupation that he seemed to
regard as being beneath his dignity, though his protests fell on deaf
ears.
One hot afternoon a mock trial was held in the smoking-room, with
Fogarty as the presiding Judge, and then and there a decree was passed
to the effect that, "in view of the excessively warm weather and through
consideration for the comfort and peace of our entire party, Clarence
Duval, our chocolate-colored mascot, must take a bath."
Now, if there was any one thing more than another that our mascot
detested it was a bath, and the moment that the court's decree was
pronounced he fled to the darkest depths of the steerage in hopes of
escaping the ordeal, but in vain, for he was dragged out of his hiding
place by Pettit, Baldwin and Daly, who, in spite of his cries for mercy,
thrust him beneath a salt water shower and held him there until the tank
was emptied. A madder little coon than he was when released it would be
difficult to find, and arming himself with a base-ball bat he swore that
he would kill his tormentors, and might have done so had not a close
watch been kept over him until his temper had burned itself out and he
had become amenable to reason.
The afternoon of January 22d, as we were lounging about the deck, John
Ward, glancing up from the pages of a book that he was engaged in
reading, happened to catch a glimpse of a sail ahead, and announcing the
fact, there was a rush made by all hands to the steamer's rail in order
to get a good view of the welcome sight, for a strange sail at sea is
always a welcome sight to the voyager. She was under a cloud of canvas
and, as we drew near, with the aid of a glass, we made out her name,
"San Scofield, Brunswick, Me." A moment later the Stars and Stripes were
thrown to the breeze from her masthead and the cheers that went up from
our decks could have been heard two miles away. If there were tears in
the eyes of some of the members of our party as they saw the old flag
gleaming in the sunlight and thought of God's country at that time so
far away, the display of emotion did them no discredit.
We were all astonished one morning by a performance on the part of our
mascot that was not down on the bills, and that might have resulted in
his becoming food for the sharks with which the Indian Ocean abounds had
he not played in the very best of luck.
The performance of Professor Bartholomew had fired the "coon" with a
desire to emulate his example, and he had made a wager with one of the
boys that, using an umbrella for a parachute, he could jump from the
rigging some thirty feet above the deck and land safely on the awning.
It was late one afternoon when half a dozen of the party were sitting
beneath its shade that a dark shadow passed over them followed by a dull
thud on the canvas that made it sag for a foot or more, and a wild
scream of terror followed. Climbing up the rope ladder to where they
could overlook the awning, the boys found the mascot crawling on his
hands and knees toward the rigging and dragging behind him an umbrella
in a badly damaged condition. When Fogarty asked him what he was doing,
he replied, after a long interval of silence, "Just been a practicin',"
after which he informed them that had he landed all right he should have
attempted to win his bet the next morning. One experience of this kind
was enough for him, however, and though the boys begged him to give them
another exhibition of his skill in making the parachute leap, nothing
could induce him to do so.
"Craps," a game introduced by the mascot, soon became more popular in
the card-room than even poker, and the rattle of the bones and the cries
of "Come, seben, come eleben, what's de mattah wid you dice," and other
kindred remarks natural to the game coming from the lips of the
chocolate-colored coon were to be heard at all hours.
The nights during this portion of our trip were especially fine, and we
enjoyed them immensely sitting on deck until the "wee sma' hours"
watching the starlight that turned the surface of the water into a great
field of glistening diamonds, and the silvery wake of the ship, that
stretched away out into the ocean like a track of moonbeams, growing
dimmer and dimmer until it was lost in the darkness that lay beyond.
It was just as the sun peeped above the distant horizon on the morning
of January 25th that we first caught a glimpse of the shores of Elephant
Island, lying just off the coast of Ceylon, and at ten o'clock the
shores of the island of Ceylon itself were full in sight. As we drew
nearer the narrow-bodied proas, the boats of the natives, paddled by
dark-skinned boatmen innocent of clothing came crowding about the
steamer in great numbers, while the white-winged gulls hung above the
vessel in clouds, darting so near to us at times that we could almost
touch them with our hands. Past Point de Galle, with its crumbling walls
of white cement, that made them appear as if they had but recently been
whitewashed, we steamed until we came in sight of Colombo, and stopped
at the entrance of the breakwater to await the arrival of the harbor
master. That gentleman was apparently in no very great hurry and the
hour and a half that we laid there awaiting his pleasure we spent in
looking at the great stone breakwater and the city that lies upon the
open coast, the harbor being an artificial and not a natural one. It was
after four o'clock when the harbor master's boat, manned by half-clad
Cingalese, came alongside, and a short time afterwards we steamed to a
place inside the breakwater and dropped our anchors.
In an incredibly short space of time the steamer was surrounded by boats
of all shapes, sizes and colors, manned by Malays, Cingalese and
Hindoos, clad in all the colors of the rainbow, and all talking and
yelling at the same time. Four little Cingalese boys, the oldest of
which could not have been more than twelve of age, and who paddled a
bamboo canoe around with barrel staves, attracted the most of our
attention. They could swim and dive like otters, and shillings and
sixpences cast into the water they brought up from the bottom, catching
it in many instances before it had found a resting place on the sands.
"Frow it," they would shout, and scarcely had the shining piece of
silver struck the water before they were after it, disappearing from
sight and then coming up with the coveted coin secure in their
possession. The decks were soon swarming with hotel runners,
moneychangers, and tradesmen of various sorts. As yet we were uncertain
as to our destination, and depending upon word that was to have been
left here by our advance agent, Will Lynch.
A drenching rain was falling when Messrs. Spalding and Leigh Lynch went
ashore in search of news, and when Mr. Spalding came back an hour later
he had heard nothing but had arranged for the accommodation of the party
at the Grand Oriental Hotel, and we were soon on our way to the landing
place in steam launches provided for the purpose, still uncertain,
however, as to whether we were to go on in the "Salier" or not.
CHAPTER XXVI. FROM CEYLON TO EGYPT.
We landed in Colombo on the steps of a pagoda-like structure containing
the Custom House, and passing through found ourselves on a broad avenue
that led direct to the Grand Oriental Hotel, said by travelers to be the
finest south of the Mediterranean, and in their opinion I can certainly
concur, as we found it to be everything that could be desired so far as
our limited experience went. The rooms were large and carpetless, with
latticed windows and high ceilings and the immense dining-rooms opened
on broad stone porticos with massive columns and surrounding galleries,
on which were Turkish divans for the comfort of the guests. The
dark-skinned native servants, with their picturesque, flowing garments
and tortoise-shell combs, gave to the whole an oriental air that up to
that time we had read about but never seen. We were fanned by great
swinging punkas during the dinner hour, the meal being an excellent one,
after which we went out to see the town, the Indian shops under the
hotel coming in that night for the largest share of our attention. First,
because they were easy to reach, and, second, because of the really
handsome stock of articles of Indian manufacture that they contained.
Carvings in ebony and ivory, in the most beautiful designs, inlaid work
of all descriptions, shawls that a queen might envy, together with
embroidered articles of rare beauty, delicate tapestry and quaint and
curious figures of all kinds, were for sale there and at prices that
were not more than one-third or one-fourth what the same articles could
be purchased for at home, though the price that was at first asked for
them by these shopkeepers would be at least three or four times what
they expected to get.
The jinricksha, which answers the same purpose as the hansom cab in
Chicago or New York, and which is a much lighter and smaller vehicle,
being drawn by a Cingalese who trots along between the shafts as though
it were a pleasure instead of a business, is about the only sort of a
vehicle known to the natives of Colombo, and a ride in one of them is by
no means an unpleasant experience, as you are certain of one thing, and
that is that your horse will not shy with you and run away, no matter
what strange objects he may encounter. They are so gentle, too, that a
lady can drive them and will stand anywhere without hitching. These are
great advantages, and yet, after all, I think that I should prefer to
hold the ribbons over a good horse, and I am sure that Mrs. Anson is of
the same opinion. The jinriksha, with its human motor, must, it struck
me the first time that I saw them, be a decided obstacle to courtship,
for what young fellow would care to take his best girl out riding behind
a horse that could understand everything that was said and done, and
tell the groom all about it when he returned to the barn. I shouldn't
have liked to do so, when I was courting my wife, and I don't believe
that she would have cared to ride after that kind of a horse.
Visiting the American Consul that evening Mr. Spalding was informed that
on account of the steamship and railroad connections, and also because
of the unhealthy condition of Calcutta, it would be impossible for our
party to make a tour of India, and therefore that part of the trip was
given up, greatly to our regret, as we had looked forward to it with the
most pleasant anticipations. This disappointment was general among the
members of the party, but as it could not be helped we determined to
make the best of it.
Arrangements were made that evening, however, to hold the "Salier,"
which was to have left at daybreak the next morning, until five o'clock
in the afternoon, in order that we might play a game of base-ball before
our departure.
The sun was up but a trifle earlier that we were the next morning, as
we, wished to see all of Ceylon and the Cingalese that was possible in
the limited time at our disposal. The Hotel balconies in the early
morning were fairly given over to the crows, great big birds of a leaden
color that circle around you in the most impudent manner and are as hard
to get rid of as the beggars, which follow you about the streets in
swarms and annoy you with their cries of "bachsheesh, bachsheesh," until
you long even for the sight of a policeman to whom you might confide
your troubles. Colombo is not a prepossessing city to the eye of the
traveler, the buildings being of an ancient style of architecture and
built more for comfort than for show, but the market places and bazaars
are well worth a visit.
There is a beautiful beach drive that extends from the military barracks
along the shores of the ocean for miles, and this is the fashionable
drive of all Colombo, though it was all but deserted in the early
morning hours. The Buddhist temples, and there were several of them in
Colombo, we were obliged to inspect from the outside, no admittance to
European visitors being the rule, but the strange gods that peered down
at us from the walls gave us a very good idea of what might be found
inside and served, at least, to take the edge off of our curiosity.
An invitation having been tendered us that morning at the office of the
U. S. Consul to visit the corvette "Essex," Captain Jewell commanding,
then lying in the harbor, we repaired at one o'clock to the wharf, where
gigs, manned by the ship's crew, awaited us and we were soon on board,
where we were entertained by officers and crew in a handsome manner. The
rendering of "America" by Mrs. Leigh Lynch on the cornet brought out an
enthusiastic round of applause, while Clarence Duval captured the hearts
of the seamen by doing for them a plantation breakdown in his best
style. Captain Jewell kindly sent us aboard the "Salier" in the ship's
gigs, which waited for us until we had donned our uniforms, and then
took us to the shore.
The procession out to the Colombo Cricket Grounds, where the game was
played, was indeed a novelty, and the crowds of Cingalese that
surrounded us as we left the hotel and looked on in open-eyed wonder
were by no means the least impressive part of the circus. There were no
drags and carriages on this occasion and no gaily-caparisoned horses
with nodding plumes, but in their places were heavy-wheeled carts drawn
by humpbacked little bullocks and jinrickshas drawn by bare-legged
Cingalese. About these swarmed the natives in their rainbow attire, the
whole scene being one of the kaleidoscope kind.
At the grounds 4,500 people had assembled, the officers and crew of the
"Essex" being on hand as well as a crowd of English residents and native
Cingalese. We played but five innings, the result being a tie, three
runs for each team, a good game under the best of circumstances, and one
that apparently pleased everybody, the natives going wild over the
batting and making desperate efforts to get out of the way whenever a
ball happened to do in their direction. The journey back to the hotel
was another circus parade, and one that Barnum, with all his efforts,
never was able to equal. From the hotel we went directly to the wharf,
where the steam-launch was in waiting, and with a cheer from the crew of
the "Essex" in our ears we started for the steamer. As the "Salier"
started again on her voyage we climbed into the rigging and lined up
along the rail, cheering the crew of the "Essex" until the white forms
of the men that lined her rigging were lost to sight.
The voyage from Ceylon to Egypt over the Arabian sea and the Gulf of
Aden was a most enjoyable one, both sea and sky being deeply, darkly and
beautifully blue, with not so much as a cloud or a ripple to mar the
beauty of either, and so beautiful were the nights that it was a rare
thing for any member of the party to retire until long after the ship's
bells had proclaimed the hour of midnight.
The second morning after we had left the Island of Ceylon behind us we
were all made the victims of a cruel practical joke, of which Lynch and
Fogarty were the authors, and for which lynching would hardly have been
a sufficient punishment. It was in the early hours of the morning and
while we were still "dreaming the happy hours away," that the loud
report of a cannon shook the steamer from stem to stern, this being
followed by cries of:
"Pirates, pirates; my God, boys, the Chinese pirates are upon us!"
The report of another gun followed, and then a scene of confusion such
as had never before been witnessed outside of a lunatic asylum. Tener,
who was the treasurer of the party, grabbed his money-bags and locked
himself in his stateroom. Ed Hanlon rushed into the cabin with his
trousers in one hand and his valise in the other, and they say that I
filled my mouth with Mrs. Anson's diamonds, grabbed a base-ball bat and
stood guard at the doorway, ordering my wife to crawl under the bunk,
but that statement is a libel and one that I have been waiting for years
to deny. I only got up to see what a Chinese pirate looked like, that's
all. It was a scared lot of ball players that assembled in the cabin
that morning, however, and the cloud of smoke that came rolling down the
stairway only tended to make matters worse. Finally we caught sight of
Fogarty galloping around the saloon tables and yelling like a Comanche
Indian. We began then to suspect that he was at the bottom of the
trouble, and when he burst into roars of laughter we were certain of it.
It afterwards developed that the "Salier's" guns had been simply firing
a salute in honor of the birthday of the German Emperor, and that
Fogarty and Lynch had taken advantage of the opportunity to raise the
cry of pirates and scare as many of us nearly to death as possible. I
would have been willing, myself, that morning to have been one of a
party to help hang Fogarty at the yardarm, and some of the victims were
so mad that they were not seen to smile for a week.
It was during this voyage, too, that Mark Baldwin, the big pitcher of
the Chicagos, had an adventure with a big Indian monkey that the
engineer of the steamer had purchased in Ceylon that might have proved
serious. This monkey was a big, powerful brute, and as ugly-looking a
specimen of his family as I ever set my eyes on. He was generally
fastened by means of a strap around his waist and a rope some five or
six feet long, in the engine-room, but one morning Mark, without the
engineer's knowledge, unfastened him and took him on deck. The sight of
the ocean and his strange surroundings frightened him badly, and after
Mark pulled him about the deck a while he took him down stairs and
treated him to beer and pretzels, then brought him back to the deck and
gave him some more exercise. Becoming tired of the sport at last Mark
took him back to the engine-room. The iron grating around the first
cylinder enabled the monkey to get his head on a level with Mark's as he
descended the stair and Mr. Monk flew at his throat with a shriek of
rage. Mark luckily had his eye on the brute and protected his throat,
but fell backwards with the animal on top of him, receiving a painful
bite on the leg. The monkey then bounded over to his corner, where he
glared at Mark, his grey whiskers standing out stiff with rage. After
satisfying himself as to the extent of his injuries, the big pitcher
again went for the monk, but the latter jumped from the grating to the
piston-rod of the engine, and at every revolution of the screw he would
go down into the hold and then come up again, shaking his fist at Mark
at every ascent, and chattering like a magpie. This sight was so comical
that the big pitcher roared with laughter, and though he laid for a
chance to get even with Mr. Monk the rest the voyage the latter was
never to be caught napping, and kept himself out of danger.
Into the waters of the Arabian Sea, blue as indigo, we steamed on the
morning of February 1st, and soon after daybreak the next morning the
volcanic group of islands off the African coast were in plain sight from
the steamer's deck. Two hours later we passed the great headland of
Guardafui, on the northeast corner of Africa, a sentinel of rock that
guards the coast and that rises from the waves that are lashed to foam
about its base in solitary grandeur. The following afternoon we came in
sight of the Arabian coast, some forty miles distant, and later the
great rocky bluffs that protect Aden from the gulf winds were plainly
discernible. It was nearly supper time when we landed and we had but
barely time for a glance through the shops and bazaars, when we were
again compelled to board the steamer, which left at nine o'clock for
Suez.
The next morning the sound of a gong beaten on the steamer's deck
aroused us from our slumbers, and inquiring the wherefore we were
informed that we were approaching the straits of Bal-el-Mandeb, the
entrance to the Red Sea. This brought all of our party on deck to greet
the sunrise, and as we passed between the rockbound coast of Arabia on
the right and the Island of Perin on the left we could hear the roar of
the breakers and discern the yellow and faint light of the beacons that
were still burning on the shore. That morning at 10 o'clock we steamed
by the white walls and gleaming towers of the City of Mocha, that lay
far away on the Arabian coast, looking like some fairy city in the dim
distance. The weather as we steamed along over the surface of the Red
Sea was not as hot as we had expected to find it, and yet it was plenty
warm enough for comfort, and it was with mingled feelings of sorrow and
joy that we entered the harbor of Suez on the morning of February 7th
and drew slowly toward the little city of the same name that lay at the
end of the great canal, the building of which has tended to change the
business of the continents. The huge bluffs of the Egyptian coast stood
out in bold relief in the clear air of the morning, while from the
shores opposite the sands of the great desert stretched away as far as
the eye could reach. Among the larger vessels that lay in the harbor
were an English troop-ship and an Italian man-of-war, and as we dropped
anchor we were at once surrounded by a fleet of smaller craft. After
bidding good-by to Captain Talenhorst and his officers, and seeing that
our baggage was loaded on the lighters we were transferred to the decks
of a little steamer that was to take us to the docks of Suez, some two
miles distant. Hardly had we set our feet on the shores of Egypt before
we were besieged by swarms of Arabian and Egyptian donkey-boys in
loose-fitting robes, black, white and blue, driving before them troops of
long-eared donkeys, with gaily-caparisoned and queer-looking saddles and
bridles, and mounting to our seats as quickly as possible be trotted off
to the railroad station, some four or five miles distant, and took our
places in the train that was to bear us to Cairo. Suez, the little that
we saw of it, impressed us as being about the dirtiest place on God's
green footstool, and the few Europeans that are obliged to live there
have my profound sympathy, and deserve it.
Through the village, with its dirty streets lined by huts of mud and
past little villages of the same squalid character, the train sped. Then
across the arid desert region that extends northward from Suez to
Ismalia, running parallel with the canal for a distance of thirty-five
miles, and leaving the desert we entered the rich valley of the Nile,
where the vegetation was most luxuriant. Groves of palm and acacias
dotted the fields and flocks of sheep and goats were to be seen along
the roadways of the irrigating canals that appeared to overspread the
valley like a net. Camels plodding along beneath their heavy burden and
water buffalos standing knee-deep in the clover were not uncommon sights
at every station, while the train was surrounded by motley crowds of
Bedouins, Arabs and Egyptians, the women being veiled to the eyes, a
fact for which we probably had reason to be devoutly grateful, if we but
knew it, as there was nothing in their shapeless figures to indicate any
hidden beauty.
Just as dusk we pulled into a little station some twenty miles from
Cairo, and here Ryan started a panic among the natives by dressing
Clarence Duval up in his drum-major suit of scarlet and gold lace, with
a catcher's mask, over his face and a rope fastened around his waist,
and turning him loose among the crowd that surrounded the carriages. To
the minds of the unsophisticated natives the mascot appeared some
gigantic ape that his keeper could with difficulty control, and both men
and women fell over each other in their hurry to get out of his way. It
was after dark when we arrived at Cairo where, as we alighted from the
train, we were beset by an army of Egyptians, and we were obliged to
literally fight our way to the carriages that were in waiting and that
were to take us to the Hotel d'Orient, where rooms had already been
secured for us, and where an excellent dinner was awaiting our arrival.
CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE SHADOW OF THE PYRAMIDS.
The Hotel d'Orient, while not as fashionable as Shepard's or the Grand
New, was a most comfortable house and set one of the best tables of the
many that we encountered on the trip. It faced a big circular open space
from which half a score of thoroughfares diverged like the spokes of a
wheel, and was accessible from all parts of the city. In the big public
garden opposite one of the Khedive's bands was playing at the time of
our arrival, and on every hand were to been the open doors of cafes,
bazaars, gambling hells and places of amusement, while the jargon of
many tongues that surrounded us made confusion worse confounded. We were
too tired the first night of our arrival to attempt much in the
sight-seeing line, and contented ourselves, with a quiet stroll about the
streets radiating from the circle, and a peep into some of the bazaars
and gambling houses, gambling, then, as I presume it is at the present
time, being conducted on the wide-open plan, and roulette wheels being
operated within full view of the crowded streets. There is nothing that
is known to any other city in the world that cannot be found in Cairo,
and there are representatives of every nation in the world to be found
among its denizens. Seen in the gloom of the evening, its towers and
minarets showing in the moonlight, its streets pervaded with the dull
red glow of the lights that gleam in the adjacent bazaars and cabarets,
and with its white-walled buildings towering in the darkness, Cairo
looks like a scene from the Arabian Nights, but viewed by daylight the
picture is not so entrancing, for the semi-darkness serves to hide from
the eye of the traveler the squalor and filth that the sunlight reveals
and that is part and parcel of all oriental cities and towns.
As no arrangements had been made for a game the day following our
arrival, the members of our party were at liberty to suit themselves in
the matter of amusement, and the majority of them overworked the patient
little donkeys before nightfall. I am in a position to testify that I
met many a little animal that afternoon bestrode by a long-legged ball
player who looked better able to carry the donkey than the donkey did to
carry him, but for all that both boys and donkeys seemed to be enjoying
themselves. In company with Mrs. Anson and others of the party the day
was spent in sight-seeing, we taking carriages and driving through the
Turkish, Moorish, Algerian and Greek quarters of the town and over
narrow streets paved with cobblestones and walled in by high buildings,
with overhanging balconies, where the warm rays of the sun never
penetrated. The rich tapestries and works of art to be found in all of
these bazaars were the delight and the despair of the ladies, who would
have needed all the wealth of India to have purchased one-half of the
beautiful things that they so much admired. We then drove over the
bridge that spans the Nile to the Khedive's gardens, the roadway being
lined with magnificent equipages of all kinds, for this is the
fashionable drive of Cairo and one of the sights of the place, the
gorgeous liveries of the coachmen and outriders, the gaily-caparisoned
and magnificent horses and the beautiful toilettes of the ladies all
combined to make a picture that entranced the senses. One of the
Khedive's palaces, and, by the way, he has half a dozen of them in
Cairo, is situated at the far end of these gardens, which are finer than
any of our parks at home, and their palaces being built in the Egyptian
style of architecture, are a delight to the eye.
The day passed all too quickly, and when night came and we returned to
the hotel, we had not seen half as much as we wished.
