"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 is 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.