A Ball Player's Career Part 12

The game was witnessed by 7,500 people, who recognized every player the moment he appeared. The field was a bad one, and this, combined with the rarefied atmosphere, to which the players were not accustomed, caused both teams to put up a decidedly poor game, as is shown by the score, which stood at 16 to 12 in favor of the Chicagos.

The next day, however, in the presence of 6,000 people, the players more than redeemed themselves, John Ward making his first appearance with the All-Americans, and playing the position of shortstop in a masterly fashion. The fielding on both sides was superb, and it was not until two extra innings had been played that the victory finally remained with the All-Americans, the score standing at 9 to 8. The feature of the game and the play that captured the crowd was Hanlon's magnificent running catch of Sullivan's long fly, which brought the crowd to its feet and resulted in a storm of cheers that did not cease until that player had raised his cap to the grand stand in recognition of the ovation. Our two days' stay in Denver was made decidedly pleasant, and we saw as much of the city as possible, although not as much as we should have liked to have seen had we had more time at our disposal.

CHAPTER XIX. FROM DENVER TO SAN FRANCISCO.

Colorado Springs, the fashionable watering place of all Colorado, was to be our next stopping place. Leaving Denver on the night of October 27th, we were obliged to change from the broad-gauge cars in which we had been traveling, into narrow-gauge cars, in which we journeyed as far as Ogden, and they seemed for a time cramped and uncomfortable as compared with the "Q." outfit.

We soon became used to them, however, and managed to enjoy ourselves as thoroughly as though we had no end of room in which to turn around and stretch ourselves.

I have neglected to say that the old gentleman, or "Pa" Anson, as the boys soon began to call him in order to distinguish him from myself, had joined us at starting, and the fact that accommodations for poker parties were rather cramped, gave him a chance to grumble, that he was not slow to take advantage of. He soon became a great favorite with all the party and as base-ball and poker had always been his favorite amus.e.m.e.nts, he found himself for at least once in his life in his natural element, it being one of his theories of life that he would rather play poker and lose right along than not to play at all. He found no difficulty in that crowd in getting up a poker party at any time, and was consequently happy, though whether he won or lost, and how much, I cannot say.

There was a large crowd at the Denver depot to see us off, and we left the Colorado metropolis with many regrets, so pleasant had been our visit there. The day was just breaking when we arrived at Colorado Springs the next morning, and save for a few early risers, the depot was deserted. At the depot awaiting our arrival were carriages and saddle horses, which had been telegraphed for from Denver in order that we might enjoy a flying visit to Manitou and the Garden of the G.o.ds before playing the afternoon game.

There was a general scramble at the depot for a choice of steeds, the park wagons, three in number, having been reserved for the use of the ladies and such members of the party whose education in the riding line had been neglected. I was not as quick as I might have been and had the comfort of Mrs. Anson to look after beside; as a result there fell to my lot a cross-eyed sorrel that had evidently spent the greater part of his life in chasing cattle among the mountains, and that true to his natural proclivities gave me no end of trouble before the morning was over. The sun was just turning the top of Pike's Peak, some eighteen miles distant, into a nugget of gold, when we left the depot, but so plainly could we see the crevices that seamed its ma.s.sive sides that it looked not to be more than five miles distant. To our right rose the peaks of sandstone that form the gateway to the Garden of the G.o.ds, and below us ran the narrow roadway through the valley like a belt of silver.

Manitou, six miles distant, was reached without accident, and here we stopped to have breakfast at the Cliff House, and to drink of the clear waters of the Silver Springs that have become justly famous the world over. Breakfast over we resumed our ride, turning off into a little valley a mile below the hotel that formed the rear entrance to the Garden of the G.o.ds. The sandstone formation here was of the most peculiar character and the ladies of the party went into ecstasy over "Punch and Judy," "The Balanced Rock," "The Mushroom Rock," "The Duck,"

"The Frog," "The Lady of the Garden," and the "Kissing Camels." The great sandstone rocks that form the gateway come in for their share of admiration and I think we could still have found something to look at and admire had we remained there for a month instead of for the brief time that was at our disposal.

That one morning's experience did more to convince me than anything else that there is no use for the American to travel in search of scenery, as he has some of the grandest in the world right here in his own country.