That evening after dinner, wishing to see how Cairo looked by gaslight,
Mrs. Anson and I drove out in search of a theater, which I naturally
thought it would be no very difficult matter to find, though which of
the many we wished to go to we had not made up our minds. The driver,
unfortunately, could not understand a word of English, that being the
trouble with half of the beggars one encounters in a strange land, and
so as we drove down by the Grand Hotel and French Opera House and came
to a palatial-looking building, with brilliantly lighted grounds and
colored awnings extending down to the sidewalk, and looking the sort of
a place that we were in search of, I stopped the carriage and tried to
find out from the driver as best I could what sort of a theater it was.
His answer sounded very much like circus, and I thought that it would
just about fill the bill that evening, as far as Mrs. Anson and I were
concerned. Helping my wife to alight we passed under the awning and by
liveried servants that stood in the doorway, the music of many bands
coming to our ears and the scent of a perfumed fountain whose spray we
could see, to our nostrils.
"This is a pretty swell sort of a circus, isn't it?" I said to my wife,
who nodded her head in reply.
Through the open door we could catch glimpses of large parties of ladies
and gentlemen in full dress, but it had never occurred to me that it
could be anything but what I had understood the driver to say it was, a
circus, and I began to look around for a ticket office in order that I
might purchase the necessary pasteboards. At last, running up against a
dark-complexioned and distinguished-looking man in full uniform, I asked
him if he could tell us where the tickets could be bought.
"Tickets! What tickets?" he asked, in very good English, but in a rather
surprised tone.
"Why, the tickets to the circus here," I answered, nervously, for I
began to fear that I had make a mistake. "There is no circus here, my
friend," said the stranger, as he turned away his head to hide a smile,
"this is my private residence. I am Commander-in-chief of the Egyptian
Army, and am simply entertaining a few friends here tonight. I would be
much pleased if you would remain and--"
"Don't say a word, sir," I replied, feeling cheaper than I had ever felt
in my life, "it is my mistake and I hope you will excuse me," and bowing
my self out as best I could we drove back to the hotel, where Mrs.
Anson, who had been laughing at me all the way back, had of course to
tell the story, the result being that I was guyed about my experience
"at the circus" for some days and weeks after Cairo had become only a
memory. That evening in the office of the hotel the following bulletin
was posted:
"Base-ball at the Pyramids. The Chicago and All-America teams,
comprising the Spalding base-ball party, will please report in the hotel
office, in uniform, promptly at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. We shall
leave the hotel at that hour, camels having been provided for the
All-Americas and donkeys for the Chicago players, with carriages for the
balance of the party. The Pyramids will be inspected, the Sphinx
visited, and a game played upon the desert near by, beginning at 2
o'clock."
The next morning at half-past nine the court of the Hotel d'Orient held
what it had never held before, and what in all probability it will never
hold again, twenty of the best-known exponents of the National Game that
America could boast of having congregated there in uniform and in
readiness to play ball in the presence of the countless ages that look
down from the summits of the Pyramids and the imprint of whose fingers
is seen in the seamed and scarred face of the Sphinx. In front of the
hotel lay a dozen long-necked camels, saddled and bridled, and
contentedly chewing their cuds, while about them stood as many more of
the patient little donkeys that became so familiar to so many of the
visitors to the Streets of Cairo during the World's Fair days at
Chicago. The dragoman in charge had provided all the donkeys necessary
for the occasion, but other donkey boys managed to get mixed up in a
general melee, and when the boys had mounted the wrong donkeys and went
to get on the right ones a row followed that would have put a Donnybrook
Fair melee to shame, the disappointed donkey boys biting and scratching
their more fortunate competitors and the policemen laying about them
with their bamboo staffs. At last we were all in the saddle, the
All-America team being mounted on the camels and the Chicago boys on
the donkeys and with the ball players leading the way and the carriages
following we moved through the streets of Cairo, past the residence of
the American Minister, where we cheered the old flag that floated over
his quarters, thence over the bridge of the Nile and down through the
Khedive's gardens, the "ships of the desert" lurching along with their
loads like vessels in an ocean storm, and the donkeys requiring an
amount of coaxing and persuasion that proved to be a severe tax upon the
patience of their riders.
The road leading to the Pyramids was a beautiful one running beneath an
avenue arched with acacias until it reached the lowlands of the river
across which it winds until it arrives at the edge of the desert upon
which these great monuments of the kings and queens dead and gone for
centuries are built. Half way to our destination an interchange of
camels and donkeys was made by the members of the two teams, an exchange
that, so far as the Chicagos were concerned, was for the worse and not
for the better. At two o'clock we arrived at our destination and partook
of the lunch that had been prepared for us in the little brick cottage
that stood at the foot of old Cheops. After lunch we found ourselves
surrounded by a crowd of Bedouins and Arabs numbering some two hundred,
who besought us to purchase musty coins and copper images that were said
to have been found in the interior of the huge piles of stone that
surrounded us, and more persistent beggars than they proved to be it has
never been my misfortune to run against. After visiting the big Pyramids
and the Sphinx, and having our pictures taken in connection with these
wonders of the world, we passed down to the hard sands of the desert,
where a diamond had been laid out, and where, in the presence of fully a
thousand people, many tourists coming to Cairo having been attracted to
the scene by the announcements made that we were to play there, we began
the first and only game of ball that the sentinels of the desert ever
looked down upon. This game was played under difficulties, as when the
ball was thrown or batted into the crowd the Arabs would pounce upon it
and examine it as though it were one of the greatest of curiosities, and
it was only after a row that we could again get it in our possession.
On this occasion Tener and Baldwin both pitched for Chicagos before the
five innings were over, and Healy and Crane for the All-Americas. Both
sides were exceedingly anxious to win this game, but fortune favored the
All-Americas and we were beaten 10 to 6, for which I apologized to the
Sphinx on behalf of my team after the game was over. To this she turned
a deaf ear and a stony glance was her only answer. After the game we
returned to the Pyramids and the Sphinx, looking them over more at our
leisure and trying to fathom the mystery of how they were built that has
been a puzzle for so many ages.
It was seven o'clock in the evening when we returned to Cairo, well
satisfied with our sight-seeing experience, but a little disappointed to
think that the only ball game that had ever been played in the shadow of
the Pyramids had not been placed to the credit of Chicago.
There was nothing to do the next day and night but to stroll about
Cairo, as the Khedive, before whom we had offered to play, was out at
his Nile palace, and to have visited him there and given an exhibition,
as he invited us to do, would have taken more time than we had at our
disposal. The Mosques of Sultan Hassan and of Mohammed Ali were visited
by many of us during the day. They stood upon the highest point of the
city, and though the former is fast crumbling to ruins, the latter,
which is the place where the Khedive worships, is fairly well preserved.
From the citadel, which is garrisoned by English soldiers, we obtained
an excellent bird's-eye view of Cairo, the broad surface of the Nile and
the Pyramids of Cairo and Sakarah, the latter of which are twenty miles
distant.
I believe that had we remained in Cairo for a year we could still have
found something to interest and amuse us, though I should hardly fancy
having to remain there for a life-time, as the manners and customs of
the Orient are not to my liking. The line of demarcation between the
rich and the poor is too strongly drawn and the beggars much too
numerous to suit my fancy, and yet while there both my wife and myself
enjoyed ourselves most thoroughly, and the recollections that we now
entertain of it are most pleasant.
Our departure from Cairo was made on the morning of February 11th.
Ismalia, a little city on the banks of the Suez Canal, about half way
between Suez and Port Said, being our destination, and here we arrived
late in the afternoon, and at five o'clock boarded the little steamer
that was to take us to Port Said, where we were to catch the steamer
across the Mediterranean, to the little Italian town of Brindisi.
CHAPTER XXVIII. UNDER THE BLUE SKIES OF ITALY.
The night we left Ismalia and started for Port Said, the port of
entrance at the northernmost end of the Suez Canal, was a glorious one,
the full moon shining down upon the waters and turning to silver the
sands of the vast desert that stretched away to the horizon on either
side. This canal through which we had passed had a mean depth of 27 feet
and varies from 250 to 350 feet in width, its length from sea to sea
being 87 miles. The banks on both sides were barren of verdure and there
was but little to be seen save the Canal itself, which is an enduring
monument to the brains of Ferdinand de Lesseps. Every now and then our
little steamer passed some leviathan of the deep bound for Suez, and the
Red Sea, and the music of our mandolins and guitars and of Mrs. Lynch's
cornet would bring the passengers on board of, them to the steamer's
rail as we sped by them in the moonlight. Shortly after ten o'clock the
lights of Port Said came in sight and at half-past ten we were climbing
up the sides of the "Stettin," where we found a fine lot of officers and
a good dinner awaiting our arrival.
An hour later we were on our way across the Mediterranean. The voyage
was the roughest we had yet had, and as the majority of the party were
so seasick as to be confined to their staterooms, there was very little
pleasure to be found, the ship rolling about so that her screw was more
than half the time out of the water. The mountains of Crete and Candia,
with their snowy caps, were the only signs of land to be seen until we
arrived in sight of Brindisi, which we reached twelve hours later than
we should have done had it not been for the rough weather that we
encountered. Here we received the first mail that we had had since we
left home, and as there were letters from our daughters in the bag we
were more than happy.
At Brindisi we were obliged to remain over night, having missed the day
train for Naples, but the storm that that evening swept the coast
confined us to the hotel, where the big wood fires that blazed in the
grates, both in the office and in our sleeping apartments, made things
most comfortable. At nine o'clock the next morning we left for Naples,
where we arrived that evening, our journey taking us through the most
beautiful and picturesque portion of Southern Italy, a country rich in
vineyards, valleys, wooded mountains and beggars, being excelled in the
latter respect only by the lands of the Orient.
The most of our baggage had already gone on the steamer to Southampton,
and so when we got to the shores of the Bay of Naples we had but little
for the Custom House Inspectors to inspect. I had my bat bag with me,
however, and as I entered the station a funny-looking little old man in
gold lace insisted that the bag was above the regulation weight and that
I should register it and pay the extra fare. I kicked harder than I had
ever kicked to any umpire at home in my life, but to no avail, for I was
compelled to settle. As we came within sight of the Bay of Naples we
were all on the lookout for Mount Vesuvius, which Fogarty was the first
to sight, and to which he called our attention. Green and gray it loomed
up in the distance, its summit surrounded by a crimson halo and its
crater every few seconds belching out flames and lava. Arriving at the
station we were met by Messrs. Spalding and Lynch, who had come on from
Brindisi one train in advance of us, and here Martin Sullivan, who had
playfully filched the horn of a guard while en route, was taken into
custody by half a score of gendarmes. It took the services of three
interpreters and some fifteen minutes of time to straighten this affair
out, after which we proceeded to the Hotel Vesuve, where we were to put
up during our stay in Naples. That night we were too tired for
sightseeing and contented ourselves with gazing from the windows at the
beautiful Bay of Naples, which lay flashing beneath us in the moonlight.
As no arrangements had been made to play a game until the fourth day
after our arrival we had ample time for sightseeing, and this we turned
to the best account. The view from the balconies of the hotel was in
itself a grand one, and one of which we never tired. Vesuvius, with its
smoke-crowned summit, was in plain sight, while the view of the bay and
the beautiful islands of Capri and Ischia, that lay directly in front of
the hotel, presented as pretty and enticing a picture as could be found
anywhere. That afternoon we drove all about old Naples, visiting many of
the quaint and handsome old cathedrals and palaces, and that night we
went to hear "Lucretia Borgia," at the San Carlos, which is one of the
most magnificent theaters to be found in all Europe. The next day we
spent among the ruins of Pompeii and, though a third of the original
city at the time of our visit still lay buried beneath the ashes and
lava, we were enabled to obtain a pretty fair idea of what the whole
city was like, and of the manners and customs of the unfortunate people
who had been overwhelmed by the eruption. Many of the most interesting
relics found are now in the National Museum at Naples, among them being
the casts of bodies that were taken from the ashes. The museums and
cathedrals at Naples are rich in relics and you might spend days in
looking at them and still not see half of what is to be shown.
My wife and I were both anxious to make the ascent of Vesuvius, but the
dangers incurred by some of the other members of the party who had
attempted the feat deterred us from making the attempt.
Our first game of ball in Naples and the first of our trip on European
soil was played in the Campo de Mart, or "Field of Mars," February 19th.
We left the hotel in carriages and drove out by the way of the Via Roma
to the grounds. The day before United States Consul Camphausen, who
treated us all through our stay with the greatest kindness and courtesy,
had issued invitations to the various members of the different
diplomatic corps in Naples, and also to many of the principal citizens,
so that there was a crowd of about 3,000 people on the grounds, and
among them quite a sprinkling of foreign diplomats and fashionable
people. The game began with Baldwin and Daly and Healy and Earl in the
points, but it had hardly gotten under way before the crowd swarmed onto
the playing grounds in such a way as to make fielding well-nigh
impracticable, and batting dangerous. The police seemed powerless to
restrain the people and the bad Italian of A. G. Spalding had,
seemingly, no effect, in spite of the coaching given him by Minister
Camphausen. Then we tried to clear the field ourselves, and, though we
would succeed for a time, it would soon be as bad as ever, the fact that
an Italian was laid out senseless by a ball from Carroll's bat not
seeming to deter them in the least. For three innings neither side
scored, and in the fourth each got a man across the plate, but in the
fifth the All-Americas increased their score by seven runs, and the
crowd, evidently thinking that the game was over, swarmed across the
field like an army of Kansas grasshoppers, and Ward, ordering his men
into their positions, claimed the game of Tener, who was umpiring, which
the latter gave him by a technical score of 9 to 0, the score books
showing 8 to 2. That night was our last in Naples, and by invitation of
the American Minister we occupied boxes at the San Carlos Theater, which
was packed from pit to dome by the wealth and fashion of Naples.
We were to have taken our departure for Rome at 8:30 the next morning,
but owing to a mistake that was made by the commissionaire, to whom the
getting of the tickets had been left, we were compelled to wait until
the afternoon at three, Mr. Spalding and his mother going on without us.
Leaving Clarence Duval to watch over the baggage piled up in a corner of
the waiting-room we spent the time in driving about the city, and in
paying a farewell visit to the Naples Museum, in which is contained some
of the finest marbles, bronzes and paintings to be found on the
continent, the Farnese Bull and the Farnese Hercules in marble being
famous the world over. Three o'clock found us again at the depot and
this time the tickets being on hand we boarded the train and were soon
whirling along through the rural districts of Italy on our way to:
"Rome that sat upon her seven hills And ruled the world."
This trip was uneventful, and even the irrepressibles of the party
managed to keep out of mischief, the experience of Martin Sullivan
having taught them that the Italians did not know how to take a joke.
At nine o'clock we reached the Eternal City, our party dividing at
the station, the Chicagos going to the Hotel de Alamagne and the
All-Americas to the Hotel de Capital, this action being necessary
because of the fact that Rome was at that time crammed with tourists
and accommodations for such a large party as ours were hard to find.
When Messrs. Spalding and Lynch called upon Judge Stallo of Cincinnati
the next morning, he then being the American Minister at Rome, they were
given the cold shoulder for the first time during the trip, that
gentleman declaring that he had never taken the slightest interest in
athletics, and that he did not propose to lend the use of his name for
mercenary purposes. There being no inclosed grounds in Rome this action
of Jude Stallo's was in the nature of a gratuitous insult, and was
looked upon as such by the members of our party. Mr. Charles Dougherty,
the Secretary of the American Legation at Rome, proved, however, to be
an American of a different kind, and one that devoted to us much of his
time and attention.
Who that has ever been to Rome can ever forget it? I cannot, and I look
upon the time that I put in there sightseeing as most pleasantly and
profitably spent. The stupendous church of St. Peter's, with its chapels
and galleries, being in itself an imposing object lesson. Its glories
have already been inadequately described by some of the most famous of
literary men, and where they have failed it would be folly for a mere
ball player to make the attempt. In St. Peter's we spent almost an
entire day, and leaving it we felt that there was still more to be seen.
The second day we visited the palace of the Caesars, the Catacombs, the
ruins of the Forum, and the Coliseum, within whose tottering walls the
mighty athletes of an olden day battled for mastery. We drove far out on
the Appian Way, that had at one time echoed the tread of Rome's
victorious legions, until we stopped at the tomb of St. Cecelia. The
glories of ancient Rome have departed but the ruins of that glory still
remain to challenge the wonder and admiration of the traveler. Rome is
not composed entirely of massive ruins in these latter days, as some
people seem to imagine. On the contrary, it is a city of wealth and
magnificence, and if "you do as the Romans do" you are certain to enjoy
yourself, for the Romans do about the same things as other people.
The Corso, which is the fashionable drive and promenade of the
residents, had a great attraction for us all, and between three and five
o'clock in the afternoons the scene presented was a brilliant one, it
being at that time thronged with handsome equipages and handsomer women,
while the shop windows are pictures in themselves. The street itself in
a narrow one, being barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each
other, and yet over its pavements there is a constantly flowing tide of
people such as Fifth Avenue in New York, State Street in Chicago, Rotten
Row in London, or even the Champs Ely-see in Paris cannot equal.
On the afternoon of February 22d, in answer to an invitation extended to
the party through President Spalding, by Dr. O'Connell, Director of the
American College at Rome, we called at that institution, in a body and
were soon chatting with the students, some seventy-five in number, who
came from a score of different cities in our own country.
They were a fine, manly lot, and just as fond of baseball, which they
informed us that they often played, as though they were not studying for
the priesthood. Meeting them reminded me of my old school days at Notre
Dame, and of the many games that I had taken part in while there when
the old gentleman was still busily engaged in trying to make something
out of me, and I was just as busily engaged in blocking his little game.
After a pleasant chat Clarence Duval gave them an exhibition of dancing
and baton swinging that amused them greatly, and then we adjourned to
one of the class-rooms, where we listened to brief addresses by Bishop
McQuade of Rochester, N. Y., who was then in Rome on a visit; Bishop
Payne of Virginia, and Dr. O'Connell, to all of which A. G. responded,
after which we took our departure, but not before the students had all
promised to witness the game of the next day.
This game was played on the private grounds of the Prince Borghese,
which are thrown open to the public between the hours of three and five
on Tuesday, Saturday and Sunday of each week, and a prettier place for a
diamond that the portion of it upon which we played, and which was known
as the Piazza de Sienna, could not be imagined. Under the great trees
that crowned the grassy terraces about the glade that afternoon
assembled a crowd such as few ball players had ever played before, among
the notables present being King Humbert of Italy, the Prince of Naples,
Prince Borghese and family, Count Ferran, Princess Castel del Fino,
Count Gionatti, Senora Crispi, wife of the Prime Minister, and her
daughter, Charles Dougherty and ladies, the class of the American
College at Rome, members of the various diplomatic corps, tourists and
others.
We were greeted by three rousing cheers and a tiger from the American
College boys and then, after fifteen minutes of fast practice, we began
the first professional ball game ever played in Rome, a game that both
teams were most anxious to win. Crane and Earle and Tener and Daly were
in the points. The game was a remarkable one throughout, the fielding on
both sides being gilt-edged, and the score a tie at the end of the
second inning, each side having two runs. Double plays, clean hitting
and sharp fielding marked the next few innings, and it was not until the
seventh inning Burns crossed the plate with the winning run for the
Chicagos, the score standing 3 to 2. After this we played an exhibition
game of two innings, that was marked by fast work throughout, and were
heartily cheered as we lifted our caps and left the grounds.
Shortly after the noon hour the next day, which was Sunday, we started
for Florence, the day being a cold and cheerless one, arriving there at
8:30 and finding quarters at the Hotel de Europe, not a stone's throw
from the right bank of the Arno. It was too chilly for any gas-light
trips that evening, and we retired early, but the next morning after an
early breakfast we started in to make the most of the little time that
we had at our disposal, and before the time set for play that afternoon
we had taken flying peeps at the beautiful Cathedral of St. Maria, the
home and studio of Michael Angelo, the palace of the Medicis and the
Pitti and Uffizi galleries, both of which are rich in paintings, the
works of the great masters.
We played that afternoon upon the Cascine or racecourse of Florence, in
the midst of beautiful surroundings and in the presence of a crowd that
was small but select, royalty having several representatives on the
grounds. The game was a hotly-contested one throughout, Healy and
Carroll and Baldwin and myself being the batteries, and was finally won
by the All-Americas, the score standing at 7 to 4 in their favor.
It was five o'clock and raining when we left Florence the next morning.
We had landed in Italy in a rain storm and we left the land of sunshine
and soft skies under the same unpleasant conditions.
CHAPTER XXIX. OUR VISIT TO LA BELLE FRANCE.
It was some days after we left the beautiful city of Florence, with its
wealth of statuary and paintings, before we again donned our uniforms,
the lack of grounds upon which we could play being the reason for our
enforced idleness. The day we left Florence we crossed over the border
and that night found us on French soil, and in the land of the
"parlevooers." The ride from Florence to Nice, which latter city was our
objective point, was one long dream of delight, the road running for
nearly the entire distance along the shores of the Mediterranean and
along the edge of high cliffs, at whose rocky bases waves were breaking
into spray that, catching the gleam of the sunlight, reflected all the
colors of the rainbow. Now and then the train plunged into the darkness
of a tunnel, where all was blackness, but as it emerged again the
sunlight became all the brighter by comparison. As we passed through
Pisa, a few hours out from Florence, we caught excellent view of the
famous leaning tower, with the appearance of which every schoolboy has
been made familiar by the pictures in his geography. At Genoa the train
stopped for luncheon and there Pfeffer's appetite proved to be too much
for him, and as he couldn't speak Italian he lingered so long at the
table as to get left, coming on in the next train a few hours
afterwards, and getting guyed unmercifully regarding his tremendous
capacity for storing away food.
In the course of the afternoon we passed through the the city of Diana
Maria, that four years before had been destroyed by an earthquake, in
which some four hundred people were killed or severely injured. It was a
desolate enough looking place as viewed from the car windows, the broken
walls that seemed ready to tumble at the slightest touch, and the bare
rafters all bearing witness to the terrible shaking up that the city had
received. Leaving Diana Maria we passed through some beautiful mountain
scenery, the little villages that clustered in the valleys looking from
our point of view like a collection of birdhouses. It was nearly dark
when we reached San Remo, where the late Emperor of Germany had lain
during his last illness, and quite so when we left it and entered the
station of Vingt Mille, on the French border, and some twenty miles from
our destination.
Here Crane's monkey was the cause of our getting into trouble, a couple
of Italians, who had taken offense at the free-and-easy ways of Fogarty,
Crane and Carroll, who occupied the same apartment with them, informing
the guard that the New-Yorker had the little animal in his pocket, the
fare for which was immediately demanded and refused.
