Philadelphia is a good city to live in, at least I found it so, and had I had my own way I presume that I should still be a resident of the city that William Penn founded instead of a citizen of Chicago, while had I had my own way when I left Marshalltown to go into a world I knew but little about I might never have lived in Philadelphia at all. At that time I was more than anxious to come to Chicago and did my best to secure a position with the Chicago Club, of which Tom Foley, the veteran billiard-room keeper, was then the manager. As he has since informed me, he was looking at that time for ball players with a reputation, and not for players who had a reputation yet to make, as was the case with me, and so he turned my application down with the result that I began my professional career in Rockford instead of in Chicago, as I had wished to do. "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good," however, and for the Providence that took me to Rockford and afterward to the "City of Brotherly Love," I am at this late day truly thankful, however displeased I may have been at that time.
I have often consoled myself since then with the reflection that had I come to Chicago to start my career in 1871, that career might have come to a sudden end right there and then, and all of my hopes for the future might have gone up in smoke, for the big fire that blotted out the city scattered the members of the Chicago Base Ball club far and wide and left many of them stranded, for the me being at least, on the sands of adversity.
Shakespeare has said, "There is a Providence that shapes our ends rough hew them as we will," and it seems to me that the immortal Bard of Avon must have had my case in mind when he wrote that line, for I can see but little to complain about thus far in the treatment accorded me by Providence, though I am willing to admit that there was some pretty rough hewing to do before I was knocked into any shape at all.
When I began playing ball at Rockford I was just at that age when, in my estimation, I knew a heap more than did the old man, and that idea had not been entirely knocked out of my head when I arrived in Philadelphia. The outdoor life that I had led when a youngster, the constant exercise that I had indulged in, together with the self-evident truth that the Lord had blessed me with a constitution that a young bull might envy, had all conspired to make me a young giant in strength, and as a result I was as full of animal spirits as is an unbroken thoroughbred colt, and as impatient of restraint.
Good advice was, to a greater or less extent, thrown away upon me, and if I had any trouble it rolled off from my broad shoulders as water from a duck's back and left not a trace behind. In the language of the old song, I was, "Good for any game at night, my boys," or day, either, for that matter, and the pranks that I played and the scrapes that I got into were, some of them, not of a very creditable nature, though they were due more to exuberation than to any innate love of wrong-doing.
In any contest that required strength and skill I was always ready to take a hand, and in these contests I was able to hold my own as a rule, though now and then I got the worst of it, as was the case when I entered the throwing match at the Union Grounds in Brooklyn in October, 1872. The entries were Hatfield and Boyd, of the Mutuals; George Wright and Leonard, of the Bostons, and Fisler and myself, representing the Athletics. The ball was thrown from a rope stretched between two stakes driven into the ground one hundred and ten yards from the home-plate. Each competitor was allowed three throws, and the rules governing the contest required that the ball be dropped within two large bags placed on a line with the home-plate and about sixty feet apart. Hatfield led us all in each of his three trials, and on the last one he beat his own record of 132 yards made at Cincinnati in 1868 by clearing 133 yards 1 foot and 7 1/2 inches. Leonard came next with 119 yards 1 foot 10 inches, Wright third with 117 yards 1 foot 1 inch, Boyd fourth with 115 yards 1 foot 7 inches, Fisler fifth with 112 yards 6 inches, while your humble servant brought up the tail end of the procession with a throw of 110 yards and 6 inches, not a bad performance in itself, but lacking a long ways of being good enough to get the money with.
Among the famous characters of which the Quaker City boasted in those days was Prof. William McLean, or "Billy" McLean, as he was generally called, an ex-prize fighter and a boxing teacher whose reputation for skill with the padded mitts was second to no man's in the country. To take boxing lessons from a professional who really knew something touching the "noble art of self-defense," as the followers of ring sports would say, was something that I had never had an opportunity of doing before, and it is hardly to be wondered at that I availed myself of the chance before I had been there a very long time.