After admiring the many remarkable things that were to be seen there we made on through the gateway down the valley and then to the summit of the hill, some two miles in height. Here we debouched on to a little plateau, from which we obtained a magnificent view of Pike's Peak crowned with its eternal snows; Cheyenne Mountains, looking dark and sullen by contrast, and the ranges of the Rocky Mountains that upraised themselves twenty-five miles away, and yet seemed but a few miles distant.

That cross-eyed sorrel of mine had persisted in taking me off on a cattle herding exhibition not long after we had left the Springs, and at Manitou I had turned him over to the tender mercies of Bob Pett.i.t, who had more experience in that line than I had, and in whose hands he proved to be a most tractable animal--in fact, quite the pick of the bunch, which goes to show that things are not always what they seem, horses and gold bricks being a good deal alike in this respect. Mark Baldwin's mustang proved to be a finished waltzer, and after the saddle-girth had been broken and Mark had been deposited at full length in the roadway, he turned his animal over to Sullivan, who soon managed to become his master.

It was a morning filled with trials and tribulations, but we finally turned up at Colorado Springs with no bones broken, and so considered that we were in luck. The Denver and Rio Grande people had promised to hold the train an hour for our accommodation, but greatly to our surprise word came to us right in the middle of the game that we had but fifteen minutes in which to catch the train, and so we were obliged to cut the game short and make tracks for the depot.

The exhibition that we put up in the presence of that crowd of 1,200 people at Colorado Springs was a miserable one, the rarefied air being more to blame for it than anything else, and when we stopped play at the end of the sixth inning with the score at 16 to 9 in our favor I could hardly blame the crowd for jeering at us. At this point Jim Hart came very near to being left behind, he having stopped at the ground to adjust the matter of finances, and had he not made a sort of John Gilpin ride of it he might even now be browsing on the side of a Colorado mountain, and if he were, base-ball would have been none the loser.

I am very much afraid that the residents of Colorado Springs have not to this day a very high opinion of the Australian base-ball tourists, but if they are any sorer than I was after my experience with that cross-eyed sorrel, then I am sorry for them.

The trip through the Grand Canon of the Arkansas that we entered just as the sun was going down, was a never-to-be-forgotten experience, we viewing it from an observation car that had been attached to the rear of the train. Through great walls of rock that towered far above the rails the train plunged, twisting and turning like some gigantic snake in its death agony. Into the Royal Gorge we swung over a suspended bridge that spanned a mountain torrent, and that seemed scarcely stronger than a spider's web, past great ma.s.ses of rock that were piled about in the greatest confusion, and that must have been the result of some great upheaval of which no records have ever come down to us.

We stopped for supper at the little mountain station of Solida, and then with the train divided into two sections steamed away for Marshall Pa.s.s, the huge rocks around us looking like grim battlements as they loomed up in the gathering darkness. Up and still up we climbed, the train running at times over chasms that seemed bottomless, upon slender bridges and then darting through narrow openings in the rocks that were but just wide enough for the train to pa.s.s. Reaching the summit of the pa.s.s, 10,858 feet above the sea level, we jumped from the coaches as the train came to a standstill and found ourselves standing knee-deep in the snow.

In the brief s.p.a.ce of six hours we had pa.s.sed from a land of sunshine to a land of snow and ice, and the transition for a time seemed to bewilder us. We had now climbed the back bone of the continent and in a few minutes afterward we were racing down its other side, past the Black Canon of the Gunnison, that we could see but dimly in the darkness, we thundered, and it was long after midnight when, weary with sight-seeing and the unusual fatigue of the day, we retired to our berths.

Breakfasting the next morning at Green River, we soon afterwards entered the mountains of Utah, that seemed more like hills of mud than anything else after viewing the wonders of the Rockies.

On the night of October 30th we reached Salt Lake City, the stronghold of the Mormon faith, and one of the handsomest and cleanest cities that the far West can boast of. That morning we took in the tabernacle, the Great Salt Lake and other sights of the town, returning to the Walker House in time for dinner. The ball ground there was a fairly good one, and we started to play our first game in the presence of 2,500 people.