At Vingt Mille, after the customs authorities had examined our baggage,
and we were about to take the train again, we were stopped and informed
that we would not be allowed to proceed until the monkey's fare had been
paid. It was some time before we ascertained the real cause of our
detention, none of us being able to speak Italian, and when we finally
learned the train had gone on without us. Seventeen francs were paid for
the monk's ride in Crane's pocket, and we thought the episode settled,
but later on the official came back, stating that a mistake had been
made and that the monk's fare was nine francs more, but this Crane
positively refused to pay until we were again surrounded by a cordon of
soldiers, when he "anted up," but most unwillingly. It was an
imposition, doubtless, but they had the might on their side and that
settled the business. After that the gentleman (?) who had acted as
interpreter, doubtless thinking that Americans were "soft marks," put in
a claim of twenty francs for services, but this he did not get, though
he came very close to receiving the toe of a boot in its stead.
After once more getting started we sped past the gambling palaces of
Monte Carlo and Monaco, that loomed up close behind us in the darkness,
and, arriving at Nice, finally secured quarters in the Interlachen
Hotel, the city being crowded with strangers who had come from all parts
of the world to view the "Battle of Flowers," that was to take place on
the morrow. It rained all that night and all the next day, and as a
result the carnival had to be postponed, and the floral decorations
presented a somewhat woe-begone and bedraggled appearance. It had been
our intention to play a game here, but to our astonishment and the
disappointment of several hundred Americans then in Nice, the project
had to be abandoned for the reason that there was not a ground or
anything that even remotely resembled one, within the city limits.
The rain that had caused the postponement of the carnival did not
prevent us from leaving the hotel, however, and the entire party put in
the day visiting the great gambling halls of Monte Carlo, which are
today as famous on this side of the water as they are on the continent,
and where the passion for gambling has ruined more people of both sexes
than all of the other gambling hells of the world combined. A more
beautiful spot than Monte Carlo it would be hard to imagine, the
interior of the great gambling hall being handsomer than that of any
theater or opera house that we had seen, and furnished in the most
gorgeous manner. The work of the landscape gardener can here be seen at
its best, no expense having been spared to make the grounds that
surrounded the building devoted to games of chance the handsomest in the
world. In its great halls one sees every sort and variety of people.
Lords and Ladies, Princes and Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, gamblers
and courtesans, all find place at the table where the monotonous voices
of the croupiers and the clinking of the little ivory ball are about the
only sounds that break the silence.
The majority of the members of our party tried their luck at the tables,
as does everybody that goes to Monte Carlo, no matter how strongly they
may condemn the practice when at home, and some of us were lucky enough
to carry off some of the bank's money, Mr. Spalding, Mrs. Anson and
myself among the number. There is as much of a fascination in watching
the faces of the players around the tables as there is in following the
chances of the game, and the regular habitues of the place can be
spotted almost at the first glance. One day at Monte Carlo was quite
enough for us and we were glad to get back to Nice and out of the way of
temptation.
The second day after we arrived at Nice the flower festival took place,
and luckily the weather was almost perfect. All the morning for a
distance of some twenty blocks the Avenue des Anglaise, where the battle
of flowers is annually held, the decorators had been busy preparing for
the event, and by afternoon decked in flowers and gaily-colored ribbons,
bunting and flags, the scene that it presented was a brilliant one. By
three o'clock it was crowded with elegant equipages filled with men,
women and flowers, the two former pelting each other with blossoms to
their heart's content, the spectators in the adjacent windows and on the
sidewalks taking part in the mimic war. Conspicuous in the party was the
Prince of Wales and his friends, among which were several of our fair
countrywomen, the whole party distributing their flowers right and left
with reckless-prodigality. The number of handsome women, the splendid
street decorations, and the abundance of flowers that were scattered
about in lavish profusion made a brilliant picture and one that it is
not to be wondered that tourists journey from all parts of the continent
to witness.
The next morning we were off for Paris, stopping over at Lyons for the
night, where there was snow on the ground, the weather being cold and
disagreeable, and it was not until Saturday that we arrived in "La Belle
Paris," the Mecca of all Americans who have money to spend and who
desire to spend it, and the fame of whose magnificent boulevards, parks,
palaces, squares and monuments has not extended half as far as has the
fame of its Latin Quartier, with its gay student life, its masked balls,
with their wild abandon, its theaters made famous by the great Rachael,
Sara Bernhardt and others, and its gardens, where high kickers are in
their glory. All of these were to be seen and all of these we saw, that
is, all of them that we could see in the short week that was allotted to
us, it being a week of late hours and wild dissipation so far as my wife
and myself were concerned, we rarely retiring until long after the hour
of midnight. Our days were spent in driving about the city and its
environs, and in viewing the various places of interest that were to be
seen, from the magnificent galleries filled with the rarest of paintings
and statuary to the dark and gloomy Bastille, while our nights were
devoted to the theater and balls, and at both of these we enjoyed
ourselves thoroughly.
In Paris we met a great many members of the American colony from whom we
received much courtesy and attention, and to whom I should like to have
a chance of returning the many kindnesses that were showered upon us
during the time that we remained in the French capital.
As a business man the Parisian is not a decided success when viewed from
the American standpoint, but as a butterfly in pursuit of pleasure he
cannot be beaten. He is polite and courteous at all times, however, but
is not to be trusted when making a trade, he having learned to look upon
all Americans with money as his natural and legitimate prey, and so is
prepared to take the advantage of you and yours whenever the opportunity
is given him.
It was not until the afternoon of March 8th that we were given a chance
to show the Parisians how the National Game of America is played, and
then we put up a fairly good exhibition, both teams being more than
anxious to win, and playing in a most spirited fashion. This game was
played at the Parc Aristotique, situated on the banks of the Seine, just
opposite the Exposition Buildings, and within plain sight of the great
Eiffel Tower, it being walled in by gardens and big city residences. The
game was made memorable by the large number of Americans that were
present and by the distinguished people before whom it was played. Among
these were General Brugere and Captain Chamin, representing President
Carnot of the French Republic, who sent a letter regretting that his
official duties prevented him from seeing the game; Mr. and Mrs. William
Joy, of the American Legation; Miss McLane, daughter of the American
Minister at Paris; Miss Urquhart, a sister of Mrs. James Brown Potter,
the actress; Consul General Rathbone, and a host of others prominent in
diplomatic, social and theatrical circles. It was in the second inning
of the game that the famous "stone wall" infield of the Chicagos was
broken up through an injury received by Ed Williamson, from the effects
of which he never fully recovered. He had taken his base on balls in the
second inning and, was trying to steal second when he tripped and fell,
tearing his knee cap on the sharp sand and gravel of which the playing
surface was composed. He was taken by his wife, who was among the
spectators, to his hotel, and it was thought that a few days of rest
would see him all right again, but such did not prove to be the case, as
he was still confined to his room in London when we sailed for home, and
it was until late in the season of 1889 that he was again able to report
for duty. This necessitated Baldwin's going to first while Ryan took
Williamson's place at short and weakened our team very materially, as
Williamson was always a tower of strength to us. We were very decidedly
off, too, in our batting, and it was not until the sixth inning that a
home run by Ryan and a two-bagger by Pettit, and a passed ball enabled
us to put two men over the plate. These were all the runs we got,
however, and at the end of the second inning, when game was called, the
score stood at 6 to 2 in All-Americas' favor.
How the members of either game were enabled to play as good ball as they
did, not only in Paris but in other cities that we visited after the
inactivity of steamer life, the late hours, and the continual round of
high living that they indulged in, is a mystery, and one that is past my
fathoming, and yet the ball that they put up on many of these occasions
that I have spoken of was ball of the championship kind and the sort
that would have won even in, League company.
At half-past eight o'clock we left Paris for our trip across the English
Channel, taking the long route from Dieppe to New Haven, and if we all
wished ourselves dead and buried a hundred times before reaching the
latter Port we can hardly be blamed, as a worse night for making the
trip could not well have been chosen. It was one o'clock in the morning
when the train from Paris bearing the members of our party arrived at
Dieppe, and the wind at that time was blowing a gale. Down the dock in
the face of this we marched and aboard the little side-wheel steamer
"Normande," where our quarters were much too cramped for comfort. A few
minutes later the lines were cast off and the steamer was tossing about
like a cork on the face of the waters, now up and now down, and
seemingly trying at times to turn a somersault, a feat that luckily for
us she did not succeed in accomplishing, else this story might never
have been written. There was no doing on deck, even had we been capable
of making an effort to do so, which we were not, as we could hear the
large waves that swept over the vessel strike the planking with a heavy
thud that shook the steamer from stem to stern, and then go rushing away
into the scuppers.
Up and down, down and up, all night long, and if we had never prayed to
be set ashore before we did on that occasion, but as helpless as logs we
lay in our staterooms, not much caring whether the next plunge made by
the ship was to be the last or not. I had had slight attacks of
seasickness before, but on this occasion I was good and seasick, and
Mrs. Anson was, if such a thing were possible, even in a worse condition
than I was. At about three in the morning we heard the noise of a heavy
shock followed by the crashing of timbers and the shouts of sailors that
sounded but faintly above the roar of the tempest, and the next morning
discovered that a huge wave had carried away the bridge, the lookout
fortunately managing to escape being carried away with the wreck. The
experience of that awful night is one never to be forgotten, a night
that, according to the captain, was the worst that he had ever witnessed
during his thirty years of experience, and it was with feelings of great
relief that we dropped anchor in the harbor of New Haven the next
morning, where the sun shone brightly and the sea was comparatively
quiet.
We were a pretty seedy-looking lot when we boarded the train for London,
where we debarked at the Victoria Station about half-past nine o'clock,
still looking much the worse for wear and like a collection of invalids
than a party of representative ball players. Getting into carriages we
were at once driven through the city to Holburn, where quarters at the
First Avenue Hotel had been provided, and where we were only too glad to
rest for a time and recover from the awful shaking up that the English
Channel had given us; a shaking up that it took Mrs. Anson some time to
recover from, as it also did the other ladies of the party.
We had expected to play our first game of ball in England on the day of
our arrival, but the game had been called off before we got there
because of the storm, the grounds being flooded. It was a lucky thing
for us that such was the case, as there was not one of the party who
could have hit a balloon after the experience of the night before, or
who could have gone around the bases at a gait that would have been any
faster than a walk.
CHAPTER XXX. THROUGH ENGLAND, SCOTLAND AND IRELAND.
The first thing that impresses the stranger in London is the immensity
of the city, and the great crowds that continually throng the streets
night and day, for London never sleeps.
The first day after our arrival I noted numerous changes that had taken
place in various quarters since my visit of fifteen years before, during
which time the city seemed to have grown and spread out in every
direction. The hotel where we were quartered was in close proximity to
the Strand, one of London's greatest and busiest thoroughfares, and here
the crowds were at all times of the most enormous proportions, the
absence of street car and the presence of hundreds of hansom cabs and
big double-decked tramways running in every direction being especially
noticeable. The weather at the time of our visit was cold, foggy and
disagreeable, and as a result our sight-seeing experiences were somewhat
curtailed and not as pleasant as they might have been.
The date of our first appearance on English soil was March 12th, and
prior to the game on that occasion we were given a reception and
luncheon in the Club House of the Surrey County Cricket Club at
Kensington Oval, which is the personal property of the Prince of Wales,
and one of the most popular of the many cricket grounds the are to be
found within the vicinity of the world's greatest metropolis. The
committee appointed to receive the players on this occasion embraced
among others the Duke of Beaufort, Earl of Landsborough, Earl of
Coventry, Earl of Sheffield, Earl of Chesborough, Lord Oxenbridge, Lord
Littleton, Lord Hawke, Sir Reginald Hanson, Bart., Sir W. T. Webster,
Attorney General, the Lord Mayor, American Consul General, American
Charge d'Affaires, and Dr. W. D. Grace, the world-famous cricket player,
with whom I had become well acquainted during the trip of 1874. It had
rained that morning and when we left the hotel in drags for the grounds
the streets of London were enveloped in a fog so thick that one could
almost cut it with a knife, while the prospects of a ball game seemed to
the most of us exceedingly dubious. Arriving at the Club House we were
presented to the different members of the reception committee, who, in
spite of the high-sounding titles that they bore, were a most affable
lot of men, and to many of the most prominent club members, all of whom
gave us a warm welcome and made us feel thoroughly at home. Lord
Oxenbridge, a fine specimen of the English nobility, acted as chairman
of the assemblage, and after luncheon proposed the toasts of "The Queen"
and "The President of the United States," both of which were drank with
enthusiasm. Lord Lewisham then proposed "The American Ball Teams," to
which Mr. Spalding responded, this being followed by the health of the
chairman, proposed by the Hon. Henry White, United States Charge
d'Affaires, after which we made our way through the crowds that thronged
the reception rooms and corridors to the dressing rooms, where we donned
our uniforms and put ourselves in readiness to play ball. When we
marched out on the grounds we were somewhat surprised at the size of the
crowd that greeted us, some 8,000 people having assembled to witness the
game, and this in spite of the fact that it was still foggy and the
grounds soft, black and sticky. To play good ball under such
circumstances was all but impossible, and yet I have taken part in lots
of championship games at home that were worse played than this one.
Healy and Baldwin did the twirling, and both pitched good ball, while
the fielding of both teams was nothing short of remarkable when the fact
is taken into consideration that a ball fifty feet in the air could not
be seen at all. Just at the end of the first half of the third inning we
noticed something of a commotion in the vicinity of the Club House and
when, in a few moments afterwards, the well-known face of the Prince of
Wales appeared at the window, we assembled at the home plate and gave
three hearty cheers for His Highness, this action on our parts bringing
out a storm, of applause from the stand. At the close of the fifth
inning we accompanied Manager Lynch to the Club House at the Prince's
request, where we were introduced to the future King of England by
President Spalding, he shaking hands with each of us in a most cordial
manner, calling many of us by name and chatting with us in a most
off-hand and friendly way. As we left he bowed to each of us pleasantly
and then took a seat by the window to witness the balance of the game,
which resulted at the end of nine innings in a score of 7 to 4 in
Chicago's favor. The London papers the next morning devoted a great
deal of space to the game, but the majority of the Englishmen who had
witnessed it said that they thought cricket its superior, and among
them the Prince of Wales, which was hardly to be wondered at, and which
confirmed me in the opinion that I had formed on my first visit, viz.,
that base-ball would never become a popular English sport, an opinion
that since then has proved to be correct.
Accompanied by the United States Charge d'Affaires the next morning we
drove to the Parliament Buildings, where we were admitted and shown
through by the Secretary to the Chairman of the House of Commons, an
honor rarely accorded to visitors and one that we greatly appreciated.
From the great hall where Charles the First and Warren Hastings were
tried and which had been badly wrecked by the explosion of a dynamite
bomb two years before, we passed into the Crypt and Committee rooms, and
thence through the magnificent corridors decorated with paintings, each
of which cost thousands of pounds. The House of Lords was next visited,
the Woolsack and Queen's Seat, and the seats of the various members
being pointed out to us by the Secretary. From the House of Lords we
passed into the House of Commons, where Sir William Harcourt was
speaking upon "The Treatment of Political Prisoners in Ireland," and
where several famous personages were pointed out to us, though much to
our regret we missed seeing Mr. Gladstone, who was expected to enter
every moment, but who did not appear up to the time of our leaving for
Westminster Abbey, where we had just time to glance about us before
driving to Lord's Cricket Grounds, where we were to play that afternoon,
and where we were greeted by a crowd of 7,000 people. These grounds,
which are particularly fine, we found that afternoon in excellent
condition and as a result we played a great game and one that evidently
pleased the spectators, the batting being heavy, the fielding sharp and
quick and the base running fast and brilliant. Errors at the' last
moment by Baldwin and myself gave the All-Americas this game, they
winning by a single run, the score standing 7 to 6.
That evening, at the invitation of Henry Irving, now Sir Henry, and Miss
Ellen Terry, we occupied boxes at the Lyceum Theater, being invited back
of the scenes between the acts to enjoy a glass of wine and to receive
the well wishes of our host and hostess, who still stand at the head of
their profession.
The day following, which was March 14th, we played upon the Crystal
Palace Grounds, which are located at Sydenham, one of the most popular
residence districts of the great city and within plain sight of the
magnificent Palace of Crystal, that is one of the many famous places of
interest with which London abounds. Here another large and enthusiastic
crowd of 6,000 people greeted us, and there was more cheering and
excitement than we had yet heard since our arrival in England. It was
another pretty and close game, in which the All-Americas carried off the
honors by a score of 5 to 2, the batting, fielding and base running of
both teams being again above the average.
At seven o'clock the next morning we left London for Bristol, the home
of the famous cricketers, Dr. W. G. and Mr. E. M. Grace, whose exploits
in the batting line have made them celebrated in the annals of the
English National Game. Our journey to Bristol was a delightful one and
when we arrived there at noon we were met by a committee composed of the
Duke of Beaufort, Dr. Grace and the officials of the Gloucester County
Cricket Club, and driven to the Grand Hotel, where introductions were in
order. The Duke of Beaufort was certainly:
"A fine old English gentleman,"
and one who, in spite of his sixty years, was greatly interested in
athletic sports. After a good dinner, over which His Grace presided and,
after the usual toasts had been proposed and drank, we were driven to
the Gloucester Cricket Grounds, which had but just been completed, at a
cost of some twelve thousand pounds, and which were as pretty and
well-equipped as any grounds in England. The day was a beautiful one and
the grounds in splendid condition, but for all that the game lacked the
snap and go that had characterized the games in London, the Chicagos
winning by a score of 10 to 3. After the game the Chicago team took the
field and Ryan and Crane pitched while the Grace brothers and other
cricketers tried their hand at batting, but were unable to do anything
with the swift delivery of the Americans, and it was not until they had
slowed down that they managed to land on the ball, Dr. Grace making the
only safe hit of the day.
That night found us back in London, where the next afternoon we played
our farewell game in the great metropolis on the grounds of the Essex
County Club at Layton, before a crowd that numbered 8,000 people, Crane
and Earle and Baldwin and Daly being the batteries. This game was full
of herd hitting and, though the score, 12 to 6 in favor of Chicago,
would not have pleased an American crowd, it tickled the English people
immensely, the London press of the next morning declaring it to be the
best game that we had yet played in England. A throwing contest had been
arranged to take place after the game between Crane and Conner, an
Australian cricketer, but the latter backed out at the last moment and
Crane merely gave an exhibition, throwing a cricket ball Ito yards and a
base ball 120 yards and 5 inches. That evening we were banqueted by
stockholders of the Niagara Panorama Company, and among the guests was
the Duke of Beaufort, who "dropped in," as he put it, "to spend the
evening with this fine lot of fellows from America."
When we left London the next morning it was in a special train provided
by the London and Northwestern Railway Company, consisting of nine cars,
two of which were dining saloons, two smoking and reception cars, and
the balance sleepers, each of the latter being made to accommodate from
six to eight persons comfortably. The exterior of the train was
exceedingly handsome, the body-color being white enamel with trimmings
of gold and seal brown and the Royal Arms in gold and scarlet on the
carriage doors, while upon each side of the coaches was the inscription
in brown letters, "The American Base-Ball Clubs." The interior of the
train was equally as handsome, and even royalty itself could not been
better provided. Some 500 people were on hand to see us off and we
pulled out of London with the cheers of our friends ringing in our ears.
The run to Birmingham occupied but three hours, and arriving there we
were escorted to the Colonnade Hotel by a delegation from the
Warwickshire County Cricket Club, where the usual reception was accorded
us. Then, after going to the Queen's Hotel for luncheon, we were driven
to the handsomely located and prettily equipped grounds of the club,
where, in spite of the threatening weather, 3,000 people had assembled.
This game was one that would have delighted an American crowd, game
being called at the end of the tenth inning on account of darkness with
the score a tie, each team having four runs to its credit, Baldwin and
Healy both pitching in fine style. That evening we were the guests of
honor at the Prince of Wales Theater, returning after the play was over
to our sleeping apartments on the train.
At nine o'clock the next morning we left for Sheffield, the great
cutlery manufacturing town of England, our route leading through the
beautiful hills of Yorkshire. Here we were the guests of the Yorkshire
County Cricket Club, and after luncheon at the Royal Victoria were
driven to the Bramhall Lane grounds, one of the oldest and most famous
of England's many athletic parks, where we were greeted by a crowd that
was even larger than' the one before which we had played at Birmingham.
It was raining hard when we began play but we kept on for four innings,
after which the rain came down so fast and the ground became so muddy
that we were compelled to quit. We waited about for an hour in hopes
that the rain might cease, but as it did not we finally went back to our
quarters. At the invitation of Miss Kate Vaughan we spent the evening at
the Royal Theater, where, as usual, we attracted fully as much attention
as the play.
Snow was falling in great feathery flakes when we left Sheffield the
next morning and, started for Bradford, and though we discovered an
improvement in the weather when we reached our destination we found the
grounds of the Bradford Foot-ball and Cricket Club in a condition that
was utterly unfit for base-ball playing purposes. To make matters worse
it began to rain while we were getting into our uniforms and a chilly
wind swept across the enclosure. Four thousand people braved the
inclement weather to see us play, however, and the members' stand
presented a funny appearance crowded with ladies in waterproofs and
mackintoshes, while the rows of black umbrellas that surrounded the
field made it look like a forest of toadstools. It looked like sheer
folly to attempt to play under such circumstances, but at the entreaties
of the Cricket Club's Secretary, who said that a game of three innings
would satisfy the crowd, we started in and we gave a good exhibition,
too, but the state of our uniforms after it was over can be better
imagined than described.
We arrived at Glasgow the next morning in time for breakfast, having
been whirled across the borders of Scotland in the night, and when we
awoke we found the train surrounded by a crowd of curious sightseers.
After luncheon we started for the West of Scotland Cricket Club grounds,
wearing overcoats over our uniforms, the air being decidedly chilly. It
was fairly good playing weather after we once got warmed up, and the
3,000 spectators saw a good game, lasting seven innings, and also saw
the All-Americas win by a score of 8 to 4. Mr. and Mrs. Osmond Tearle
were that night playing "King Lear" at the Grand Theater, and
entertained us very handsomely. On this trip thus far we had had but
little opportunity for sight-seeing save the passing glimpses of scenery
that we could obtain from the flying train and in the carriage rides to
and from the grounds upon which we played.
The next morning found us in Manchester, we having left Glasgow at
midnight, and at Manchester, the day being a pleasant one, we had some
little opportunity of looking about. What we saw of the town impressed
us most favorably, the streets being wide and clean, and the buildings
being of a good character. The Old Trafford grounds on which we played
that afternoon were beautifully situated and, in point of natural
surroundings and equipments, held their own with the best in England.
Through the gates 3,500 people passed, and they were treated to a
rattling exhibition of "base-ball as she is played," the score being
twice tied, and finally won by the All-Americas by a score of 7 to 6,
Tener and Healy doing the twirling. That evening we were banqueted at
the rooms of the Anglo-French Club by Mr. Raymond Eddy, who was then
acting as the European representative of the Chicago house of John V,
Farwell & Co., he being assisted in entertaining us by Major Hale,
United States Consul at Manchester. This proved to be a most pleasant
occasion, and the kindness shown us by both Mr. Eddy and Major Hale
still remains a pleasant memory.
