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.