In the first half of the fifth inning it started to rain, and how it did rain! The water did not come down in drops, but in bucketfuls. The game, which was called at the end of the fourth inning resulted in a victory for the All-Americans, they winning by a score of 9 to 3. All night long the rain fell, and as it was anything but pleasant under foot, we were content, that is, most of us, to remain within the friendly shelter of the hotels. The grounds next day were still in bad shape, and long before the game was over we were covered with mud from head to heels.

The game was a good one so far as the All-Americans were concerned, but a bad one on the part of the Chicago players, the game going against us by a score of 10 to 3.

That we could not have had pleasant weather and seen more of Salt Lake City and its environs is a matter of regret with us to this day. The evening of November 1st found us aboard the cars and off for 'Frisco, the Paris of America. Arriving at Ogden at midnight, we found two special sleepers awaiting us, and were soon once more en route.

The next day time hung somewhat heavy on our hands and the view from the car window soon became monotonous. Dreary wastes of sage brush greeted us on every hand, walled in by the mountains that, bare of verdure, raised their heads above the horizon some thirty miles away. To the pioneers who crossed those arid wastes in search of the new El Dorado, belongs all honor and praise, but how they ever managed to live and to reach the promised land is indeed a mystery.

The morning of November 3d found us away up among the mountains of the Sierra Nevada range, and here the scenery was a magnificent description, the great peaks being clothed almost to their very summits in robes of evergreen. Down toward the valleys clad in their suits of emerald green we rolled, the mountains giving away to hills and the hills to valleys as the day drew on, until we finally reached Sacramento, where we stopped for breakfast. Here we found just such a crowd to greet us as had met the train at Denver, the base-ball enthusiasts, who had been notified of our coming, having turned out in full force. Leaving Sacramento we pa.s.sed through a most prosperous country dotted with orchards and vineyards as far as the eye could reach until we finally came to a standstill at the little station of Suison, thirty miles from San Francisco.

Here we were met by Mr. Hart, who, in company with Frank Lincoln, the humorist, and Fred Carroll, had gone on ahead of us to 'Frisco from Salt Lake City, and who had come out to meet us accompanied by a party of Pacific Coast base-ball managers, railroad men and representatives of the San Francisco press.

A telegram from E. J. Baldwin, better known by his soubriquet of "Lucky Baldwin," had been received by Mr. Spalding during the day, welcoming us to the city and to the Baldwin Hotel, and apprising us that carriages would be found in waiting for us at the foot of Market street. Landing from the ferry boats that carried us across the bay from Oakland, we found the carriages and proceeded at once to the Baldwin Hotel, where comfortable quarters had been provided for us. I had been notified by Mr. Hart while on the steamer, as were a half a dozen other members of the party, to get into a dress suit as soon as possible, and this I did with the help of Mrs. Anson, shortly after our arrival at the hotel. At 6 o'clock the invited members were escorted by members of the San Francisco Press and the California Base-ball League to Marchand's, one of the leading restaurants of the city, where we found a dainty little supper awaiting us, to which I for one at least did full justice.

After supper we attended a performance of "The Corsair" at the Baldwin Theater, two proscenium boxes having been reserved for the members of the two teams, all of whom were in full dress, and it seemed to me as if we were attracting fully as much attention, if not more, than were the actors.

There was a big Republican parade the night that we arrived there and the streets in the neighborhood of the hotel were literally jammed with people, while the cheering and the noise that continued long after the bells had proclaimed the hour of midnight made sleep an impossibility.

Tired as we were, it was not until the "wee sma' hours" had begun to grow longer that Mrs. Anson and I retired, and even then the noise that floated up to our ears from the crowds below kept us awake for some time, and that night in my dreams I still fancied that I was on the train and that I could hear the surging of the rails beneath me. Glad, indeed, was I the next morning to wake and find that I was once more on solid ground.

CHAPTER XX. TWO WEEKS IN CALIFORNIA.

We were booked for a stay of two weeks in San Francisco, and that two weeks proved to be one continual round of pleasure for every member of the party. The appearance of the city itself was somewhat of a disappointment to me, and I soon grew somewhat tired of climbing up hill only to climb down again. The really fine buildings, too, were few and far between, the majority of them being low wooden structures that looked like veritable fire-traps. They are built of redwood, however, and this, according to the natives, is hard to burn. The fact that the towns had not burned down yet would seem to bear out the truth of their a.s.sertion, though the Baldwin Hotel was built of the same material, and that went up in flames a little over a year ago in such a hurry that some of the people who were stopping there thought themselves lucky to get off with the loss of their wardrobes and baggage, while others who were not so lucky never got out at all.