At seven o'clock the next morning we were at Liverpool, where I met many
of the friends that I had made on my previous visit, and where we were
to play our last game on English soil. We were driven to the Colice
Athletic Grounds that afternoon in a coach with seats for twenty-eight
persons, and arriving at the grounds we found a big crowd already inside
and a perfect jam at the gates, the big carriage entrance finally giving
way and letting in some five hundred or more people before the rush
could be stopped by the police. As the paid admissions after the game
showed an attendance of 6,500, it is fair to assume that there were at
least 7,000 people on the grounds. Five innings of base-ball were played
and the score was a tie, each team scoring but three, only one hit being
made off Baldwin and four off Crane.
A game of "rounders" between a team from the Rounders' Association of
Liverpool and an American eleven with Baldwin and Earl as the battery,
and with Tener, Wood, Fogarty, Brown, Hanlon, Pfeffer, Manning, Sullivan
and myself in the field was played. The bases in this game instead of
being bags are iron stakes about three feet high, the ball the size of a
tennis ball, and the batting is done with one hand and with a bat that
resembles a butter-paddle in shape and size. A base-runner has to be
retired by being struck with the ball, and not touched with it, and the
batter must run the first time he strikes at the ball, whether he hits
it or not. Of course the Rounders' Association team beat us, the score
being 16 to 14, but when they came to play us two innings at our game
afterwards the score stood at 18 to o in our favor, the crowd standing
in a drenching rain to witness the fun.
At nine o'clock that night we took the train for Fleetwood, on the
shores of the Irish Channel, and at eleven we were on board of the
little steamer "Princess of Wales" and bound for Ireland. Unlike our
experience in the English Channel, this trip proved to be most
delightful and we arrived in Belfast in the pink of condition for
anything that might turn up. It was Sunday morning and as we drove up to
the Imperial Hotel on Royal Avenue the streets were as quiet as a
country church yard. Towards evening, however, Royal Avenue began to
take on a gala appearance, conspicuous among the promenaders being the
Scotch Highland Troops, whose bright costumes lent color to the scene.
About nine o'clock it began to rain again and it was still raining when
we retired for the night. The next morning was full of sunshine and
showers, but towards noon it cleared up and after luncheon we were off
in drags for the North of Ireland Cricket Club Grounds, where we put up
another great game and one where a crowd of 3,000 people, among which
pretty Irish girls without number were to be seen, were the spectators.
At the end of the eighth inning the score stood 8 to 7 in our favor, but
in the ninth singles by Wood and Healy and a corking three-bagger to
left field by Earle sent two men across the place and gave the victory
to All-America by a score of 9 to 8. A banquet at the Club House that
evening, over which the Mayor of Belfast presided, kept us out till a
late hour, and at an early hour the next morning we were off for Dublin
City,
"Where the boys are all so gay
And the girls are all so pretty,"
according to the words of an old song. The porter who woke us up that
morning must have been a relative of Mr. Dooley, of the Archer road, if
one might judge from the rich brogue with which he announced the hour of
"'Arf pawst foive, wud he be gittin' oop, sur? It's 'arf pawst foive."
Between Belfast and Dublin we passed through a beautiful section of the
country, catching now and then among the trees glimpses of old ivy-grown
castles and whirling by farms in a high state of cultivation. At Dublin,
where we arrived at eleven o'clock, we were met by United States Consul
McCaskill and others and driven to Morrison's Hotel. This was a day off
and many of the boys who had relatives in Ireland within reaching
distance took advantage of the fact to pay them a visit. Mrs. Anson and
I spent the day in driving about the city visiting Phoenix Park and
other places of interest, and that evening we attended the "Gaiety
Theater," where a laughable comedy called "Arabian Nights" was being
played.
The next day we played our last game in a foreign land, the weather
being all that could be desired for the purpose. Prior to the game,
however, we called at the Mansion House and were received by the Lord
Mayor of Dublin, who gave us a genuine Irish welcome.
Our drive to the Landsdown Road Grounds took us through many of the best
parts of the city, which is beautiful, and can boast of as many handsome
women as any place of its size in the world.
The game that we played that afternoon was one of the best of the entire
trip, from an American base-ball critic's point of view, though the
score was too small to suit a people educated up to the big scores that
are generally reached in cricket matches. Baldwin and Crane were both on
their mettle and the fielding being of the sharpest kind safe hits were
few and far between. Up to the ninth inning Chicago led by two runs, but
here Earle's three-bagger, Hanlon's base on balls, Burns' fumble of
Brown's hit and Carroll's double settled our chances, the All-Americas
winning by a score of 4 to 3.
This game made a total of twenty-eight that we had played since leaving
San Francisco, of which the All-Americas had won fourteen and the
Chicagos eleven, three being a tie, and had it not been for the accident
in Paris that deprived us of Williamson's services, I am pretty certain
that a majority of the games would have been placed to Chicago's credit.
In the evening we left for Cork over the Southern Railway in three
handsomely-appointed coaches decorated with American flags and bearing
the inscription "Reserved for the American Base-Ball Party." We arrived
at two o'clock the next morning, being at once driven to the Victoria
Hotel. The same day we visited Blarney Castle, driving out and back in
the jaunting cars for which Ireland is famous, and, though I kissed the
blarney stone, I found after my return home that I could not argue my
beliefs into an umpire any better than before. That night we left the
quaint city of Cork behind and, after a beautiful ride of eleven miles
by train, found ourselves standing on the docks at Queenstown, where a
tender was in waiting to convey us to the White Star steamer that
awaited us in the offing.
CHAPTER XXXI. "HOME, SWEET HOME."
Our voyage back to "God's country," by which term of endearment the
American traveling abroad often refers to the United States, was by no
means a pleasant one, as we encountered heavy weather from the start,
the "Adriatic" running into a storm immediately after leaving Queenstown
that lasted for two days and two nights, during which time we made but
slow progress, and as a result there were a good many vacant seats at
the table when mealtimes came. A storm at sea is always an inspiring
sight, and it was a pleasure to those of us who were lucky enough to
have our sealegs on to watch the big ship bury her nose in the
mountainous waves, scattering the spray in great clouds and then rising
again as buoyantly as the proverbial cork. The decks were not a pleasant
point of vantage, however, even for the most enthusiastic admirer of
nature, as a big wave would now and then break over the forward part of
the vessel, drenching everything and everybody within reach and making
the decks as slippery as a well-waxed ballroom.
I had quit smoking some time before starting on this trip and was
therefore deprived of blowing a cloud with which to drive dull care away
during the tedious days that followed. Like the rest of the party, too,
once started I was impatient to reach home again, and for that reason
the slow progress that we made the first few days was not greatly to my
liking. The weather moderated at the end of forty-eight hours, and
though the waves still wore their night-caps and were too playful to go
to bed, they occasioned us but little annoyance and we bowled along over
the Atlantic in merry fashion, killing time by spinning yarns, playing
poker and taking a turn at the roulette wheel which Fred Carroll had
purchased at Nice to remind him of his experience at Monte Carlo.
At a very early hour on Saturday morning, April 6, we were off Fire
Island, and sunrise found us opposite quarantine.
Our base-ball friends in New York, who had been looking for us for three
days, had been early apprised that the "Adriatic" had arrived off Sandy
Hook, and, boarding the little steamer "Starin" and the tug "George
Wood," they came down the bay, two hundred strong, to meet us. With the
aid of "a leedle Sherman pand," steam whistles and lusty throats they
made noise enough to bring us all on deck in a hurry. As the distance
between the vessels grew shorter we could distinguish among others the
faces of Marcus Meyer, W. W. Kelly, John W. Russel, Digby Bell, DeWolf
Hopper, Col. W. T. Coleman and many others, not least among them being
my old father, who had come on from Marshalltown to be among the first
to welcome myself and my wife back to America, and who, as soon as the
"Starin" was made fast, climbed on deck and gave us both a hug that
would have done credit to the muscular energy of a grizzly bear, but who
was no happier to see us than we were to see him and to learn that all
was well with our dear ones. I'm not sure but the next thing that he did
was to propose a game of poker to some of the boys, but if he did not it
was simply because there was too much excitement going on. That evening
we were the guests of Col. McCaull at Palmer's Theater, where De-Wolf
Hopper, Digby Bell and other prominent comic opera stars were playing in
"The May Queen." The boxes that we occupied that night were handsomely
decorated with flags and bunting, while from the proscenium arch hung an
emblem of all nations, a gilt eagle and shield, with crossed bats and a
pair of catcher's gloves and a catcher's mask.
Every allusion to the trip and to the members of the teams brought out
the applause, and by and by the crowd began to call for speeches from
Ward and myself, but Ward wouldn't, and I couldn't, and so the comedians
on the stage were left to do all of the entertaining.
The next day, Sunday, was spent quietly in visiting among our friends,
and Monday we played the first game after our return on the Brooklyn
grounds. The day was damp and cold and for that reason the crowd was
comparatively a small one, there being only 4,000 people on hand to give
us a welcome, but these made up in noise what they lacked in numbers and
yelled themselves hoarse as we marched onto the grounds. Once again,
after a hard-fought contest, we were beaten by a single run, All-America
7, Chicago 6 being the score.
At night we were given a banquet at Delmonico's by the New York admirers
of the game, and it was a notable gathering of distinguished men that
assembled there to do us honor, among them being A. G. Mills,
ex-President of the National League, who acted as Chairman, Hon. Chauncey
M. Depew, Hon. Daniel Dougherty, Henry E. Howland, W. H. McElroy, U. S.
Consul; G. W. Griffin, who was representing the United States at Sydney
when we were there; Mayor Chapin, of Brooklyn; Mayor Cleveland, of
Jersey City; Erastus Wyman, Samuel L. Clemens ("Mark Twain"), and the
Rev. Joseph Twitchell, of Hartford, Conn.; while scattered about the
hall at various tables were seated representatives of different college
classes, members of the New York Stock Exchange, the president and
prominent members of the New York Athletic Club, and other crack
athletic organizations of New York and vicinity, while in the gallery
the ladies had been seated presumably for the purpose of seeing that we
neither ate nor drank too much during the festivities.
Mr. Mills in his address reminded his hearers of the occasion that had
brought them together and pronounced a glowing eulogy upon the game and
its beauties and upon the players that had journeyed around the world to
introduce it in foreign climes, and then called upon Mayor Cleveland of
New Jersey, whose witty remarks excited constant laughter, and who wound
up by welcoming us home in the name of the 20,000 residents of the
little city across the river. Mayor Alfred Chapin of Brooklyn followed
in a brief and laughter-provoking address, after which Chauncey M. Depew
arose amid enthusiastic cheering and spoke as follows:
"Representing, as I do, probably more than any other human being, the
whole of the American people who were deprived, by a convention that did
not understand its duty, of putting me where I belong; and representing,
as I do, by birth and opportunity, all the nationalities on the globe, I
feel that I have been properly selected to give you the welcome of the
world. I am just now arranging and preparing a Centennial oration which
I hope may, and fear may not, meet all the possibilities of the 30th of
April in presenting the majesty of that which created the government
which we boast of and the land and country of which we are proud, but I
feel that that oration is of no importance compared with the event of
this evening. Washington never saw a base-ball game; Madison wrote the
Constitution of the United States, and died without seeing one;
Jefferson was the author of the Declaration of Independence, and yet his
monument has no tribute of this kind upon it. Hamilton, the most
marvelous and creative genius, made constitutions, built up systems and
created institutions, and yet never witnessed a base-ball game. I feel
as I stand here that all the men that have ever lived and achieved
success in this world have died in vain. I am competent to pay that
tribute, because I never played a game in my life, and I never saw it
but once, and then did not understand it. A philosopher whom I always
read with interest, because his abstractions sometimes approach the
truth, wrote an article of some acumen several years ago, in which he
said that you could mark the march of civilization and rise of liberty
and its decadence by the interest which the nations took in pugilism.
The nations of the earth which submit to the most grinding of despotisms
have no pugilists. The nations of Europe which have never risen in their
boasted establishments to a full comprehension of republicanism, have no
pugilists. While Ireland and the Irish people, who can never be crushed,
who have poetry, song and eloquence that belong to genius, have the most
remarkable pugilists. England, which has a literature which is the only
classic of to-day, which has an aristocracy and a form of government
which is nearly democratic, has remarkable pugilists, and when you reach
the seal of culture in America--Boston--you find the prince of pugilists.
Now, that philosopher was right in the general principle, but wrong in
the game. Civilization is marked, and has been in all ages, by an
interest in the manly arts."
In conclusion Mr. Depew eulogized the returning tourists and-ended with
a brilliant panegyric in favor of the National Game.
In responding to the toast, "The Influence of the Manly Sports," the
Hon. Daniel Dougherty made a brilliant address in favor of outdoor
games, after which President Spalding paid a compliment to the excellent
conduct and ball-playing abilities of the two teams, and Captain Ward
and myself made the briefest of remarks. Chairman Mills then introduced
"Mark Twain," speaking of him as a native of the Sandwich Islands, which
brought out the following address:
"Though not a native, as intimated by the chairman, I have visited the
Sandwich Islands, that peaceful land, that beautiful land, that far-off
home of profound repose and soft indolence, and dreamy solitude, where
life is one long slumberous Sabbath, the climate one long, delicious
summer day, and the good that die experience no change, for they but
fall asleep in one heaven and wake up in another. And these boys have
played base-ball there; baseball, which is the very symbol, the outward
and visible expression of the drive and push and rush and struggle of
the raging, tearing, booming nineteenth century. One cannot realize it,
the place and the fact are so incongruous; it is like interrupting a
funeral with a circus. Why, there's no legitimate point of contact, no
possible kinship between base-ball" and the Sandwich Islands; base-ball
is all fact, the Islands are all sentiment. In base-ball you've got to
do everything just right, or you don't get there; in the Islands you've
got to do everything all wrong, or you can't stay there. You do it wrong
to get it right, for if you do it right you get it wrong; there isn't
any way to get it right but to do it wrong, and the wronger you do it
the righter it is.
"The natives illustrate this every day. They never mount a horse from
the larboard side, they always mount him from the starboard; on the
other hand, they never milk a cow on the starboard side, they always
milk her on the larboard; it's why you see so many short people there,
they've got their heads kicked off. When they meet on the road they
don't turn to the right, they turn to the left. And so, from always
doing everything wrong end first, it makes them left-handed and
cross-eyed; they are all so. In those Islands, the cats haven't any
tails and the snakes haven't any teeth; and, what is still more
irregular, the man that loses a game gets the pot. As to dress, the
women all wear a single garment, but the men don't. No, the men don't
wear anything at all; they hate display; when they wear a smile they
think they are overdressed. Speaking of birds, the only bird there that
has ornamental feathers has only two, just only enough to squeeze
through with, and they are under its wings instead of on top of its
head, where, of course, they ought to be to do any good.
"The natives' language is soft and liquid and flexible, and in every way
efficient and satisfactory till you get mad; then, there you are; there
isn't anything in it to swear with. Good judges all say it is the best
Sunday language there is; but then all the other six days of the week it
just hangs idle on your hands; it isn't any good for business, and you
can't work a telephone with it. Many a time the attention of the
missionaries has been called to this defect, and they are always
promising they are going to fix it; but no, they go fooling along and
fooling along, and nothing is done. Speaking of education, everybody
there is educated, from the highest to the lowest; in fact, it is the
only country in the world where education is actually universal. And yet
every now and then you run across instances of ignorance that are simply
revolting, simply revolting to the human race. Think of it, there the
ten takes the ace. But let us not dwell on such things. They make a
person ashamed. Well, the missionaries are always going to fix that, but
they put it off, and put it off, and put it off, and so that nation is
going to keep on going down, and down, until some day you will see a
pair of jacks beat a straight flush.
"Well, it is refreshment to the jaded, water to the thirsty, to look
upon men who have so lately breathed the soft air of these Isles of the
Blest, and had before their eyes the inextinguishable vision of their
beauty. No alien land in all the world has any deep, strong charm for me
but that one; no other land could so longingly and beseechingly tempt
me, sleeping and waking, through half a life-time, as that one has done.
Other things leave me, but that abides; other things change, but that
remains the same. For me, its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer
seas flashing in the sun, the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ears. I
can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms
drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above
the cloud rack. I can hear the spirits of its woodland solitudes, I can
hear the splash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of
the flowers that perished twenty years ago. And these world wanderers
that sit before me here have lately looked upon these things, and with
eyes of the flesh, not the unsatisfying vision of the spirit. I envy
them that."
"Mark Twain" may have been better than he was that night, but if so I
should like some one to mention the time and place. To be sure he make a
mistake in taking it for granted that we had played ball there, but then
it was not our fault that we had not: It was all the fault of the horrid
blue laws that prevented us from making an honest dollar.
Digby Bell and DeWolf Hopper gave recitations in response to the loud
demand made for them, and it was not until long after midnight that an
adjournment was finally made.
The next day we played our second game in Brooklyn before a crowd of
3,500, and gave a rather uninteresting exhibition, the Chicagos taking
the lead at the start and holding it to the finish, the All-Americas
supporting Crane in a very slipshod manner. That same evening we left
for Baltimore, where 6,000 people gave us a hearty welcome when we
appeared the next afternoon on the Association grounds. Here we put up a
good game, the Chicagos winning by a score of 5 to 2.
We arrived in Philadelphia the next morning at eleven o'clock and found
a committee composed of the officers of the Philadelphia clubs and
representatives of the Philadelphia papers at the depot awaiting our
arrival. Entering carriages we were driven down Chestnut Street to the
South Side Ferry, where we took the boat for Gloucester and were given a
planked-shad dinner at Thompson's. Returning we were driven directly to
the grounds of the Athletic Club, where the Athletics and Bostons were
playing an exhibition game. When our party filed into the grounds at the
end of the third inning play was suspended and as the band played "Home
Again" we were given a great ovation. At the conclusion of the game,
which we witnessed from a section of the grand stand that had been
reserved for us, we went to the Continental Hotel, and then, after we
had donned evening dress, we were escorted to the Hotel Bellevue, where
we had been tendered a banquet by the Philadelphia "Sporting Life." The
banquet hall on this occasion was beautifully decorated, and as we
entered the band played, "The Day I Played Base-ball." Frank C. Richter
occupied the chairman's seat, others at the same table being A. G.
Spalding, Col. A. K. McClure, of the "Philadelphia Times;" Col. M. R.
Muckle, of the "Ledger;" John I. Rogers, Harry, Wright, A. G. Reach,
Capt. John M. Ward, C. H. Byrne of the Brooklyn Club, President W. M.
Smith of the City Council, Thomas Dando, President of the "Sporting
Life" company, and myself. There were over three hundred guests in all
and it was late before the speechmaking began. After brief welcoming
addresses by Chairman Richter, Mr. Dando and President Smith, there were
loud calls for Mr. Spalding, who gave a brief outline of our experiences
in foreign lands. Captain Ward and myself responded in behalf of our
respective teams and I took occasion to pay the boys all a compliment
that I thought that they had deserved, because each and every member had
behaved himself as a gentleman. Speeches by Colonel Rogers and C. H.
Byrne followed, after which came a glowing tribute to the National Game
from the lips of Col. McClure, followed by an interesting sketch of the
game and its growth in popular favor by Henry Chadwick, who has the
history of the game from its first inception down to the present time at
his finger-ends. A. J. Reach, Harry Wright, Tim Murnane, Leigh Lynch and
the irrepressible Fogarty all took their turn at amusing the party and
again it was a late hour, or rather an early one, when we returned to
our quarters. The next afternoon we were accorded a reception by Mayor
Fitler in his office, who, in shaking hands with the tourists, gave us
all the heartiest sort of a welcome. That afternoon we played on the
grounds of the Philadelphias, to a crowd of 4,000 people, the weather
being threatening. This proved to be a close and exciting contest,
Chicago winning by a score of 6 to 4, Tener and Healy both being in fine
shape.
The next day found us in Boston where we played to 4,000 people, and
where the contest proved to be a one-sided affair, a brilliant double
play by Duffy, Tener and myself and a quick double play by Manning and
Wise being the redeeming features. It was something of a picnic for
All-Americas, as they won by a score of 10 to 3. The following evening
we started on our trip to Chicago, stopping at Washington en route.
Here we were notified of President Harrison's wish to receive the party
and, visiting the White House, we were introduced to Benjamin Harrison,
whose reception was about as warm as that of an icicle, and who
succeeded in making us all feel exceedingly uncomfortable. That
afternoon 3,000 people saw us wipe up the ground with the All-Americas,
upon whom the President's reception had had a bad effect, as the score,
18 to 6, indicates.
The next day we played at Pittsburg to a crowd of the same size, the
score being a tie, each team having made three runs at the end of the
ninth inning, and the day following at Cleveland 4,500 saw us win by a
score of 7 to 4. At Indianapolis the All-Americas took their revenge,
however, beating us in the presence of 2,000 people by a score of 9 to
5.
Friday noon we left the Hoosier capital for Chicago in a special car
over the Monon route, and at Hammond, where we had already gotten into
dress suits, we were met by a crowd of Chicagoans, who told us that
Chicago was prepared to give us the greatest reception that we had yet
had, a fact that proved to be only too true. The crowd at the depot was
a howling, yelling mob, and as we entered our carriages and the
procession moved up Wabash Avenue and across Harmon Court to Michigan
Avenue, amid the bursting of rockets, the glare of calcium lights and
Roman candles, we felt that we were indeed at home again. It seemed as
if every amateur base-ball club in the city had turned out on this
occasion and as they passed us in review the gay uniforms and colored
lights made the scene a very pretty one. At the Palmer House the crowd
was fully as large as that which had greeted us at the depot, the
reception committee embracing Judge H. M. Shepard, Judge H. N. Hibbard,
Potter Palmer, John R. Walsh, Frederic Ullman, L. G. Fisher, D. K. Hill,
C. L. Willoughby, C. E. Rollins, F. M. Lester, J. B. Kitchen, J. B.
Knight, M. A. Fields, Dr. Hathaway, L. M. Hamburger, Louis Manasse and
C. F. Gunther.
The banquet given in our honor that night was a most elegant affair,
among those seated at the speaker's table being Mayor DeWitt C. Cregier,
Hon. Carter H. Harrison, Rev. Dr. Thomas, James W. Scott, President of
the Chicago Press Club, A. G. Spalding, George W. Driggs and many
others. It was after ten o'clock when Mayor Cregier called the
banqueters to order and made his speech of welcome, to which Mr.