I towered over McLean like a mountain over a mole hill, and I remember well that the first time that I faced him I thought what an easy matter it would be for me to knock his reputation into a cocked hat, and that before a man could say "Jack Robinson." In a very few moments, however, I had changed my opinion. I had fancied that I was a pretty good sort of a man myself with or without the gloves, but long before the end of that first lesson I had come to the conclusion that my education in that line, as well as others, had been neglected, and that I still had considerable to learn. McLean went around me very much as a cooper goes around a barrel, hitting me wherever and whenever he pleased, and the worst of the matter was that I could not hit him at all. It was not until after he had convinced me just how little I knew that he began to teach me, beginning with the rudiments of the art. I proved to be an apt pupil and soon became quite proficient at the game, in fact so good was I that I sometimes fancied that I could lick a whole army of wildcats, this being especially the case when the beer was in and the wit was out, for be it beer or wine, the effect is generally the same, a fact that I had not yet learned, though it dawned on me long before I left Philadelphia, and I quit it for good and all, to which fact I attribute the success that I have since met with both in the sporting and the business world.
It was in 1875 and during my last season with the Athletics, if I remember rightly, that I became involved in a saloon row, that, to say the least of it, was not to my credit, and that I have been ashamed of ever since. We had been out to the grounds practicing until nearly nightfall and on the way home we stepped into a German saloon on the corner for the purpose of refreshing the inner man and washing the dust out of our throats. In some way the conversation turned on the doings of various fighters and I expressed myself pretty freely concerning their merits and demerits, for having taken boxing lessons, I was naturally anxious to set myself up as an authority on matters pugilistic.
Just as we were in the midst of the argument a fresh policeman happened along and "chipped into the game" with the remark that if there was any fighting to be done he would himself take a hand in it.
That was my chance. For what had I taken boxing lessons unless I could at least do a policeman? "Come on!" I yelled and then I smashed him. He was not the only policeman on the beat, however. There were others—in fact, several of them, and they clubbed me good and plenty, finally leading me away with the nippers on.
Arriving at the police station, and a pretty tough-looking object I was, as you may imagine, I immediately sent for the President of the club, who, as good luck would have it, was also a Police Commissioner. When he put in an appearance he looked at me in astonishment and then asked me what I had been doing.
I told him that I hadn't been doing anything, but that I had tried to do the whole police force, and with very poor success. I was released on honor that night and the next morning appeared before Alderman Buck, who listened to both sides of the story, and then let me go, thinking by my appearance, doubtless, that I had already been punished enough. After court had adjourned we all adjourned on my motion to the nearest saloon, where we had several rounds of drink and then—well, then I started in to celebrate a victory that was, after all, a good deal more like a defeat.
While thus engaged I was unfortunate enough to run up against the young lady that I had already determined to make Mrs. Anson, and not being in the best of condition, she naturally enough did not like it, but as Rudyard Kipling says—that is another story.
That experience ended the wild-oats business for me, however, and although the crop that I had sown was, comparatively speaking, a small one, yet it was more than sufficient for all my needs, and I now regret at times that I was foolish enough to sow any at all.
The only other row that I ever had of any consequence took place on a street car one day when I was going out to the ball grounds, a game between the Athletics and Chicagos being scheduled for decision. The most intense rivalry existed at that time between these two organizations and the feeling among their partisans ran high. A gentleman on the car—at least he was dressed like a gentleman—asked me what I thought in regard to the relative strength of the two organizations. At that time I had some $1,500 invested in club stock and naturally my feelings leaned toward the club of which I was a member, still I realized that they were pretty evenly matched, and I so stated.
He then remarked in sneering tones, "Oh, I don't know. I guess they play to win or lose as will best suit their own pockets."
I informed him that if he meant to insinuate that either one of them would throw a game, he was a liar.
He gave me the lie in return and then I smashed him, and I am not ashamed to say that I would do it again under the same circumstances.
I have heard just such remarks as that made even in this late day, remarks that are as unjust to the players as they are uncalled for by the circumstances. Lots of men seem 'to forget that the element of luck enters largely into base-ball just as it does into any other business, and that things may happen during a contest that cannot be foreseen either by the club management or by the field captain.
An unlucky stumble on the part of a base runner or a dancing sunbeam that gets into a fielder's eyes at some critical time in the play may cost a game; indeed, it has on more than one occasion, and yet to the man who simply judges the game by the reports that may read in the papers the thing has apparently a "fishy" look, for the reason that neither the sunbeam nor the stumble receives mention.