The natural surroundings of the city are, however, decidedly handsome, and I doubt if there is a handsomer sight anywhere than San Francis...o...b..y, a bay in which all of the navies of the world could ride at anchor and still have plenty of room for the merchant vessels to come and go.

The sh.o.r.es of this bay are lined with beautiful little suburban towns that are within easy reach by boat and sail from San Francisco, and it is in these towns that a large proportion of the people doing business in the city reside. The people are most hospitable and at the time of our visit the base-ball foes and cranks, both in the same category, were as thick as were the roses, and roses in California greet you at every turn, not the hot-house roses of the East, that are devoid of all perfume, but roses that are rich with fragrance and that grow in great cl.u.s.ters, clambering about the doorways of the rich and poor alike, drooping over the gateways and making bright the hedges. Flowers were to be seen everywhere, and their cheapness at the time of our visit was both the wonder and delight of the ladies.

The day after our arrival, November 4th, dawned bright and beautiful, but the haggard faces and the sleep-laden eyes of the tourists when they a.s.sembled at a late hour in the Baldwin Hotel rotunda boded ill for a good exhibition of the art of playing base-ball that we were to give that day.

My forebodings in this respect proved true. The Haight grounds were crowded, 10,500 people paying admission to see the game, and great crowds lined the streets and greeted us with cheers as we drove in carriages to the scene of action. The practice work on both sides prior to the opening of the game was of a most encouraging character, but as for the game itself--well, the least said the better. Tired out with travel and the late hours of the night before, we were in no condition to do ourselves justice. We were over-anxious, too, to put up a great game, and this also told against us. Baldwin who pitched for us had no control of the ball, and the stone wall infield of the Chicagos, which included yours truly, was way off and could not field a little bit. The score, All-American 14 and Chicago 4, tells the story of the game. That the crowd was disappointed was easy to see. They were good-natured about it, however, and it is safe to say that they did not feel half so badly as we did. Our reputation was at stake and theirs was not. That was the difference.

Two days afterward the All-Americans played the Greenwood and Morans on the same grounds, and the 3,000 people who had a.s.sembled to witness the game saw the All-Americans get a most disgraceful trouncing at the hands of the local team, the score at the end of the game standing at 12 to 2.

It was my misfortune to umpire this game, and I have often been accused since of having given the All-Americans the worst of the decision. It is always the privilege of the losers to kick at the umpire, however, and I have even been known to indulge in a gentle remonstrance myself when I thought the circ.u.mstances were justifiable. The truth of the matter is that it was the old story of late hours and a lack of condition, Crane being unsteady and the support accorded him not up to the standard, while the local club played a good game throughout, getting their hits in where they were needed and playing a really strong game in the field.

Before another crowd of 4,000 people, on November 6th, the All-Americans played the Pioneers, another local organization, and though Healy pitched a good game for the visitors they were beaten this time by a score of 9 to 4. Ward did not take part in the game on this occasion, he having taken a day off to shoot quail, and the defeat was largely chargeable to the costly errors divided up among Hanlon, Crane, Manning, Von Haltren, Wood and Fogarty.

In the meantime I had taken the Chicago team to Stockton, where on the same grounds as the All-Americans and Pioneers played we stacked up against the Stockton Club, then one of the strongest organizations in the Golden State. The 4,000 people a.s.sembled at the grounds there saw on that occasion as pretty a game as they could wish to see, the fielding on both sides being of the prettiest sort, and the work of the opposing pitchers, Tener for Chicago and Daly for Stockton, of the most effective character. At the end of the ninth inning the score was tied at 2 each, and the darkness coming on we were obliged to let it go at that, the people of Stockton being well pleased with the exhibition that they had been treated to by both teams, and especially jubilant over the fact that their own boys had been able to tie a nine of our calibre. The next day the Stockton team came down to San Francisco to measure strength with the All-Americans, Baker and Albright being their battery on this occasion, as opposed to Crane and Earle. The All-Americans, smarting under their two defeats at the hands of the local team, simply wiped up the ground with the Stockton boys on this occasion, pounding Baker all over the field and running up a score of 16 as against a single for their opponents. The showing made by the visitors on that occasion opened the eyes of the Californian ball-players and from that time on both the Pioneers and the Stocktons fought shy of both the visiting teams.