Spalding replied. The Rev. Dr. Thomas responded to the toast of
"Base-ball as a National Amusement," and myself to "His Royal Highness
the Prince of Wales," but the boys kept up such a constant cheering while
I was on my feet that I am afraid that they did not appreciate all the
good things that I said in regard to England's future ruler. "The
National Value of Athletics" brought out a stirring address from Major
Henry Turner, and John M. Ward expressed himself most happily on "The
World As I Found It." Ex-Mayor Carter H. Harrison responded to the
toast, "My Own Experience," and compared in humorous fashion his own
trip around the world with the one that we had just completed. After
other toasts responded to by various members of the party, we adjourned.
The next afternoon we played the last game of the trip at the West Side
Park and were beaten by a score of 22 to 9, the All-Americas falling
upon Baldwin and batting him all over the grounds.
The next day the tourists went their several ways and so ended a
tour such as had never before been planned and that cost me in round
figures about $1,500, that being my share of the losses incurred in
advertising the sporting goods business of the Spaldings, their
business being greatly benefited by the tour, and how they repaid me
afterwards--well--that's another story.
CHAPTER XXXII. THE REVOLT OF THE BROTHERHOOD.
The playing strength of the League teams of 1889 was remarkably even;
that is to say, on paper. Detroit had dropped out and Cleveland had
taken its place in the ranks, four of the old Detroit players going to
Boston, one to Philadelphia, three to Pittsburg, and the balance to
Cleveland. The Boston Club had been the greatest gainer by the deal,
however, and the majority of the "fans" looked for it to carry off the
pennant. Once more the unexpected happened, however, and, though it took
the games of the very last day of the season to settle the standing of
the first six clubs, the pennant finally went to New York for the second
time, they winning 83 games and losing 43, while Boston came next with
the same number of games won and 45 lost, and Chicago stood third with
65 games won and 65 lost, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Cleveland,
Indianapolis and Washington following in the order named.
The Chicago team of that year consisted of Tener, Dwyer, Hutchinson and
Gumbert, pitchers; Farrell, Darling, Sommers and Flint, catchers;
Pfeffer, Burns, Bastian, Williamson and myself in the infield; and Van
Haltren, Ryan and Duffy, outfielders. I was the manager and captain. It
was not until late in the season that Williamson recovered sufficiently
from the injury that he had received at Paris to join us, and his
absence hurt our chances very materially, as the old "stone wall"
infield was left in a crippled condition.
That fall the Brotherhood Revolt, that robbed the League of many of its
best players, took place, and though the reasons for this have been
variously stated, yet I am of the opinion that it could be all summed up
by the one word, "greed," for that was certainly the corner stone of the
entire structure. It has also been said that the plan of the Brotherhood
was perfected by the ringleaders therein during the around-the-world
trip, and it may be that this is true, but if such was the case the
whole affair was kept remarkably quiet, for it was not until away late
in the season that I was aware of the intended secession of the players,
I then being approached by John M. Ward with a proposal to join them, a
proposal that I declined with thanks, giving as my reason that the
League had always treated me fairly and honestly up to that time, and
that such being the case I could see no reason why I should leave them
in an underhand manner. The truth of the matter is, that I felt bound in
honor to stand by my friends, even if I sank with them, and at that time
the skies did look remarkably dark and it was a question in my mind as
to what would be the outcome. The fact that the majority of the League
clubs had the season before made a great deal of money excited the
cupidity of certain capitalists, and they, finding the players
dissatisfied over some minor grievances, incited them to revolt, hoping
to use them as catspaws with which to pull the financial chestnuts out
of the fire.
The Brotherhood was a secret organization, and one that was originally
formed by the promoters with the object of protecting the ball players
in their rights, and not for the purpose of disrupting the old League
and forming a new one in opposition, as it afterwards attempted to do.
It first made itself felt in the fall of 1887, when it compelled the
League to draw up a new form of contract; in which the rights of the
players were better understood than under the form that had previously
been used. When the new contract was adopted the full amount of each
player's salary could not be written therein, because of the National
Agreement, which contained a $2,000 salary limit clause, and as the
American Association Clubs would not allow this to be stricken out the
players were greatly displeased, they having to sign contracts at
$2,000, and make outside contracts for all compensation over that amount
that they received. Threats as to what the Brotherhood would do were
freely made at that time, but nothing came of them. At the annual
meeting in 1888, the Indianapolis, Pittsburg and Washington Clubs
demanded of the League a scheme that would limit players' salaries,
which had grown to enormous proportions, and the result was that a
classification rule, which divided the players into five classes, as
follows: Class A, to receive $2,500; Class B, $2,250; Class C, $2,000;
Class D, $1,750, and class E, $1,500, it being agreed among the clubs,
however, that this classification should not apply to players with whom
they then had agreements, or to players with whom they should make
agreements, or to whom they felt under moral obligations to do so,
previous to December 15th, 1888, and it was also provided that the
players then absent on the world's trip should be accorded two weeks
after their return in which to arrange matters before they should be
subject to classification.
We were abroad at that time, but the players at home remonstrated
strongly against the classification, claiming that in a few years it
would have a tendency to lower the salaries very materially, but the
absence of John M. Ward, who was the Brotherhood leader, prevented any
official action by the organization. When Mr. Ward reached, home again
contracts had been signed and nothing could be done, though it is now
known that he favored a strike at that time, but was out-voted by the
cooled-headed members of the order. In the meantime the New Yorks had
agreed to release the Brotherhood leader to Washington for the sum of
$12,000, the largest sum ever offered for the release of a player, but
Ward's flat-footed refusal to play in the National Capital team caused
the deal to fall through.
In the meantime the discontented players had appointed a committee to
present their grievances to the League, and President Young appointed a
League committee to hear the players, of which committee A. G. Spalding
was chairman, but when an immediate hearing was asked for by Mr. Ward,
Mr. Spalding declined to meet the Brotherhood players until fall. This,
according to the players' story, was the last straw that broke the
camel's back, and from that time on they began, but with the greatest
secrecy, to arrange their plans for secession.
Having ascertained what was going on in the meantime, I used what
influence I possessed in trying to dissuade such of my players as was
possible from taking what I then regarded as a foolish step, and though
I managed to find some of them that would listen to me there were others
who would not, Pfeffer, Tener and Williamson being among the number,
though they made no move openly looking toward desertion until after the
playing season was over.
On the fourth day of November, 1899, the Brotherhood met at the Fifth
Avenue Hotel and threw off the mask, issuing the following address to
the public:
"At last the Brotherhood of base-ball players feels at liberty to make
known its intentions and defend itself against the aspersions and
misrepresentations which for weeks it has been forced to suffer in
silence. It is no longer a secret that the players of the League have
determined to play next season under different management, but for
reasons which will, we think, be understood, it was deemed advisable to
make no announcement of this intention until the close of the present
season. But now that the struggle for the various pennants is over, and
the terms of our contracts expired, there is no longer reason for
withholding it. In taking this step we feel that we owe it to the public
and to ourselves to explain briefly some of the reasons by which we have
been moved. There was a time when the League stood for integrity and
fair dealing; to-day it stands for dollars and cents. Once it looked to
the elevation of the game and an honest exhibition of the sport. To-day
its eyes are upon the turnstile. Men have come into the business for no
other motive than to exploit it for every dollar in sight. Measures
originally intended for the good of the game have been turned into
instruments for wrong. The reserve rule and the provisions of the
national agreement gave the managers unlimited power, and they have not
hesitated to use this in the most arbitrary and mercenary way.
"Players have been bought, sold and exchanged, as though they were
sheep, instead of American citizens. Reservation became with them
another name for property-rights in the player. By a combination among
themselves, stronger than the strongest trusts, they were able to
enforce the most arbitrary measures, and the player had either to submit
or get out of the profession, in which he had spent years in attaining
proficiency. Even the disbandment and retirement of a club did not free
the players from the octopus clutch, for they were then peddled around
to the highest bidder.
"That the players sometimes profited by the sale has nothing to do with
the case, but only proves the injustice of the previous restraint. Two
years ago we met the League and attempted to remedy some of these evils,
but through what had been called League 'diplomacy' we completely
failed. Unwilling longer to submit to such treatment, we made a strong
effort last spring to reach an understanding with the League. To our
application for a hearing they replied 'that the matter was not of
sufficient importance to warrant a meeting,' and suggested that it be
put off until fall. Our committee replied that the players felt that the
League had broken faith with them; that while the results might be of
little importance to the managers, they were of great importance to the
players; that if the League would not concede what was fair we would
adopt other measures to protect ourselves; that if postponed until fall
we would be separated and at the mercy of the League, and that, as the
only course left us required time and labor to develop, we must
therefore insist upon an immediate conference. Then upon their final
refusal to meet us, we began organizing for ourselves, and are in shape
to go ahead next year under new management and new auspices. We believe
it is possible to conduct our National game upon lines which will not
infringe upon individual and natural rights. We ask to be judged solely
by our work, and believing that the game can be played more fairly and
its business conducted more intelligently under a plan which excludes
everything arbitrary and un-American, we look forward with confidence to
the support of the public and the future of the National game. (Signed)
THE NATIONAL BROTHERHOOD OF BALL PLAYERS."
The Players' League, as finally organized, embraced the cities of
Boston, Brooklyn, New York and Philadelphia, in the East, and Buffalo,
Chicago, Cleveland and Pittsburg in the West. According to the articles
under which this league was formed its government rested in a central
board composed of its president, and two directors, one a player and one
a capitalist from each club.
Any player who was dissatisfied with his location could apply to the
board to be transferred without the payment of anything to the club
losing his services. All contracts were to be made for three years and
no player could be released until after the first year had expired, and
not then if he had kept his agreements and was still able and willing to
play good ball. Severe penalties were provided for drunkenness and
crookedness, and all profits from ground privileges, such as
refreshments, score-cards, cigars, etc., belonged to each individual
club. It was also provided that all players were to have the same
salaries that they had had in 1889, save such as had been cut down by
the classification system, and they were to be paid the same salaries as
in 1888, the same to be increased at the option of the club engaging
them.
This on paper looked to be a great scheme, but what it lacked was
business brains in its management, and as a result its career was a
short and stormy one, it being war to the knife and the knife to the
hilt between the two great rival organizations. After four courts had
decided that the players had a right to leave the National League, each
of the clubs located in the Players' League signed a compact to play
with that organization for ten years. The National League then formed a
schedule of playing dates that conflicted with the Players' League all
through the season of 1890, this action throwing both clubs and public
into confusion, the latter becoming so disgusted over the war of the
rival factions as to stay away from the games altogether. At the end of
the season the Players' League bought the Cincinnati Club, and as the
Pittsburg Club was all but defunct, this left the National League with
but six clubs.
At the close of the championship season a conference was held and plans
agreed upon for ending the war, which had been financially disastrous to
both parties. Committees were appointed by both Leagues and by the
American Association having this end in view, but the Players' League,
at a special meeting added three professional players to its committee,
and the National League refused to join in the conference. Secret
meetings between the capitalists of the Players' League and the National
League were held, with the result that the rival clubs in New York,
Pittsburg and Chicago were consolidated, this causing the disruption of
the Brotherhood.
Looked at from a financial standpoint the contrast between the seasons
of 1889 and 1890 was a great one. The year 1889 was the most successful
that the League had ever known, and the money fairly poured in at the
gate. The year 1890, on the contrary, was one of the most disastrous
that the League had ever known, and on many occasions the clubs found
themselves playing to almost empty benches.
The defection of Tener, Williamson, Ryan, Pfeffer and others left me
with a comparatively green team on my hands, when the season of 1890
opened, but long before the season came to a close constant practice had
made it one of the best teams in the League, as it proved by finishing
in the second place. Few people, however, appreciate the amount of work
that was necessary to attain that result. It was hard work and plenty of
it, and though some of the players objected to the amount of practice
forced upon them, and the strict discipline that was enforced, yet they
had to put up with it, as that was the only manner in which the
necessary playing strength could be developed. I myself worked just as
hard as they did. If we took a three-mile run, I was at their head
setting the pace for them. I have never asked the men under my control
to do anything that I was not willing to do myself, because it was just
as necessary for me to be in good condition as it was for them.
The Chicagos of 1890 were made up as follows: Hutchinson, Luby and
Stein, pitchers; Nagle and Kittridge, catchers; Anson, first base;
Glenalvin, second base; Burns, third base; Cooney, shortstop; Carroll,
left field; Andrews, right field; and O'Brien, Earle and Foster
substitutes.
It will thus be seen that I had but one of the "old reliables" left,
that being Burns, who had refused to affiliate with the Brotherhood, and
who was to receive his reward later on at the hands of the Chicago Club
management. The rest of the team was composed of a lot of half-broken
"colts," many of whom were newcomers in the League, and with a
reputation yet to make, Hutchinson, Cooney and Wilmot being the pick of
the bunch.
There was never a time during this season that we were worse than fifth,
and on several, occasions we were right up in the front rank. When
October arrived we were in the third place, but during the short season
that followed we passed Philadelphia and took second position. Brooklyn
carried off the pennant with a total of 86 games won and 43 lost, while
Chicago had 83 games won and 53 lost, Philadelphia being third with 78
games won and 53 lost, while Cincinnati, Boston, New York, Cleveland and
Pittsburg followed in that order.
This was an achievement to be proud of, and with the downfall of the
Brotherhood and the consolidation of some of the leading clubs I
naturally thought that the Chicago team would be strengthened very
materially, but such was not the case. I did not even get my old players
back, those of them that continued in the profession being scattered far
and wide among the other League clubs, while others retired from the
arena altogether. As a result it was a constant hustle on my part to
secure new players, and I think I may easily say that the hardest years
of my managerial experience were those that followed the revolt of the
Brotherhood, continuing until my retirement from the Chicago Club at the
close of 1897, at which time I was the owner of one hundred and thirty
shares of the club's stock, which from the time of Mr. Hart's connection
with it has been worthless so far as I am concerned, and simply
because...
CHAPTER XXXIII. MY LAST YEARS ON THE BALL FIELD.
The season of 1891 proved to be almost as disastrous, when viewed from a
financial standpoint, as was the seasons of 1890, owing to the war for
the possession of good players that broke out between the National
League and the American Association, that was caused by a refusal on the
part of the last-named organization to stick to the terms of the
National Agreement, the result being the boosting of players' salaries
away up into fancy figures.
This state of affairs proved to be exceedingly costly for all concerned,
as really good players were at that time exceedingly scarce and the
demand for them, constantly growing.
The Chicago team for that season was again to a very great extent an
experimental one, made up at the beginning of the season of the
following named players: Luby, Gumbert and Hutchinson, pitchers;
Schriver and Kittridge, catchers; Anson, first base; Pfeffer, second
base; Burns, third base; Dahlen, shortstop; Wilmot, Ryan and Carroll,
outfielders; Cooney, substitute.
This proved to be a strong organization and one that would have landed
the pennant 'had it not been for the fact that the jealousy of the old
players in the East engendered by the Brotherhood revolt would not allow
a team of youngsters, many of whom were newcomers in the League to carry
off the honors, and a conspiracy was entered into whereby New York lost
enough games to Boston to give the Beaneaters the pennant and to
relegate us at the very last moment into the second place.
We had made a whirlwind fight for the honors, however, and though we
lost no fault could be laid either at my door or at the doors of the
players, as we had the pennant won had it not been for the games that
were dropped by the "Giants" to the Boston Club, in order that the
honors might not be carried off by a colt team.
Hutchinson, upon whom the most of the pitching work devolved, was one of
the best in the business. He was a graduate of Yale, a gentleman and a
player who used his head as well as his hands when in the box. Gumbert
and Luby were both fair, and the latter, had it not been for strong
drink, might have made for himself a much greater reputation than he
did. Dahlen at short was a tower of strength to the team, being as agile
as a cat, a sure catch and an exceptionally strong batter, while the
rest of the infield and the entire outfield was away above the average
in playing strength.
The race in 1891 was one of the closest in the history of the League.
Opening the season in the third place we never occupied a lower
position, but on the contrary, out of the twenty-four weeks that the
season lasted he held the first place in the race for all of fifteen
weeks and should have finished at the top of the column had it not been
for the reasons already given, and which were largely commented on at
the time by lovers of the game throughout the country, and the
newspapers from one end of the United States to the other.
At the beginning of the closing week of the season's campaign Chicago
was in the van by a percentage of victories of .628 to Bostons .615,
which was apparently a winning lead and which would have been had not
the New York organization made a present of its closing games to the
Boston Club for the express purpose of throwing us down and keeping the
pennant in the East. As it was, however, we finished head and head with
the leaders, New York being third, Philadelphia fourth, Cleveland fifth,
Brooklyn sixth, Cincinnati seventh, and Pittsburg eighth.
As an excuse for the queer showing made by the "Giants" in these Boston
games it has been alleged that the team was in poor condition when it
left the metropolis for the Hub to play this closing series, and that
its true condition was kept a secret by the management, one writer going
so far as to say that Manager Ewing's brother John was at that time
disabled by a sprained ankle, while Rusie was suffering from a bruised
leg, and also that Whistler had been playing at first base so well that
Ewing thought he could afford to give Conner a day or two off, all of
which may have been true, though I am free to confess right now that I
do not believe it.
In February, 1892, the American' Association became a thing of the past,
four of its leading clubs joining the National League, which now
embraced twelve cities instead of eight, the circuit taking in Boston,
Brooklyn, Louisville, Pittsburg, Cleveland, Cincinnati, New York,
Philadelphia, Washington, Chicago, St. Louis and Baltimore.
The Chicago team for that season consisted of A. Gumbert, Hutchinson,
Luby, Miller, Hollister and Meekin, pitchers; Kittridge and Schriver,
catchers; Anson, first base; Canavan and Decker, second base; Dahlen and
Parrott, third base; Dahlen and Cooney, shortstop; Ryan, Dugan, Wilmot
and Decker in the outfield. The majority of these were green players,
as compared with the seasoned material of which some of the other League
clubs boasted, and it was only by switching them about from one position
to another that it was possible to tell where they best fitted.
Although I had signed six pitchers at the beginning of the season, there
were but three of them that fulfilled my expectations, viz., Gumbert,
Hutchinson and Luby, and of these three Hutchinson did the lion's share
of the work, pitching in no less than seventy of the one hundred and
fifty-six games that we played. The team was not an evenly balanced one,
however, and though it boasted of some individuals that were away above
the average yet it lacked the ability and practice to play as a team and
consequently finished the season in seventh place, Boston again carrying
off the pennant with 102 games won and 48 lost, while Cleveland came
second with 93 won and 56 lost, Brooklyn being third, Philadelphia
fourth, Cincinnati fifth, Pittsburg sixth, Chicago seventh, New York
eighth, Louisville ninth, Washington tenth, St. Louis eleventh and
Baltimore last.
I remember one rather queer incident that occurred during that season,
and while we were playing in Boston. Henry E. Dixey, the actor, who was
then playing a summer engagement at the "Hub," had driven out to the
grounds as usual in his buckboard, with his pet bull terrier "Dago" in
the seat beside him. Dixey always retained a seat in his rig and took up
his place right back of the left field. Dixie had not been on the ground
more than twenty minutes when Dahlen swiped the ball for a three-bagger.
It was one of those long, low, hard drives, and sailed about ten feet
over the left fielder's head and in a direct line for Dixey. He couldn't
have gotten out of the way had he tried, but the fact was that he didn't
see it coming, and the first he knew of it was when he heard a sharp
yelp at his side and saw poor "Dago" tumbling off his seat between the
wheels.
The dog was dead when picked up, the ball having broken his neck.
Between the yellow buckboard, the dead canine, the frightened horses and
Dixey's excitement the whole field was in an uproar and it was fully ten
minutes before we could get down to playing again, but Dahlen, the cause
of it all, didn't even see the affair and scored on the death of "Dago,"
his being the only genuine case of making a dog-gone run that has ever
come under my observation.
Some time during the winter of 1892, I added "big Bill Lange," who has
since become one of the stars of the League, and Irwin to my string of
fielders, and cast about to strengthen the pitching department of the
team as much as possible, Gumbert and Luby having been released. Having
this object in view no less than eleven twirlers were signed, of whom
all but four proved comparative failures, Hutchinson, McGill and Mauck
having to do the greater part of the work in the box, the other eight
men, Shaw, Donnelly, Clausen, Abbey, Griffith, McGinnins, Hughey and F.
Parrott being called on but occasionally. Of this lot Griffith was the
most promising and he afterwards turned out to be a star of the first
magnitude.
With these exceptions the team was about the same as that of the season
before, and that it proved to be as great a disappointment to me as it
did to the ball-loving public, I am now free to confess. It was a team
of great promises and poor performances, and no one could possibly have
felt more disappointed than I did when the end of the season found us in
ninth place, the lowest place that Chicago Club had ever occupied in the
pennant race since the formation of the League, we having won but 56
games during the season, while we had lost 71, a showing that was bad
enough to bring tears to the eyes of an angel, let alone a team manager
and captain.
The Bostons, whose team work was far and away the best of any of the
League clubs, again walked away with the championship, that club winning
127 games and losing 63, while Pittsburg, which came second, won 81
games and lost 48. Cleveland was third with 73 games won and 55 lost,
while Philadelphia, New York, Cincinnati, Brooklyn, Baltimore, Chicago,
St. Louis, Louisville and Washington finished as named.
When the season of 1894 opened I was pretty well satisfied that my team
of colts would make a much better showing than they had done during the
previous year, but again I was doomed to disappointment. The team, with
the exception of the pitching department, which had been very materially
strengthened, was about the same as that with which I had taken the
field the previous year, and that there was good enough material in it
with which to win the pennant I was certain. It managed to fool me,
however, and fool me good and hard, as well as several others who
thought themselves good judges, and that before the season was half
over.
We started out with seven pitchers, Griffith, Stratton, Hutchinson,
Abbey, Terry, McGill and Camp, The last-named pitched in but a single
game, which proved to be quite enough.
Our start was a bad one, in fact, the worst that we had ever made. We
lost eight out of the first nine games that we played, and the end of
May saw but one club between us and the tail end of the procession, that
one being Washington. Until the month of August was reached we were
never nearer than ninth in the race, but that month we climbed into the
eighth position and there we hung until the finish came, leaving the
Baltimore, New York and Boston Clubs to fight it out between them, which
they did, the first-named carrying off the prize, winning 89 games and
losing 39, against 88 won and 44 lost for Boston, after which came
Philadelphia, Brooklyn, Cleveland, Pittsburg, Chicago, St. Louis,
Cincinnati, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Washington and Louisville.