If every sport and business man in this world were as crooked as some folks would have us to believe, this would indeed be a poor world to live in, and I for one would be perfectly willing to be out of it.
The real truth of the matter is that the crooks in any line are few and far between. That being the case it's a pretty fair old sort of a world, and I for one am glad that I am still in it, and very much in it at that.
The first trip that was ever made across the big pond by American ball players and to which brief reference was made in an earlier chapter, took place in the summer of 1874. London was, as a matter of course, our first objective point, and I considered myself lucky indeed in being a member of one of the organizations that was to attempt to teach our English cousins the beauties of America's National Game.
The two clubs selected to make the trip were the Bostons, then champions, and the Athletics, and the players who were to represent them, together with their positions, are given below:
James White of the Boston team declined to go at the last moment, his place being taken by Kent of the Harvard College team while Al Reach was kept from making the trip by business engagements. Alfred H. Wright of the "New York Clipper" and Philadelphia "Sunday Mercury," and H. S. Kempton of the "Boston Herald" both accompanied us and scored the base-ball games that were played on the trip, while the first-named officiated in the same capacity when the game was cricket. In addition to these men, both clubs were accompanied by large parties of friends who were anxious to see what sort of a reception would be accorded to us by our British cousins, who had never yet witnessed a base-ball game, their nearest approach to it having been to look on at a game of "rounders."
The entire cabin of the steamship Ohio had been engaged for ourselves and our friends, and on July 16th a great crowd assembled at the wharf to see us off and to wish us God-speed on our journey. The trip across was fortunately a pleasant one and as we were a jolly party the time passed all too quickly, the seductive game of draw poker and other amusements of a kindred sort helping us to forget that the old gentleman with the scythe and hourglass was still busily engaged in making his daily rounds.
It was my first sea voyage, and to say that I enjoyed it would be to state but the simple truth. The element of poetry was left largely out of my make-up and so I did not go into ecstasies over the foam-crested waves as did several of the party, but I was as fond of watching for the flying fish that now and then skimmed the waves and for the porpoises that often put in an appearance as any of the rest of the party. If I speculated at all as to the immensity of the rolling deep by which we were surrounded, it was because I wished that I might be able to devise some plan for bottling it up and sending it out West to the old gentleman to be used for irrigating purposes. That such an amount of water should have been, allowed to go to waste was to me a matter for wonderment. I was looking at the practical side of the matter, and not at the poetical.
July 27th we arrived at Liverpool and as the majority of us had grown tired of the monotony of sea life we were glad enough once more to set foot on solid land. With fourteen games of ball to be played and seven games of cricket we had but little time to devote to sight-seeing, though you may be sure that we utilized the days and nights that we had off for that purpose.
There was considerable curiosity on the part of our British cousins to see what the American Game was like and as a result we were greeted by large crowds wherever we went. We were treated with the greatest kindness both by press and public and words of praise for our skill both at batting and fielding were to be heard on all sides. Exhibition games between the two clubs were played at Liverpool, Manchester, London, Sheffield and Dublin, the Boston Club winning eight games and the Athletics six.
When it came to playing cricket we proved to be something of a surprise party. In these games we played eighteen men against eleven and defeated with ease such, crack, organizations as the Marylebone, Prince's, and Surrey Clubs in London, the Sheffield Club at Sheffield; the Manchester Club in Manchester and the All-Ireland Club in Dublin, while the game with the Richmond Club was drawn on account of rain, we having the best of it at that time. While I was, comparatively speaking, a novice in this game, at which the Wrights were experts, they having enjoyed a reputation as first-class cricketers in America for years, yet I managed to make the highest score of all in our game with the All-Ireland Eleven, and to hold my own fairly well in the other cricket games that were played.
It is impossible for me to speak too highly of the treatment that was accorded to us on this trip both in England and Ireland, where peer and peasant both combined to make our visit a pleasant one. We were entertained in royal style wherever we went and apparently there was nothing too good for us. Lords and ladies were largely in evidence among the spectators wherever we played and among our own countrymen residing in the British metropolis we were the lions of the day.