On the afternoon of November 10th we, and by that I mean the Chicago team, played the Haverlys before 5,000 spectators and defeated them after a pretty contest by a score of 6 to 1, Baldwin pitching an excellent game for the Chicagos, and Incell, who was at that time the idol of the Pacific Coast, a good game for the local team, though his support was weak.

The following day 6,000 people pa.s.sed through the gates at the Haight street grounds to witness the second game between Chicago and All-American teams, and though this was marred by poor work here and there, the fielding was of such a brilliant character, especially the work of Chicago's stone wall, as to work the enthusiasm of the crowd up to the highest pitch. Tener and Von Haltren did the twirling on this occasion for Chicago and All-Americans respectively, and both of them were at their best. The All-Americans showed strongest at the bat, however, and as a result we were beaten by a score of 9 to 6. During the next week the team made a flying trip to Los Angeles, where two games were played, we being white-washed in the first one and beaten by a score of 7 to 4 in the second. This ended our ball-playing in California, for though it had been the intention to play a farewell game prior to our sailing for Australia, a steady rain that set in made this impossible.

When we were not playing ball we were either sightseeing in the neighborhood of San Francisco or else being entertained by some of the numerous friends that we made during our stay in "the glorious climate of California," the first supper at Marchand's being followed by a host of others, and dinner parties, banquets and theater parties were so thickly sandwiched in that it was a matter of wonderment that we were ever able to run the bases at all.

There was scarcely a single place of interest accessible to the city that we did not visit, from the Cliff House, which is one of the most popular resorts that Sari Francis...o...b..asts of, its s.p.a.cious grounds and verandas being thronged with people on Sundays and holidays, to the Chinese quarter, a portion of the city that no visitor to the Golden State should miss seeing, even if he has to make a journey of one hundred miles to do so.

The Chinese quarter of San Francisco is a city in itself, and one in which the contrasts between wealth and poverty is even more marked than it ever was in the Seven Dials of London.

The stores of the well-to-do Chinese merchants are filled with the richest of silks, the rarest of teas and the most artistic of bric-a-brac, the carvings in ivory and fancy lacquer work being especially noticeable, but close to them in the narrow streets are the abodes of vice and squalor, and squalor of the sort that reeks in the nostrils and leaves a bad taste for hours afterward in the mouths of the sight-seer.

At the time of our visit both the opium dens and the gambling houses were running in full blast, and this in spite of the spasmodic efforts made by the police to close them. John Chinaman is a natural born gambler, and to obtain admission to one of his resorts is a more difficult matter than it would be for an ordinary man to obtain an audience with the Queen of England. He does his gambling behind walls of steel plate and behind doors that, banged shut as they are at the slightest sign of danger, would have to be battered down with sledges or blown open with dynamite before one could gain admission, and by that time the inmates would have all escaped and nothing would be left behind to show the nature of the business carried on.

Crime runs rampant in this section of the town, and when a Chinaman is murdered, in nine cases out of ten the slayer escapes punishment at the hands of the law, though he may have it meted out to him in some horrible form at the hands of the dead man's friends and relatives.

To go through the Chinese quarters by daylight is a sight well worth seeing, but to go through there with a guide after the night's dark shadows have fallen, is more than that. It is a revelation. These guides are licensed by the city, and are under the protection of the police.

They are as well known to the Chinamen as they are to the officers of the law, and the visitor is always safe in following wherever they may lead.

The tenement houses in the poorer sections of any great city are a disgrace to modern civilization, but a Chinese tenement house is as much worse than any of these as can be imagined. In one section of the Chinese quarter at San Francisco is a four-story building above ground, with a double bas.e.m.e.nt below, one being under the other, and with an open court extending from the lower bas.e.m.e.nt clear to the roof. In this building, which is jocularly styled by the guides, "The Palace Hotel of the Chinese quarter," and in which a hundred Americans would find difficulty in existing, over a thousand Chinamen live, sleep and eat, all of the cooking being done on a couple of giant ranges in the bas.e.m.e.nt, which is divided up into shops, opium dens and sleeping quarters.