When the championship season of 1895 opened the Chicago Club had ten
pitchers at its command, viz., Griffith, Hutchinson, Thornton, Parker,
Friend, Stratton, Terry, McFarland, Dolan and Abbey; three catchers,
Kittridge, Donohue and Moran, while I played first base, Stewart second
base, Everett third base, Dahlen shortstop and Wilmot, Lange, Ryan and
Decker the outfield. There were at least seven good twirlers in the
bunch, at the head of which stood Griffith and Hutchinson. Thornton,
Parker, Friend, Terry and Stratton were all better than the average when
just right, and it was certainly not the fault of the pitchers if the
team did not carry off the pennant honors. At late as September 7, and
when the club was in the ninth place, predictions were freely made to
the effect that the club would not finish in the first division, but
this time the croakers proved to be all wrong, for the team made a grand
rally in the closing weeks of the season and finished in fourth place, a
fact that some of the newspaper critics seemed to have purposely lost
sight of at the time of my enforced retirement, that being the same
place they stood under Burns' management the first season.
The Baltimores again won the championship, they having 87 games won and
46 lost to their credit, as against Cleveland's 84 won and 46 lost,
Philadelphia 78 won and 53 lost, and Chicago 72 won and 58 lost,
Brooklyn, Boston, Pittsburg, Cincinnati, New York, Washington and
Brooklyn following in order.
The Chicago team of 1896 was a somewhat mixed affair, change following
change in rapid succession. Hutchinson had retired from the game and the
pitchers, seven in number, were, Griffith, Thornton, Briggs, Friend,
Terry, Parker and McFarland; Kittridge and Donohue as catchers, myself
and Decker alternating at first base, Pfeffer and Truby doing the same
thing at second, and Everett and McCormick at third. Dahlen played
shortstop, and Lange, Everett, Ryan, Decker and Flynn took care of the
outfield.
The most of the pitching this season devolved upon Griffith and Friend,
while Parker and McFarland both proved failures. Neither Pfeffer nor
Decker were themselves for a great part of the season, and yet, in spite
of all, the team played good ball and finished in the fifth place, the
pennant going for the third consecutive time to Baltimore, which won go
games and lost 39, while Cleveland came second with 80 games won and 48
lost, Cincinnati third with 77 games won and so lost, Boston fourth with
74 games and 57 lost, and Chicago fifth with 71 games won and 57 lost,
Pittsburg, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Brooklyn, St. Louis and
Louisville finishing as named.
The team with which I started out in 1897 was certainly good enough to
win the pennant with, or at least to finish right up in the front rank,
and that it failed to do either of these things can only be explained by
the fact that underhanded work looking toward my downfall was indulged
in by some of the players, who were aided and abetted by President Hart,
he refusing to enforce the fines levied by myself as manager and in that
way belittling my authority and making it impossible to enforce the
discipline necessary to making the team a success. The ringleader in
this business was Jimmy Ryan, between whom and the Club's President the
most perfect understanding seemed to exist, and for this underhanded
work Ryan was rewarded later by being made the team captain, a position
that he was too unpopular with the players to hold, though it is
generally thought he was allowed to draw the salary as per the
agreement.
The Chicago players for that season were Briggs, Callahan, Friend,
Griffith and Thompson, pitchers; Kittridge and Donohue, catchers; Decker
and myself, first base; Connor, Callahan and Pfeffer, second base;
Everett and McCormick, third base; Dahlen, McCormick and Callahan,
shortstop; and Lange, Ryan, Decker and Thornton, outfielders.
Pfeffer was the only weak spot, he being handicapped by illness, and yet
even he might have made a creditable showing had he not been handicapped
my some of his associates and most unmercifully criticized by the
newspapers, whose unwarrantable attacks have, in many cases, to my
certain knowledge, driven good men out of the business. Lack of
discipline and insubordination began to show from the start. Fines were
remitted in spite of all the protests that I could make, several members
of the club being allowed to do about as they pleased. There could be
but one result, as a matter of course, and that was poor ball playing.
When the April campaign ended we were in the eleventh place. At the end
of May we stood tenth. At the end of June we had again dropped back to
eleventh. At the end of July we had climbed up to eighth, and at the end
of August we were sixth, having then climbed into the first division.
When the close of the season came, however, we had dropped back again to
the ninth position, the margin between sixth and ninth places being a
very small one. The race for the pennant that season between Baltimore
and Boston was a close one, the latter club finally carrying off the
honors of the season with 93 games won and 39 lost, while Baltimore came
second with go games won and 40 lost, and New York third with 83 games
won and 48 lost, Cincinnati being fourth, Cleveland fifth, Brooklyn
sixth, Washington seventh, Pittsburg eighth, Chicago ninth, Philadelphia
tenth, Louisville eleventh and St. Louis twelfth.
Late that fall the newspapers began to publish articles to the effect
that I was to be released by the Chicago League Ball Club, but as no
official notice to that effect had ever been served on me, arid as I was
conscious of always having done my duty by the organization in which I
was a stockholder, I for some time paid no attention to the matter. From
mere rumors, however, these newspaper articles soon began to take on a
more definite form and to be coupled with references to my management of
the team that were, to say the least, both uncalled for and venomous,
but still I heard nothing from headquarters that would lead me to
suppose there was any truth in them.
On the contrary I was treated with the greatest consideration, Mr.
Spalding even going so far as to insist upon my attending the League
meeting in my official capacity, where I made trades for players that
were afterwards blocked by himself and President Hart, this action
making my position a most humiliating one.
Still ignorant of the fact that I was to be dropped from the club's
rolls, and that without warning after my long and faithful service, at
Mr. Spalding's solicitation that spring I accompanied him on a trip to
England, and while we were there he advised me not to worry about the
club matters or the rumors that I had heard, as the thing would
doubtless be all fixed up before our return. I then made a proposition
to him that he and I together should buy the Chicago League Ball Club, a
proposition that he partially acceded to, though in view of subsequent
events I am now certain that such a plan was not in reality entertained
by him for a moment.
Matters had indeed been "fixed up" on my return, and Tom Burns, my old
third-baseman, had been brought on from Springfield, Mass., to manage
the team, or, rather, to serve as a figure-head for the Club's
President.
It was then that I was advised by Mr. Spalding to resign, which I
refused to do, preferring to take my medicine like a man, bitter as the
dose might be.
Mr. Burns that spring took up the reins that had been taken out of my
hands, and how well he succeeded with the able (?) assistance of
President Hart was now a matter of history.
The following table gives my batting and fielding record for the past
twenty-three years, and I feel that it is one that I may well be proud
of:
Years Games %Base hits %Fielding
1875 69 .318 .820
1876 66 .342 .826
1877 67 .335 .868
1878 59 .336 .818
1879 49 .407 .974
1880 84 .338 .977
1881 84 .399 .975
1882 82 .367 .948
1883 98 .307 .964
1884 111 .337 .954
1885 112 .322 .971
1886 125 .371 .949
1887 122 .421 .947
1888 134 .343 .985
1889 134 .341 .982
1890 139 .311 .978
1891 136 .294 .981
1892 147 .274 .971
1893 101 .322 .981
1894 83 .394 .988
1895 122 .338 .990
1896 106 .335 .982
1897 112 .302 .987
CHAPTER XXXIV. IF THIS BE TREASON, MAKE THE MOST OF IT.
Experience is a mighty dear teacher. This is a fact that has been
generally admitted by the world at large, but one that I have never
fully realized until within the last few years, though just how much it
has cost me in the matter of dollars-and-cents it is hard to say.
It is but natural, I presume, after twenty-two years connection with a
corporation for one to have well-defined opinions of certain of its
officials, and it is pleasant to record here that prior to the advent of
James A. Hart on the scene my relations with the club were most
pleasant. Under the watchful eye of Mr. Hurlbut the club flourished, and
not only maintained a higher average in the percentage column than it
has since enjoyed, but, in contradistinction to the latter day methods
of management, it annually returned a large balance on the right side of
the ledger, this last feature being by no means the least pleasant of my
memories. Now, the query arises, "If the team was so uniformly
successful under Mr. Hurlbut, why has it not enjoyed the same measure of
success since?" And the answer, short and sweet, can be summed up in one
word, "mismanagement."
As I have already explained elsewhere my financial relations with Mr.
Spalding in regard to the around-the-world trip of the ball players, it
is unnecessary for me again to go into that phase of the matter, but
there was one little incident connected with that event that has not
been told, and that accounts for Mr. Hart's desire to get rid of me as
easily and as quietly as possible, even if he had to use underhanded
measures in order to do so. When we started off on our trip in 1888 it
was found necessary to get someone to check the receipts of the various
exhibitions, see that we obtained our share, pay hotel bills, etc.,
etc., and generally look after the small financial details, and for some
reason which I have never been able to understand A. G. Spalding made
arrangements with James A. Hart to accompany us as far as San Francisco
for that purpose, though the latter had no special qualifications for
the work in hand. In fact, up to that time Mr. Hart, who had been
connected as manager with Louisville, Boston and Milwaukee Clubs, had
been an accredited failure, just as he has been since in Chicago, where
the club under his management has steadily gone from bad to worse, such
a thing as a dividend never having been heard of since he took the
reins.
For his services on the trip he was paid a salary and his expenses, but
this was seemingly not enough, for prior to our departure for Australia
Mr. Spalding came to me with a subscription paper, stating that he was
securing subscriptions from the members of our party for the purpose of
presenting Mr. Hart with a pair of valuable diamond cuff-buttons. Just
why Mr. Hart should be made the recipient of a valuable gift under such
circumstances was more than I could fathom, and I not unnaturally
entered protests.
My protest went unheeded, however, and from this little acorn grew the
oak of disagreement between James A. Hart and myself, an oak that has
now grown to mammoth proportions.
It was while on the same trip around the world that my long term
contract made with Mr. Hurlbut expired, and that I signed a new one
under somewhat peculiar circumstances. Returning home and while in
mid-ocean I was requested by Mr. Spalding, who was President of the
Chicago Ball Club, to sign a contract, which was made for ten years at
my request, with the club, as manager and captain, and by the terms of
this contract it was stipulated that I should receive a certain salary
and a contingent fee, amounting to 10 per cent. of the net profits of
the club, as shown by the books of that organization, which, in 1890,
amounted to little or nothing, owing to the troubles engendered by the
Brotherhood revolt and the war between the National League and the
American Association, though during a portion of the time I was paid
something in excess of my salary, presumably on the supposition that the
laborer was worthy of his hire.
In 1891, greatly to my astonishment, Mr. Spalding retired from the
presidency and James A. Hart was elected to the vacant position. At that
time I received a long letter from Mr. Spalding, in which he took
particular pains to assure me Mr. Hart was a mere figurehead, who would
always be subject to his advice and control, and just so long as he, Mr.
Spalding, was connected with the club I should be retained by that
organization. In the face of such an assurance as that, and in view of
the fact that I had been associated so many years with Mr. Spalding in
business, having first come to Chicago at his solicitation, I could see
no reason for doubting his word, though subsequent events have shown me
differently.
While in Philadelphia, after the recent League meeting held in New York,
I called on John I. Rogers in reference to securing a contract to
manufacture the league ball, and in the course of our conversation the
subject of my treatment by the Chicago management came up. He then
informed me that while presiding at a banquet given by the Philadelphia
Club some two years ago, and at which both Mr. Hart and myself were
guests, he had informed Hart that he was going to call on me for a
speech. To this Hart had replied that he and I were not on the best of
terms and then went on to tell him that when he, Hart, had joined the
Chicago Club Spalding had agreed to release me at the end of my contract
and place him, Hart, at the head of the Chicago Club.
If Mr. Hart told the truth when he made that statement, then Mr.
Spalding certainly deceived me, but that is a matter of veracity for
them to settle between themselves.
In 1893 the Chicago Ball Club was reorganized under the name of the
Chicago League Ball Club, and by the terms of an agreement made with Mr.
Spalding I was allowed to take a certain number of shares of the stock,
in addition to those which I held in the old organization, to be paid
for out of my contingent fee, which, by the terms of our agreement, it
was guaranteed should be large enough to pay for the same, and which
came to me under those conditions. At the same time, having six years
more to serve under the terms of the old contract, I was given a new
one, which I signed without reading, and which was only for five years
instead of six, a discrepancy that I did not discover until I came to
read it over at home that same evening to Mrs. Anson, and then, having
still the most implicit confidence in Mi. Spalding, I said nothing about
it, relying on his promise to protect my interests.
In the meantime the grounds now used by the club on the West Side had
been purchased, and I presume a payment on them made, and I was informed
by Mr. Spalding that I might either swing the deal myself or else sign
away my interest, which amounted to a little over one-eighth, but that
in case I took the latter course, the club would pay dividends instead
of putting the money into real estate. It seemed a little strange to me
that I should be asked to swing a deal that A. G. Spalding and John R.
Walsh were unable to handle, and being unable myself to do so I signed
away my interest, but, alas! those promised dividends are still in the
dim and misty distance, and my confidence in A. G. Spalding has dwindled
away to nothing, and not unnaturally, as I shall have no difficulty in
proving.
After I had been released by the club Mr. Spalding still posed as my
best friend, and the affection that Damon had for Pythias was not
greater than that I bore for him. I had not then learned the full nature
of his duplicity, nor was it until some time later that it dawned upon
me. In the meantime Mr. Spalding had set on foot a project to give me a
money testimonial, and had called a meeting at the Chicago Athletic Club
for the purpose of perfecting plans for the same. This I refused to
accept for the reason that I was not a pauper, the public owed me
nothing, and I believed that I was still capable of making my own
living. At that meeting A. H. Pratt, who represented me, read the
following letter that I had written for the occasion:
To My Friends--The kind offer to raise a large public subscription for
me, the first notice of which I received by a chance meeting with Mr.
Spalding the afternoon preceding its publication in the daily papers, is
an honor and a compliment I duly appreciate. Implying as it does the
hearty good will and close fellowship of the originator of the movement,
A. G. Spalding, causes me to regard it higher. There are times when one
hesitates to receive favors even from friends, and at this hour I deem
it both unwise and inexpedient to accept the generosity so considerately
offered. A. C. ANSON.
This testimonial, had I accepted it, would doubtless have been a great
success, as it was endorsed by all of the League magnates, by the press
generally, and by the lovers of base-ball all over the country, but to
me it appeared to be something too much in the nature of a charity gift
for me to accept, and I felt that I should stultify my manhood by so
doing, and that I should sacrifice that feeling of independence that I
had always possessed. To the many friends who urged it upon me at the
time I am still deeply grateful, but I feel that in declining to accept
it I did a wise thing, and I am confident that very many of them now
agree with me in that opinion.
Just at this stage of affairs my plans for the future were apparently a
matter of great interest to both press and public, and if the statements
made by the former were to be believed, I had more schemes on hand than
did a professional promoter, and every one of them with "millions in
it." I was to manage this club and manage that club; I was to play here
and play there, and, in fact, there was scarcely anything that I was not
going to do if the reporters' statements could be depended upon. One of
the most senseless of these was the starting of the A. C. Anson Base-Ball
College, the prospectus for which was typewritten in the sporting-goods
store of A. G. Spalding, and read as follows:
Location.--The school will be located on what is known as the A. G.
Spalding Tract, covering the blocks bounded by Lincoln, Robey, 143d and
144th streets, upon which Mr. A. G. Spalding will erect suitable
structures, fences, stands, dressing-rooms, etc. The site is in the
celebrated Calumet region and is easy of access.
Membership.--All accepted applicants for membership will be required to
submit to a thorough physical examination and go through a regular and
systematic course of training, calculated to prepare them for actual
participation in base-ball games. Upon entering they will subscribe to
the rules and regulations of the institution, which will demand
obedience and provide for discipline, abstemious habits, regular hours,
proper diet, in fact everything which tends to improve the health and
physical condition will be required. They must also pass an examination
made by Captain Anson as to their natural aptitude for becoming
proficient in the game of base-ball.
Instruction.--The course of instruction will consist of physical training
by the latest and most approved methods, with the special intention of
developing the body and mind, so that the best possible results may be
obtained looking to perfection of base-ball playing. Daily instruction
will be had in the theory and practice of the game.
Engagements.--As soon as students are sufficiently developed and display
skill to justify, efforts will be made by the college management to
secure lucrative engagements for those who desire to enter the
professional field. Arrangements will be made with the various
professional and semi-professional clubs throughout the country by which
students of the college will come into contact with managers and be
enabled to make known their merits.
Application for Admittance.--Persons who desire to become students of the
college will be required to fill out and sign the regular application
blank provided by the college, which must give information regarding the
applicant, such as name, place of residence, height, weight, various
measurements, past vocation, habits, state of health, etc., etc.
Charges.--Accepted students will be required to pay a tuition of $2 per
week, at least five weeks tuition to be paid in advance, and must supply
their practice uniform. The college will provide all team uniforms for
use in games and all materials and utensils necessary for practice.
Then followed a showing of financial possibilities that would have done
credit to the brains of a Colonel Sellers.
It is unnecessary for me to say that this scheme never emanated from me,
or that it never received any serious consideration at my hands, the
real plan being to create a real-estate boom and enable Mr. Spalding to
dispose of some of his holdings, using me as a catspaw with which to
pull the chestnuts out of the fire.
All this time I was busily engaged in perfecting plans by which I might
get possession of the Chicago League Ball Club, in which I already had
130 shares of stock, and finally I succeeded in obtaining an option on
the same from A. G. Spalding, a facsimile of which appears on another
page. Armed with this document I worked like a Trojan in order to raise
the necessary funds, which I certainly should have succeeded in doing
had not my plans been thwarted time and again by A. G. Spalding and his
agents, and this in spite of the fact that our probable war with Spain
made the raising of money a difficult matter. More than once when
engaged in the task I was informed by friends that I was simply wasting
my time, as the option that I possessed was not worth the paper it was
written on, and that there was never any intention on the part of A. G.
Spalding and his confreres to let me get possession of the club. It was
not until several men who had promised to aid me backed down squarely
that I realized that there was an undercurrent at work, and that the
option, which it was often denied at that time that I had, had been
given to me in bad faith and just for the purpose of letting me down
easily, but when once convinced that such was really the case I gave up
making any further effort in the matter.
Later I accepted a position as manager of the New York Club, being
assured that I should have full control of the team, but at the end of a
month finding that there were too many cooks to spoil the broth I
resigned, accepting only the amount of salary due me for actual
services, though offered a sum considerably in excess of the same. This
ended my actual connection with National League base-ball, and its
mismanagement.
In spite of the fact that I have been connected with the Chicago
Base-Ball Club for twenty-two years as an active player and for
twenty-four years as a stockholder, I have never attended a meeting of
that organization until recently, and then Mr. Hart and myself were the
only stockholders present. Again, in spite of the fact that my contingent
fees were to be paid on the showing made by the books, these books I
have never been allowed to see, nor have I ever been able to get any
statement as to my standing with the Club, and that in spite of the fact
that I have several times made a demand for the same.
That being the case, how can I be sure that I have had all that was
coming to me, or that I have been honestly dealt with by that
organization?
In all of my club dealings I trusted implicitly to Mr. Spalding, at
whose solicitation I left Philadelphia and came to Chicago, and that I
made a mistake in so trusting him I am now confident, as it is a poor
plan for any man not to look closely after his own business interests.
In regard to my financial dealings with the Club I might be much more
explicit, but I feel that it is not a matter of great public interest,
and I therefore refrain from doing so, believing that what I have
already said will serve to show how I stand and how I feel in the
matter.
CHAPTER XXXV. HOW MY WINTERS WERE SPENT.
How do the members of the base-ball fraternity spend the winter seasons?
If I have been asked that question once I have been asked it a thousand
times. The public, as a rule, seem to think that because a man is a
professional ball player and therefore employed but seven months in the
year he must necessarily spend the other five in idleness, and there are
doubtless some few ball players that spend their winters in that way,
but, be it said to the credit of the craft, there are not many of them.
There is no man upon whose hands time hangs so heavily as it does upon
the hands of him who has nothing to do, at least that has been my
experience, and for that reason I have always managed to busy myself at
something during the winter months. Some of the things that I engaged in
proved profitable, others did not, but, all-in-all, the winter of 1885
yielded me the best results of my life, for that winter I spent in doing
what the old gentleman had wanted me to do years before, viz., in going
to school. I had a very good reason for doing this, as you can readily
see.
During my ball-playing career I had entrusted some money to the old
gentleman up in Marshalltown for safe keeping, and while up there on a
visit in the fall of 1884, needing some coin, I asked for it.
"Figure up how much I owe you, interest and all," was his reply, "and we
will have a settlement."
Now, the old gentleman might just as well have set me down at the foot
of the Rocky Mountains with a wheelbarrow and told me to carry them away
to the Atlantic coast on that vehicle, as to have asked me to do an
example in interest, and I was too ashamed of my ignorance to allow him
to know that such a thing was beyond my powers, so I managed to get
around the matter in some way, but I made up my mind then and there that
I would at the first opportunity learn at best enough to take care of my
own business. That winter I spent with my wife and daughter in
Philadelphia, and here I found that she had a brother, Remey A. Fiegel,
who was as averse to going to school as ever I had been. By this time I
had come to a realizing sense of the power of knowledge, and so I
labored with him until he consented to go to night-school, providing
that I would send him, which I agreed to do.
Pierce's Business College was the place selected, and when I went up
there to make the necessary arrangements for his tuition I asked how old
a man had to become before he was barred from attending.
"Oh!" replied the superintendent, "age is no bar here. We have a great
many scholars right now who are a long ways older than you are."
"All right! You can just put my name down, too," I replied, and the
following Monday evening Remey and I started to go to school together,
and this time there was no nonsense about it. That winter I studied
faithfully, and, though it was hard work, by the time spring came and we
returned to Chicago I had acquired at least a fair knowledge of the
rudiments of business and was able to keep my own books, figure my own
interest, and, in fact, run my own business.
During the greater part of another winter I ran a hand-ball court on
Michigan avenue in Chicago, which did not prove to be a. paying venture,
one reason, and the paramount one, being that it was too far away from
the business center of the town at that time, though now it would have
been in the very heart of the business district, while still another
reason was that there were not enough hand-ball players in the city to
keep the game running.
Some time during the latter part of the '80s the old Congress street
grounds were converted during the winter season into a skating rink and
toboggan slide, and of this I had the management during one whole
season, a season that was pecuniarily profitable to the lessees of the
grounds, as the weather during the greater part of the winter was
severe, the ice in fine condition and the toboggan slide in apple-pie
order.
Ice skating was that season more popular in Chicago than it had ever
been before, and the toboggan craze, which had been brought over here
from Canada, at once caught on to the public fancy. As a result the
Congress Street Rink was crowded both afternoon and evening, and,
strange to relate, the attendance was of the most fashionable sort, the
young men and maidens from all parts of the city assembling for the
purpose of going down the toboggan slide, which was attended with a
great deal more of excitement in those days than was the sport of
"shooting the chutes," its summer prototype, which later on became
popular. The grounds were handsomely lighted and, thronged as they were
in the evening with gaily-attired skaters of both sexes, and toboggan
parties arrayed in the picturesque rigs that were the fashion in
Montreal, Quebec and other Canadian cities, they made a pretty sight and
one that attracted crowds of spectators, some of the skaters being of
the kind that would have been styled champions in the days when Frank
Swift, Callie Curtis and others were the leading fancy skaters.
The next season the same rink was managed by John Brown, the late
secretary of the Chicago Base-Ball Club, but unfortunately he was not
blessed with "the Anson luck," and the winter being a mild one and the
freezes few and far between, he did not make a success of the venture.
The toboggan craze was merely one of the fashionable fads of the moment,
and now one rarely hears anything at all of the sport.
As a bottler of ginger beer I achieved at another time great distinction
and there are some men in the country right now who have a very vivid
remembrance of the beverage that I was unfortunate enough to put upon
the market. My experience as a ginger beer manufacturer was laughable,
to say the least of it, though I confess that I did not appreciate the
fact at the time as much as did some of my friends and acquaintances.
During several of my visits to Canada in search both of players and
pleasure I had made the acquaintance of a Mr. William Burrill, who at
that time conducted a clothing store at London, Canada, and who had
treated both myself and Mrs. Anson with great kindness. This gentleman
finally went "down the toboggan slide" in a business way and at last
turned up in Chicago with a very little money and a formula for making
and bottling ginger beer. He needed, according to his own estimate,
about $500 more capital than he was possessed of and wished me to join
him in manufacturing it. He was a nice fellow, I was anxious to help him
along, and, besides that, viewed from a business standpoint, it looked
like a good thing, and as I was never averse to taking a chance when
there was a good thing in sight I concluded to join him in the venture.
The $500 that I was originally required to invest grew into $1,500,
however, before we got the thing on the market, and then the sales
started off in lively fashion, and so, not long afterwards, did the
ginger beer.
There was a flaw in the formula somewhere, just what it was I never have
been able to ascertain, but--well, there was something the matter with
it. It wouldn't stay corked, that was its worst feature, but would go
off at all times of the day and night and in the most unexpected
fashion. If the cork would hold, the bottle wouldn't, and as a result
there would be an explosion that would sound like the discharge of a
small cannon. Sometimes only one bottle out of a dozen would explode,
and then again the whole dozen would go off with a sound like that made
by a whole regiment firing by platoons. It was by long odds the
liveliest ginger-beer that had ever been placed upon the market. There
was entirely too much life in it. That was the trouble. Sitting among a
lot of fancy glassware on a back bar it looked as innocent of evil as a
newborn babe, but, presto change! and a moment afterwards it was its
Satanic Majesty on a rampage, and that back bar with its glassware
looked as if it had been struck by a Kansas cyclone.
Complaints began to pour in to the factory from all kinds and classes of
customers, and I began to be afraid to walk the streets for fear
that some one would accuse me of having bottled dynamite instead of
ginger-beer.
I sold a case of it to a friend of mine who kept a noted sporting resort
on South Clark street, Chicago. It was harmless enough when I sold it to
him. It was young then, and its propensity for mischief had not been
fully developed. It developed later. One evening when all was quiet
there was an explosion in the cellar. It sounded like the muffled report
of a dynamite cartridge. The billiard players dropped their cues and
some of them started for the door. A second explosion followed and the
coon porters' hair stood fairly on end and their faces became as near
like chalk as a black man's can.
The proprietor started down cellar to investigate. He had gotten half
way down when there came a third explosion.
He came back again more hastily than he had gone down, and ordered one
of the porters to ascertain the cause of the trouble.
The porter was a brave man, and he refused to do it.
I did not blame him when I heard of it.
In the meantime the rest of the ginger-beer bottles had caught the
contagion and the fusillade became fast and furious, and it did not stop
until the billiard-room and the last bottle of ginger beer were both
empty.
After silence had reigned for some time and it had become apparent that
danger was all past, my friend the proprietor grew courageous again and,
lamp in hand, he visited the cellar to investigate.
Where the case of ginger beer had set there was a mass of wreckage.
Broken glass was everywhere, while the flooring, ceiling and walls were
strained in a hundred different places. As he emerged from the cellar
with a look of supreme disgust on his countenance, he was surrounded by
an anxious group who asked as one man:
"What's the matter down there, Louis?"
"It's that ginger beer of Anson's," was the reply.
Then there was another explosion, this time one of laughter.
"Anson's ginger-beer" was getting a reputation, but it was not exactly
the sort of a reputation that I wanted it to have. I was willing to
close out the business even at a sacrifice, and this I did.
I saved more in proportion of my money than my customers did of the
ginger beer I had sold them. This was one consolation.
CHAPTER XXXVI. WITH THE KNIGHTS OF THE CUE.
There is no more fascinating game in existence at the present day than
billiards, and no game that is more popular with gentlemen, and for the
reason that it can be played indoors and in all kinds of weather and
that it does not require the frame of an athlete nor the training of one
1111 to play it successfully, though it may be set down as a fact that
the experts at billiards are few and far between, for the reason that it
takes not only natural ability and constant practice to be even a
moderately successful billiardist, the real geniuses at the game being
born and not made. Since the days of my early boyhood billiards has
divided my attentions with base-ball, and what little skill I have
attained at the game is due as much to good habits and constant practice
as is the success that I achieved on the ball field.
The game itself has undergone many and frequent changes since I first
began to play in the old hotel at Marshalltown, and with tools of such a
primitive character that they would be laughed at in a modern billiard
resort. The four-ball game and the old-fashioned six-pocket table have
both been relegated into the shadows of obscurity, and the new standard
5x10 table, without pockets, that is a model of the builder's art, has
taken the place of the one and three-ball games of various styles, from
straight rail to three-cushion caroms of the other. Each and every game
that has been played has been an improvement on the style of game that
preceded it and each and every style of game has had its own special
votaries, some players excelling at one style of billiards and some at
another, the players who excelled at all being few and far between.
It has been my good fortune to enjoy the acquaintance and friendship of
nearly all of the billiard players who have become famous in the annals
of the game since I first began ball playing for a livelihood in
Rockford, among them being Frank C. Ives, the "Young Napoleon of
Billiards," who, like myself, was a ball player before he ever became
known as a knight of the cue, and whose early death was so greatly
regretted by every lover of the game, both at home and abroad; Jacob
Schaefer, "the Wizard of the Cue," who, as a ball-to-ball player, ranks
at the head of the profession and who plays any and every game that can
be played upon a billiard table with a skill that is akin to genius;
George F. Slosson, the "Student," whose persistent application and
studious habits have combined to make him one of the greatest prayers of
his day and generation; Eugene Carter, "You-know-me," whose stalwart
form and ready tongue are as well known in the majority of the European
capitals as in the larger cities of our country; Thomas J. Gallagher,
"Gray Tom," who is a hard man for any of the second-class experts to
tackle; Edward McLaughlin, the little gentleman who first came into
prominence at Philadelphia; Frank Maggioli, who has grown gray in the
service of billiards, but who still retains his title of Champion of the
South; Billy Catton, "the Rock Island Wonder," George Sutton, and many
others, with the most of whom I have crossed cues either for money or in
a friendly way at some time or other.
The first expert of any note that I ever met over a billiard table was
Eugene Kimball, of Rochester, N. Y., who, in 1871, was a member of the
Forest City Club of Cleveland, Ohio, and who at that time enjoyed a wide
reputation as a billiardist as well as a ball player. Kimball, it had
been generally conceded, played a strong game of billiards for those
days, and on one occasion when the Cleveland Club visited Rockford he
and I engaged in a game that attracted considerable attention both on
the part of the members of the two teams and of other outside friends
and admirers. There were no stakes up if I remember rightly, and I am
not just certain as to how the game resulted, though, unless I am very
much mistaken, it was in Kimball's favor, but not by such a large margin
of points as to make me ashamed of myself.
It was while a member of the Athletic Club of Philadelphia that I made
my debut as a billiardist in public. I played the game a great deal in
those days and had acquired quite a reputation for skill in handling the
cue among my fellow ball-players, nearly all of whom could play the game
after some fashion, there being seemingly quite an affinity between
base-ball and billiards. James Lentz of Trenton, N. J., at that time
enjoyed quite a reputation as a billiard expert in the land of sandflies
and mosquitoes, and he being in Philadelphia we came together at Nelms'
billiard room in a match game, 300 points up, at the old three-ball
style of billiards, for stakes of $100 a side, and I beat him by a score
of 300 to 252, no account of the averages or high runs being kept for
the reason, as I presume, that nobody thought them worth keeping, though
enough of the filthy lucre changed hands on the result to keep some of
my ball-playing friends in pocket money for some days.
That game was played on the fourth day of February, 1875, and it was not
until more than ten years afterwards that I again appeared in public as
a billiardist. Frank Parker, the ex-champion in the days of the old
four-ball game, now dead, was then a resident of Chicago, and his
friends thought so well of his abilities at the fourteen-inch balk line
game, which up to that time had never been played in public, that they
offered to match him against me for stakes of $250 a side, the game to
be 500 points up. After some talk back and forth this match was finally
made, and March 25th, 1885, we came together in Central Music Hall,
Chicago, before a fair-sized crowd, and I won by a score of 500 to 366,
averaging in the neighborhood of five, and astonishing both Parker and
his friends.
Slosson's billiard room on Monroe street, Chicago, was at that time and
for several years afterwards the scene of more billiard matches than any
similar resort in the United States, it being the headquarters of the
bookmaking fraternity as well as the billiardists from all sections of
the country, and it is more than probable that larger sums of money
changed hands over the result of the games that were played there during
the winter of 1885 and 1886 than changed hands in any other hall in the
country, the leading billiard rooms of Gotham not excepted. Among the
billiardists who were making Chicago their headquarters that winter were
Jacob Schaefer, George F. Slosson, Eugene Carter, Thomas F. Gallagher,
and William H. Catton, while among the bookmakers that made Slosson's
room their lounging place were such well-known knights of the chalk and
rubber as Dave Pulsifer, who afterwards owned the famous race horse,
Tenny; James H. Murphy, whose pacer, "Star Pointer," was in after years
the first horse in harness to beat the two-minute mark; William Riley,
who, under the sobriquet of "Silver Bill," is known from one end of the
country to the other; Charlie Stiles, for years the trusted lieutenant
of Bride and Armstrong, the Grand-Circuit pool sellers; George
'Wheelock, then hailing from St. Louis, but now known as one of the
nerviest of New York's betting brigade; Joe Ullman, who then as now was
a plunger; Johnny O'Neil, Frank Eckert, and many others, the place also
being a favorite resort for the horsemen.
Thomas J. Gallagher was that fall in good form and there were several
members of the book-making fraternity who stood ready to back him
whenever he said the word. I had taken a notion into my head that I
could beat him, nor was I alone in the opinion, for my friend, "Bart"
White, thought the same way. The result was that I agreed to play him a
match 300 points up at the fourteen-inch balk-line game for stakes of
$100 a side. We came together on the afternoon of November 23d at
Slosson's room, and Gallagher won by seventeen points, after a close and
exciting contest, the game standing at 300 to 283 in his favor.
Neither my friends nor myself were satisfied with the result of this
game, during the progress of which I had met with some hard luck, and
which I was certain that I might have played better, and as a result we
at once made another match at the same game to be played that night, the
stakes this time being increased to $150 a side. The game was played in
the presence of quite a crowd of billiard enthusiasts, and again
Gallagher won by 309 to 280, but even this defeat did not convince me
that he was a better player, and the result was still another match of
400 points up at the same game for stakes of $100 a side. This was
played the following evening, and for the third time Gallagher carried
off the honors, the totals showing 400 points for him as against only
183 for myself, and by this time I had come to the conclusion that he
was a "leetle bit" too speedy for me, and that he could look for
somebody else to pay his board-bills.
That same fall Wyman McCreary, of St. Louis, then as now recognized as
one of the strongest amateur players in the country, dropped into
Slosson's room, and the result was that I played him two matches at the
fourteen-inch balk-line game, each one being for $50 a side, winning
both, the score in the first one being 300 to 164, and in the second 300
to 194, my average in the last being 8 14-17, a performance that was at
that time something better than the ordinary. Even as far back as those
days there was a craze for angle games, and at three cushions Eugene
Carter was especially strong, he having a standing challenge to play any
man in the world at that style of billiards. He finally offered to play
me so points, his backer to wager $300 to $100 that he could beat me,
and this offer I accepted. The story of that game, as told in verse by a
Chicago newspaper man under the title of "A Match of Slosson's Room,"
was as follows:
It was some time in the winter, and, if I remember right,
There were snowflakes softly falling, through the darkness of the night,
When I wandered into Slosson's, where the lights were all ablaze,
In the hopes of seeing billiards, for I had the billiard craze.
'Round the table there had gathered all the sporting men in town,
Putting money up in handfuls; each was anxious to take down.
Some would yell out, "I'll take Anson at the odds of three to one,"
Then another'd cry, "I've got you," and the betting had begun.
'Twas a match game at three cushions, fifty points up, for a stake,
'Tween the base-ball man and Carter, and it wan't an even break,
For the odds were all in money and the playing even up,
But the horse that packs the top weight does not always win the cup.
Odds in money cut no figure from a betting point of view,
As I've found in life quite often, and, I doubt not, so have you.
If a man can't win at evens then he cannot win at all,
Be the odds they bet against him very large or very small.
Carter had the style and finish, but the Captain had the nerve
That in base-ball oft had helped him solve a pitcher's meanest curve!
And he seemed to know the angles just as well as "You-Know Me."
That he wasn't a beginner was as plain as plain could be.
'Round the table stood the bettors, looking on with eager eyes,
While first one and then another certain seemed to take the prize.
On the wire the clustered buttons sat like sparrows in a row,
'Neath the lights that gleamed and glistened while there outside fell
the snow.
Carter stood about and chattered just as Carter always will
(If you have a talking parrot you can never keep him still)
Anson only laughed and listened, saying as he chalked his cue:
"Frogs' legs measured up in inches don't tell what the frog can do,
"When it comes to jumping, Carter, and the best fish in the brook
Finds at last he's met his master when he grabs the angler's hook.
Talking does not win at billiards, nor at any other game,
When you come to count your buttons, then perhaps you'll think the same."
Went the buttons up together, one by one, upon the string,
Like two yachts that skim the waters, they were racing wing and wing.
Hushed was all the noisy clamor and the room was as still as death,
As they stood and watched the players chalk their cues with bated breath.
"Even up!" the marker shouted, and the buttons on the line
Counted up stood right together--each had stopped at forty-nine.
It was Anson's shot--a hard one--as the balls before him lay,
And he stopped to count the chances--then he chalked his cue to play.
"Call it off; I'll give you fifty," said George Wheelock, sitting near.
He had found the stakes for Carter and his voice was low and clear.
"Take your stakes down, Captain Anson, and take fifty 'plunks' of mine."
With a nod the Cap consented; Carter's backers bought the wine.
In that billiard-room of Slosson's, Carter argued half the night,
While the snowflakes drifted earthward like a mantle soft and white.
And he swore that he'd have won it if it wasn't for a miss
That he'd made up in the corner when he'd played to get a "kiss."
Now it may be that he would have, but I'm still inclined to believe
That he weakened o'er the billiards that he found up Anson's sleeve.
For I've noticed that the "sucker," or the chap you're thinking one,
Proves the "shark" that gets the money, "doing" 'stead of being "done."
The only match that I have engaged in since those days was one that I
played last fall with Conklin, a West Side amateur in Chicago, and was
at the eighteen-inch balk-line game, 400 points up for stakes of $50 a
side, 200 points to be played in my own room and 200 in Clark's resort.
The first night in my own room I obtained such a lead as to make the
result look like a foregone conclusion, but the next night he came back
at me like a cyclone and averaging over seven, a rattling good
performance at that style of billiards, he beat me out and did it in
such a handsome manner as to challenge my admiration and respect. Since
then he has beaten Morningstar, a Boston, Mass., professional in the
same easy fashion, and it would not be surprising were he yet to make
his mark in the billiard line.
I may say right here that I intend to devote more time to billiards in
the future than I have in the past, and that I am always willing to
match, provided that the game is a fair one, in which I have an even
chance, as, unlike some players that I could name, I am not always
looking for the best of it.
CHAPTER XXXVII. NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPING.
The proposed New American Base-Ball Association, of which so much was
heard during the fall and winter months of 1899 and 1900, is not dead,
as some people fondly hope, but only sleeping. That the National League
fears the birth of a new rival has been time and again shown, and in my
judgment without good and sufficient reason, for I hold that
"competition is the life of trade," and that with a strong and healthy
competitor in, the field the rivalry would be of benefit to both
organizations.
From personal experience I know that the National Game was never in as
healthy condition as it was when the League had the old American
Association for a rival and when such a thing as syndicate base-ball was
unheard of. The Harts, the Friedmans and the Robisons were not then in
control, and the rule-or-ruin policy that now prevails had at that time
not even been thought of.
Base-ball as at present conducted is a gigantic monopoly, intolerant of
opposition and run on a grab-all-that-there-is-in-sight policy that is
alienating its friends and disgusting the very public that has so long
and cheerfully given to it the support that it has withheld from other
forms of amusement.
It was Abraham Lincoln, I believe, who once remarked that you can fool
some of the people all the time but that you cannot fool all the people
all the time, and yet it is this latter feat that the League magnates
are at the present time trying to perform.
That the new Association did not take the field in 1900 was due to an
unfortunate combination of circumstances, but that it will do so another
season I firmly believe, as many of the men interested in its formation
are still enthusiastic over the project and determined to carry it to a
successful conclusion.
St. Louis may justly be regarded as the birthplace of the newcomer, as
it was there that the idea of a new rival to the worn-out old League
first originated in the brain of Al Spink, who, like the majority of the
game's best friends the country over, had grown sick of syndicate
methods and believed that the time had come when a new association, run
on strictly business principles, would secure the patronage of the
people. Associating with him Chris Von der Ahe, who became famous as
"der boss" of the old St. Louis Browns, George Shaefer and others, he at
once begun pulling wires looking toward the formation of an organization
based on the old American Association lines, one that should do away
with many of the evils that now exist.
Milwaukee and Detroit capitalists were soon interested in the scheme,
and early in October, 1899, an informal meeting was held in Chicago, at
which Chas. Havenor, Harry D. Quinn and Alderman O'Brien of Milwaukee;
Chris Von der Ahe, George Shaefer and Al Spink, of St. Louis, and Frank
Hough, of Philadelphia, were present.
This meeting I attended by invitation in company with Walter H. Clough,
my son-in-law, and after talking the prospects over I finally agreed to
place a team in Chicago to represent the new association, providing that
a proper circuit of eight cities could be secured. I was then, as I am
now, in favor of invading the cities already occupied by the National
League clubs, and leaving the other cities to be occupied by the minor
leagues.
At this meeting Harry D. Quinn was elected temporary President and Frank
Hough temporary Secretary.
Quinn proved to be a hustler of the first class and spent both time and
money in interesting the capitalists of other cities in the proposed
deal. In November matters had progressed so far that a second meeting
was held in New York, which was attended by the St. Louis and Milwaukee
delegations, and by Secretary Hough of Philadelphia, Thomas Navin of
Detroit and representatives from Boston and Providence.
Owing to family troubles I was unable to be present, and but little was
accomplished. An effort was made, however, to interest Tom O'Rourke and
"Dry Dollar" Sullivan in the scheme, and this might have been successful
had it not been known that Richard Croker, the Tammany chieftain, was a
great friend of President Freedman of the New York League Club, and
might be tempted to cut streets through any grounds that were secured.
McGraw of Baltimore was also on hand looking over the ground, but he was
then still confident that Baltimore would be retained in the League, and
therefore was unwilling to cast his fortunes with the new venture.
Quinn was nothing daunted, however, and continued to work like a beaver.
Hough's promised backing in Philadelphia failed to materialize, and F.
A. Richter, of the Philadelphia "Sporting Life," claimed to be able to
find both the men and money necessary to put a club in the Quaker City.
A lawyer by the name of Elliott, and some friends of his, were first
mentioned as the club's backers, but they failed to come to time, and
then Mr. Richter trotted out a son-in-law of John Wanamaker, but he
failed to materialize with his money.
This was the situation at the time that the third meeting was called by
Mr. Quinn at Philadelphia, and which was held there just before the
holidays. In the meantime I had attended a meeting of the National
League in New York, and had gone from there on to Baltimore. While in
the latter city I had a long talk with McGraw and all but convinced him
that Baltimore was certain to be dropped by the League and that it would
be to his best interests to join hands with us in the formation of the
new association.
Acting on the information I had given him McGraw and his friends at once
secured a lease on the National League ball grounds over the head of the
League people, and then came on to attend the Philadelphia meeting. Here
it was announced that Tommy McCarthy had things fixed all right in
Boston and that Providence would leave the Eastern League and join with
us.
McGraw had now become an enthusiast so far as the new scheme was
concerned, but while the way to mend matters looked rosy on the surface,
I fancied there were breakers ahead. I was disappointed in the showing
made by Philadelphia at the meeting, and had even then grave doubts as
to the genuineness of the backing promised there, though Richter, who
was even at that time pulling wires in order to be elected Secretary and
Treasurer when the final organization was made, asserted positively that
he had found the necessary capitalists in the persons of George Regar
and a theatrical man by the name of Gilmore.
The circuit so far as made up at that time looked like Detroit, Chicago,
St. Louis and Milwaukee in the West, and Boston, Baltimore, Philadelphia
and some city yet to be determined upon in the East.
As the days went on Quinn became more and more confident regarding
Philadelphia, and a strong effort was made to get Washington into line,
but without success, as the Washington people were certain at that time
that the League would consist of ten clubs, and that the Senators would
be retained. Louisville in the meantime was clamoring for admission,
while Providence had determined to stick to the Eastern League.
A meeting to effect a permanent organization was then called. This was
to be held at the Great Northern Hotel in Chicago on February 12th,
1899, but as several of the delegates expected had failed to put in an
appearance an adjournment to the following day was decided upon.
When this meeting was called to order by temporary President Quinn there
were present Hecker, Harlan and Spink, of St. Louis; Quinn, Havenor and
O'Brien, of Milwaukee; McGraw and Peterson, of Baltimore; Regar and
Richter, of Philadelphia, and myself representing Chicago. Tommy
McCarthy, of Boston, was said to be somewhere on the road, though Quinn
held his proxy, and Col. Whitside of Louisville was on hand to represent
the Falls City in case it should be taken into the fold.
Numerous telegrams failed to locate Navin of Detroit, and as the
Louisville people proved that they had the necessary backing it was
finally decided to take them in. Detroit's assurance that everything was
lovely there came too late, Navin not returning home until after the
meeting was over, while McCarthy of Boston did not materialize until
after the meeting had adjourned.
A permanent organization was finally effected and officers elected as
follows:
President, A. C. Anson, Chicago; Secretary-Treasurer, Phil Peterson,
Baltimore; Directors, C. S. Havenor, Milwaukee; Geo. D. Shaefer, St.
Louis; W. J. Gilmore, Philadelphia; it being left for Boston to name a
member of the Board at a later date.
Richter had come to the meeting firmly convinced that the office of
Secretary-Treasurer was to be his for the asking, and he was decidedly
put out when turned down, and was disposed to be decidedly ugly. That he
had not gotten over it for some time afterward was shown by the attitude
of his paper, which indulged in indiscriminate abuse of every one who
failed to agree with him.
After the adoption of a constitution and by-laws the meeting finally
adjourned, though not until McGraw and Peterson had been appointed a
committee to look into the standing of Philadelphia and to select an
eighth city in the East, the seven cities making up the circuit at that
time being Chicago, St. Louis, Milwaukee and Louisville in the West, and
Boston, Baltimore and Philadelphia in the East.
It was also decided to open the playing season on April 16, the matter
of arranging a schedule being left in my hands. The Philadelphia end of
it had a decidedly fishy look to me, even then, and McGraw was by no
means as enthusiastic as he had appeared at Philadelphia. McCarthy's
failure to appear cast a damper over the crowd, and, in spite of all
that had been accomplished, I had grave doubts as to the successful
launching of the project.
McGraw and Peterson stopped at Philadelphia on their way home and had an
interview with W. J. Gilmore that was evidently satisfactory, as the
former wired me that Philadelphia was "four-flushing" and that
everything was off, after which he fixed up his differences with the
League people in Baltimore and prepared to play with the club there
another season.
The dropping of Baltimore from the list of League cities, just as I had
prophesied, followed, after which came the sale of McGraw and others to
the St. Louis Club, the terms of which McGraw has refused to ratify, the
result being that the snappy little Baltimorean will in all probability
not be seen on the ball field in a League uniform.
The calling off of the deal was a great disappointment to me at the
time, and yet, as things have turned out, I am satisfied that everything
happened for the best after all. The recent iron-clad agreement entered
into between the American League and National League magnates, by the
terms of which a team from the first-named organization is to be placed
in Chicago, smacks too strongly of syndicate methods to become popular.
In a recent letter from Baltimore McGraw and Peterson both strongly urge
the necessity of going on with the new association and getting in
readiness to place strong teams in the field at the beginning of the
season of 1901, and this is likely to be done.
That the time is ripe for such a movement I am confident, as I am also
that plenty of good ball players could be found to join its ranks.
The methods of the League in late years have not been calculated to make
friends either among the ranks of the players or of the public, and both
would gladly welcome a rival in the field.
It would, however, be a mistake, I think, to start with anything but a
strong circuit or to antagonize any of the minor leagues, with whom
nothing could be gained by rivalry.
If I could have my way in the matter I would place a strong team in
every single one of the League cities, taking in Chicago, St. Louis,
Cincinnati and Pittsburg in the West, and New York, Boston, Philadelphia
and Baltimore in the East.
Such a circuit would, in my estimation, be a paying one from the start,
and that is the circuit that I hope to see formed in the future.
There is one thing certain, and that is that a rival to the National
League will spring up sooner or later, and that without any help from
Mr. Richter.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. L'ENVOI.
With my retirement from the Chicago Club in 1897, my active connection
with the game may be said to have ceased and it is more that probable
that I shall never again don a uniform. My affection for the game still
exists, however, and I am confident that, purged of the many evils that
now exist, the game itself will continue to be in the future what it has
been in the past, the National Game of the American people.
Looking back over my twenty-seven years of active service on the
diamond, I feel that I have but little to regret and much to be proud
of, and if I failed at times to come us to the expectations of my
friends, it was simply because I was heavily handicapped and unable to
carry the load. For the gentlemen who have criticized my actions fairly
and honestly I have naught but the kindest feelings, and for those who
did not and who criticized simply to be in the fashion, or because they
were advised to do so by those in authority over them, I have--but
perhaps it is as well to "let the dead past bury its dead." The League
Guide of 1898 contains an article on my retirement, from the pen of the
veteran, Henry Chadwick, that I am particularly proud of, and a portion
of which I quote, as follows:
"Professional base-ball history records the development of many an
original character in the ranks alike of its press-writers, its club
magnates, and its most noteworthy players; but it can be safely said
that its most unique figure can be found in the person of the League's
greatest representative on the field, Adrian Constantine Anson, who
today stands forth as one of the most sturdy, fearless and honest
exemplars of professional base-ball known to the game. The bright
particular attribute of Anson is his sterling integrity, combined with
which is his thorough independence. The former was strikingly
illustrated at the very outset of his career as a member of the Chicago
Club in 1876, when he kept true to his agreement with the club, though
under the base-ball law as it then existed the club could not, enforce
its contract; and his independence was plainly exhibited in the act of
his refusing this year to accept a money testimonial at the hands of his
base-ball friends, he preferring to depend upon his existing physical
powers for his maintenance rather than upon the proffered financial aid.
"In some respects Anson resembles a rough diamond, his brusque manner
and impulsive temper needing the keen polish of the refining wheel of
the conventional amenities of life to make his inherent worth shine
forth in its full brilliancy. Anson, too, reminds one somewhat of that
old Western pioneer, Davy Crockett, inasmuch as his practical motto is,
'When you know you're right, go ahead.' This latter trait was
conspicuously shown in the year of the players' revolt in 1890, when,
almost alone as a minority man, he stood by the National League in its
greatest hour of need, in opposition to the desertion of hundreds of his
confreres in the League ranks. In these prominent characteristics, we
say, Anson stands as the most unique player known in the annals of the
professional fraternity."
This is indeed praise from Sir Hubert, and I raise my hat in
recognition.
What I may conclude to do in the future it is hard to say, and if I
return again to my first love, base-ball, it will not be as a player,
but wherever I may be or whatever I may do I shall still strive to merit
the approval and good will of my friends--God bless them!
THE END.
AMOS RUSIE'S PITCHING.
Amos Rusie, who, for several years has probably come nearer being the
premier pitcher of the country than any other man, gives some ideas of
pitching to the New York Evening Journal. He says:
"In delivering a straight, swift ball, when my object is to obtain the
utmost speed at my command and to cut the plate, so that an umpire can
have no doubt as to its being 'over,' I grasp the ball firmly with the
two first fingers, with the thumb not clutching the ball too tightly. It
is not my intention to twist or curve the ball at those times, but to
catch the batter napping or else to prevent him from 'walking' to first.
I take one long preliminary swing to prepare the shoulder muscles for
the coming strain, and with my right foot firmly braced on the slab, I
lurch forward with a high, straight throw, the weight of my body adding
impetus to the ball.
"A slow ball when mixed up with great speed, is most effective if the
change of pace is so disguised as to fool the batter. It does not do to
telegraph your intentions or the ball will go soaring over the
bleachers--from off the old 'wagon tongue.' Exactly the same preliminary
motions should be gone through with as if to send in your swiftest ball.
For this delivery I hold the ball loosely in my hand, holding it with my
thumb and little finger. The ball will at times almost seem to hang in
the air, and the batter, who is looking for a singing swift one, makes a
vicious swipe before the ball gets to him. The change of pace is used
mostly when a batter has two strikes and is worked up to the anxious
pitch. Nothing pleases a pitcher more than to fool a batter with his
'slows.'
"To give an outcurve to the ball I take the same grip with the first two
fingers as for the straight ball. The thumb, however, with which the
twist which causes the ball to curve is given, is brought up in touch
with the ball with a tight grip. Then, with a long, slow preliminary
swing I give a slight side motion to my hand with a decided snap to the
wrist just at the instant the ball leaves my hand. I endeavor, of
course, to hide my right hand as much as possible from the batter, and
go through exactly the same motions as for a straight ball. I can get
just as much speed with my curve as my straight, which in consequence,
has proved my most successful ball.
"The drop ball is a most effective one if a pitcher can get control of
it. If the ball falls even a half inch from the expected line, the
batter is liable to strike over it. In pitching this ball I take a tight
hold with the thumb and two forefingers, with the third finger
underneath in touch with the sphere. Then with a very high swing and a
raise on my toes, I bring the arm down swiftly. The reverse twist is
given with the third finger. A great deal of practice is required to
acquire control of this puzzling ball, and at times speed is sacrificed
in its use."
APPENDIX. SOME NEWSPAPER COMMENTS.
With the retirement of Captain Anson baseball loses its most dignified
and courageous figure--a man who has striven through a number of years to
preserve the national game in all its best phases and a man who has
fought for decency and gentlemanly conduct on the field, and by whose
efforts the club of which he has been typical for a long time has come
to be known as one of the most dignified organizations on the National
League diamond. His retirement from the leadership of the Colts is
received with regret by the devotees of the national game, although
opinion is divided as to its advisability. It has long been believed by
certain patrons of the game that a change in the management and
captaincy of the team was advisable, and that a younger man might make
the nine more successful. But whether they are of this opinion or not,
the patrons of the game this year will miss the presence of the big
first baseman who has come to be typical of the Chicago team.
Captain Anson retires with a record of which he may well be proud. He
has been a prominent figure in hundreds of games in all of which he has
done excellent work. As the head of the Chicago club he has piloted the
team through good and bad fortune. During the last few seasons he has
not done as well as had been expected at the outset of the season.
Internal dissension crept into the ranks of the Colts and the men did
not work together. This fact started a sentiment in favor of a change of
management. There were disturbing elements which militated against the
success of the team, and it was believed by many admirers of the game
that a new leader might be able to reconcile the warring factions and
get more substantial results out of the aggregation. This was urged as a
reason for the retirement of Anson. He had served a longer term than any
other base-ball player, and it was believed that he could retire on his
record and give way to a younger man who would be able to secure more
harmonious work. In this opinion there was no desire to belittle the
work of Anson, nor cast any discredit on his management.
His work has been such as to win the respect of every sportsman,
whatever his opinion of the desirability of the change of management,
but with individual players of the first class might not another manager
be able to attain better results was the argument. He is to be succeeded
by a man who worked with him as a fellow-member at one time of the
Chicago team, a man of experience in base-ball affairs, and who it is
believed will continue the work which the veteran has done for the best
interests of the game. Whether or not he will be able to make the club
work together better than Anson and whether he can secure better results
from the material he has to work with remains for the coming season to
show.
But whatever be the future success of the team, it will owe a debt to
Captain Anson, for to him is due the credit of being one of the greatest
of base-ball generals. He has done a great work for the Chicago team,
and can now give way to another, resting on the honors which he has
already won and which the base-ball public gladly concede to
him.--Chicago Tribune.
The former captain-manager of the Chicago base-ball team has just
replied to a proposition to offer him a testimonial in such terms as do
him infinite honor. Mr. Anson had held his position for many years. He
had done the work and discharged the duties of the place faithfully,
laboriously, and ably, and he had received for his services a salary
which he accepted as sufficient. When it was, thought best to depose him
and to employ another captain, he gave way without protest. He had done
his best, he had been paid, he had nothing to complain of, and no favors
to ask. The proposed testimonial was offered, perhaps, under the
impression that he was needy or that his feelings were hurt, and the
idea seems to have been that in giving him a benefit they would placate
any resentment he might harbor and at the same time proclaim their own
generosity. Anson, however, declined to be put in the position of a
martyr or a suppliant. He replied: 'I refuse to accept anything in the
shape of a gift. The public owes me nothing. I am not old and am no
pauper. Besides that, I am by no means out of base-ball.'
We think that everybody will applaud Mr. Anson in this attitude. There
is no reasonable doubt that the projected benefit would have netted him
several thousands of dollars--it is not too much to estimate the result
at $10,000. He has long been a favorite with the Chicago base-ball
lovers. He enjoys a high reputation for courage, fairness, honorable
methods, and professional ability. But he refused the well-meant offer
of the Chicago Athletic Association, and we feel sure that all
right-minded men will give him their sympathy and approval. He prefers
to occupy the position of one who has served his employers zealously
and received full consideration for his work, who has no complaint to
make and no pity to invoke. He is not superannuated, has not been
ill-treated, and is quite able to support himself for the future. It is
a manly, modest, self-reliant, and self-respecting position and it
raises him infinitely in public estimation.--Washington (D. C.) Post.
Our illustrious fellow townsman, Adrian Constantinus Anson, has given to
the New York Sun a few reflections concerning the duties of womankind,
with a comparative review of the charms of the ladies of Chicago and New
York. It is Mr. Anson's deliberate opinion that woman has a most
beautiful sphere of action in this pleasant life which is likely to be
jeopardized by an association with clubs. Mr. Anson thinks that the
average woman cannot attend to her regular knitting and to clubs at the
same time, and he facilitates himself that the ladies of his immediate
family have been restrained by his influence and his arguments from
wasting time in society work that should belong to the needs of the
small and sympathetic domestic circle. We congratulate Mr. Anson on the
ability he has shown in the presentation of his argument, and we turn
with confidence to his discussion of the ladies who have come under his
observation. "In Chicago," says Mr. Anson, "the ladies dress very
stunningly, just as well as they do here, if I am not mistaken, and they
are certainly just as fine looking. I'll admit that the New York men
dress a great deal better than those of Chicago." Mr. Anson is right.
The Chicago man gives little thought to the morrow, wherewithal he shall
be clothed. He has his charms, his graces, his many fine points, but as
a fashion plate he is not a success. He is content to know that his wife
and his daughters are keeping up the standard of Mr. Anson's
expectations, and to feel that in providing them with gorgeous raiment
he is contributing his share of the beautiful, the true and the good in
the world. We have believed for some time that the shopping ladies on
the east side of State street constituted a panorama of feminine
loveliness unexcelled, but we are glad to have this opinion corroborated
by 40 eminent an authority as Mr. Anson, who has a critical eye for the
feminine toilet and has been in New York often enough in a professional
capacity to exercise a just and accurate judgment.--Chicago Post.
The announced retirement of Adrian Constantine Anson from the management
of the Chicago base-ball team marks the end of a career that is without
parallel in America. For nearly thirty years Anson has stood among the
foremost representatives of the national game, and for half that time.
He has been a popular hero whose name was more familiar on the lips of
the people than that of any statesman or soldier of his time. Ever since
professional base-ball became a feature of American life, he has stood
in the front rank of its exponents, and as long as it shall continue to
be played his name will be remembered. He reflected credit upon his
calling and helped raise it to a plane which made it creditable to him.
A certain measure of true glory cannot be denied to such a man. In all
his long publicity no charge of dishonorable methods, no rumor of the
buying and selling that are too common in athletics was ever laid at his
door. He possessed many of the qualities that make leaders of men, and
his continued success was due to the same study and application which
bring triumph in more highly esteemed fields of activity. Base-ball owes
him much, the public owes him something and Chicago owes him more. He is
entitled to an honorable discharge.--Detroit Tribune.
The passing of Adrian C. Anson from the position of manager and captain
of the Chicago League base-ball club is deserving of notice by
everybody. While it is not our purpose or custom to comment on
athletics, in general, we deem it proper to drop a few thoughts
concerning this man and his life.
For twenty-six years he has been playing base-ball with prominent clubs
throughout the country, twenty-two years of this time being spent with
the club which just disposed of his services. Five different times he
brought his club out at the close of the season as a pennant winner, a
record which has not yet been equaled by any manager. Besides being a
bright star in the ball-playing constellation, Anson was an expert at
cricket, hand-ball, billiards and shooting.
He has ever been temperate in his habits, and his long period of service
in this line proves what a man may do by taking care of himself. No
better lesson can be taught the young man of to-day than the observance
of this man's life. After all, is it not a mistake made by the
temperance people that they don't teach the physical as well as the
moral effects of intemperance?
The name Anson means athletics. Honest, honorable, clean, pure
athletics. No man has done more to place outdoor sports above reproach
than he has.--Springfield (Ill.) Sun.
Captain Anson is going to retire. He has played his last championship
game, has piloted his young men through the last season and has made his
final forceful appeal to a league umpire. With the honors of unnumbered
years thick upon him, with a fame that will endure till the last league
ball is batted over the palisades of time, with fortune far beyond the
hope of thousands who have howled his praise, "the grand old man" will
leave the "profession" Jan. 1, 1898, when his contract with the Chicago
team shall expire.
There comes a sentiment akin to sorrow in the incident. The man has so
truly represented the spirit of sport, he has so honestly and
industriously devoted his every energy to its requirements, and he has
so persistently abstained from those customs that too often discredit
men in his line, that the great public which loves base-ball will regret
his departure.
Aside from that there is a measure of compensation. We know that young
blood and new methods may help the Chicago team to that eminence it won
in the old days. This sentiment is entertained by so many patrons of the
game that it may be fair to concede them something.
One thing is certain. No man living will more cordially wish success to
the old White Stocking club than will the man who has shared its joys
and its woes, and who voluntarily, even now, yields place to a younger
man.--Chicago Inter-Ocean.
A few days ago Captain Anson, a representative of the typical American
game, declined to accept a public testimonial earned by years of hard
work, honesty, uprightness, and faithfulness as a player. Mr. A. G.
Spalding guaranteed that the fund would reach $50,000, and from the
great flow of telegrams, letters, and offers of contributions that swept
down upon the promoter of the testimonial it seemed as though that sum
would be exceeded. Anson replied modestly that, while conscious of the
high honor conferred in the almost unanimous expression of good will, he
could not accept a moneyed tribute. A few years ago Dr. W. G. Grace, the
champion cricketer of England, retired from the game, a game typical of
England. Headed by the Prince of Wales a great public subscription was
raised and more than $40,000 was given the champion. He accepted. The
two men occupied the same position toward their games and their
countries. The spirit of admiration was unanimous in both countries.
Both were athletic heroes. Grace accepted; Anson declined.--Chicago
Tribune.
The firm of Chicago & Anson expired by its own limitation last night.
The partners parted on the best of terms. It is now twenty-two years
since they began to do base-ball together, and the record made is an
honor to the world of athletics. Long ago, while the dew of youth was
still in his locks, the junior partner was known as "Old Anse," much as
in army circles the pre-eminence of General Grant won for him the
designation of "the old man." Anson first gained distinction as the
heaviest batter that had ever gone to the plate. Then, for many seasons,
he was captain. He marshaled his forces with the skill of a great
commander. He lost many a battle royal, but he never threw a game, and,
alike in victory and in defeat, the honor of Chicago was maintained
unflecked. May he live long to enjoy the distinction of being "the grand
old man" of the diamond field.--Chicago Inter Ocean.
Our ancient friend Captain Adrian Anson will find ample scope for his
disciplinary talents in dealing with the cherubim whom Mr. Freedman has
aggregated into his base-ball club. At various times the Baltimore, the
Pittsburgs and the Clevelands have held the championship for all-round
blackguardism and "dirty ball," but now New York, like "Eclipse," is
first and the rest nowhere. In this connection it is interesting to
recall that early in the season several of Mr. Freedman's young men
haughtily refused to sign the Brush hoodlum agreement upon the ground
that they were "gentlemen" and incapable of using vile language. The
Brush rule is valid nevertheless, and the patrons of base-ball will
watch with interest to see whether it will be enforced against the
umpire baiters and vulgarians lately led by Mr. "Scrappy" Joyce. If
Anson is given a free hand he will keep the rowdies in subjection. If he
is hampered we venture to predict that Mr. Freedman will soon be hunting
another captain. The "old man" will not stand sponsor for
hoodlums.--Chicago Chronicle.
"I notice," said the Old-Timer, "that a hit was wanted in Louisville
yesterday, and that James Ryan (who would quit rather than play with
Anson as manager) was at the bat. How many, many times the cranks at the
Chicago ball grounds have waited and watched for that same hit, and how
often, oh, how often, they have been regaled with that same play--a
pop-up to the infield. It is time, long, long ago, that James Ryan was
relegated to the bench or the turnstile--for good. Decker is his superior
in everything but grumbling."--Chicago Journal. New York, April 2.--A. G.
Spalding absolutely denied to-day the truth of the published reports
that he had jestingly offered the franchise of the Chicago club to Anson
for $150,000, and that while Anson was hustling around trying to raise
the money he had no intention whatever of releasing the franchise when
it came to a showdown.
"The story is absurd," said Mr. Spalding. "In the first place, Anson is
not trying to get the franchise. No one has made overtures to me with
that end in view. I have set no price on the franchise, because I had
not the slightest intention of letting it go."--Chicago Chronicle.
Temporarily war rumors must sink into innocuous desuetude and other old
things. A matter of more far-reaching importance now claims our
attention. We shall continue to hope that Sampson and Dewey and Miles
will do their whole duty, but we shall not be able to give our personal
attention to the trifles that occupy them until we have received
definite information whether or not Anson is really going with the New
Yorks.--Chicago Post.
As a fielder many have surpassed him, but as a batsman--and batsmen, like
poets, are born, not made, and are the kind of players hardest to
get--his record has never been excelled. He has not always stood at the
head of the list, but always kept up a steady fusillade.--Des Moines
Leader.
The passing of Anson from the National League removes from the national
game its most conspicuous and active spirit. For many years this young
old man has been the principal figure in the grandest of outdoor sports
and his setting aside by the managers of the team that he made famous
will be lamented everywhere.--Detroit Journal.
Now it is claimed that Anson hasn't a chance on earth of getting control
of the Chicago Club, even if he raises that $150,000 option. It is
claimed that the price set by Spalding was one of his little jokes, and
Ans took it seriously. People who ought to know say Spalding and Hart
would not part with the Chicago Club for $250,000.--Cincinnati Enquirer.
O. P. Caylor has this to say: "Anson may be getting old, his step less
springy, his joints not so supple as of yore, but his eyes and brain are
unimpaired. For all that, he knows more about playing the game than the
other men on his team combined. There are at least seven less valuable
players than Anson among the Chicago Colts."--New York Herald.
Owing to the De Lome incident and the destruction of the Maine the
retirement of Colonel Anson from base-ball generalship is not receiving
the general attention its importance warrants.--Chicago Herald.
The young philanthropist who sent $too to Leiter with which to corner
the wheat market would exhibit more genuine patriotism if he would
inclose a few thousands to Captain Anson for the purpose of obtaining
the Chicago ball team.--Chicago Record.
Yesterday was a cold day for base-ball. That grand old man, Captain
Adrianapolis Chicago Anson, was umpired out by Father Time, after
twenty-two years' signal service at the first base.--Chicago Inter Ocean.
When the sporting world finds a better or more manly man than "Old Anse"
it will have to advertise for "the best the country affords." He
honestly won his honors in a fair field.--Chicago Inter Ocean.
There is no reason why Cap'n Anson, now in the full maturity of his
powers, may not have a successful career before him as a trainer of
horses.--Chicago Tribune.
It was worth losing the job for Captain Anson to learn what a royal good
fellow he is.--Chicago Record.
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