The contrast between the crowds in attendance at our games there and those that greeted us at home attracted my attention most forcibly. An English crowd is at all times quiet and sedate as compared with a crowd in our own country. They are slower to grasp a situation and to seize upon the fine points of a play. This, so far as base-ball was concerned, was only to be expected, the game being a strange one, but the same fact was true when it came to their own National game, that of cricket. There was an apparent listlessness, too, in their playing that would have provoked a storm of cat-calls and other cries of derision from the occupants of the bleaching boards at home.
It was our skill at fielding more than at batting that attracted the attention of the Britishers and that brought out their applause. Our work in that line was a revelation to them, and that it was the direct cause of a great improvement afterwards in their own game there can be no reason to doubt.
Between sight-seeing and base-ball and cricket playing the thirty days allotted to our visit passed all too quickly and when the time came for us to start on our homeward journey there was not one of the party but what would gladly have remained for a longer period of time in "Merry England," had such a thing been possible. It was a goodly company of friends that assembled at the dock in Queenstown to wish us a pleasant voyage on August 27th, which was just one month to a day from the date of our arrival, and we were soon homeward bound on board of the steamship Abbotsford. The voyage back was anything but a pleasant one and more than half the party were down at one time and another from the effects of seasickness. Old Neptune had evidently made up his mind to show us both sides of his character and he shook us about on that return voyage very much as though we were but small particles of shot in a rattle-box.
We arrived at Philadelphia Sept. 9, where we were the recipients of a most enthusiastic ovation, in which brass bands and a banquet played a most important part, and after the buffeting about that we had received from the waves of old ocean we were glad indeed that the voyage was over.
The impression that base-ball made upon the lovers of sport in England can be best illustrated by the following quotations taken from the columns of the London Field, then, as now, one of the leading sporting papers of that country:
"Base-ball is a scientific game, more difficult than many who are in the habit of judging hastily from the outward semblance can possibly imagine. It is in fact the cricket of the American continent, considerably altered since its first origin, as has been cricket, by the yearly recourse to the improvements necessitated by the experience of each season. In the cricket field there is at times a wearisome monotony that is entirely unknown to baseball. To watch it played is most interesting, as the attention is concentrated but for a short time and not allowed to succumb to undue pressure of prolonged suspense. The broad principles of base-ball are not by any means difficult of comprehension. The theory of the game is not unlike that of 'Rounders,' in that bases have to be run; but the details are in every way different.
"To play base-ball requires judgment, courage; presence of mind and the possession of much the same qualities as at cricket. To see it played by experts will astonish those who only know it by written descriptions, for it is a fast game, full of change and excitement and not in the least degree wearisome. To see the best players field even is a sight that ought to do a cricketer's heart good; the agility, dash and accuracy of tossing and catching possessed by the Americans being wonderful."
This, coming at that time from a paper of the "Field's" high standing was praise, indeed, but the fact remains that the game itself, in spite of all the efforts made to introduce it, has never become popular in England, for the reason perhaps that it possesses too many elements of dash and danger and requires too much of an effort to play it.
Commenting after our return to this country upon this tour and its results, Henry Chadwick, the oldest writer on base-ball in this country and an acknowledged authority on the game, said:
"The visit of the American base-hall players to England and the success they met there, not only in popularizing the American National Game but in their matches at cricket with the leading Cricket Clubs of England, did more for the best interests of base-ball than anything that has occurred since the first tour through the country of the noted Excelsior Club of Brooklyn in 1860. In the first place, the visit in question has resulted in setting at rest forever the much debated question as to whether we had a National Game or not, the English press with rare unanimity candidly acknowledging that the 'new game of base-ball' is unquestionably the American National Game. Secondly, the splendid display of fielding exhibited by the American ball players has opened the eyes of English cricketers to the important fact that in their efforts to equalize the attack and defense in their national game of cricket, in which they have looked only to certain modifications of the rules governing bowling and batting, they have entirely ignored the important element of the game, viz., fielding; and that this element is so important is a fact that has been duly proved by the brilliant success of the American base-ball players in cricket, a game in which the majority of them were mere novices, and yet by their ability as fielders in keeping down their adversaries' scores they fully demonstrated that skill in fielding is as great an element of success in cricketing as bowling and batting, if it be not greater, and also that the principles of saving runs by sharp fielding is as sound as that of making runs by skillful batting. But, moreover, they have shown by this self-same fielding skill that the game of base-ball is a better school for fielding than cricket, the peculiarity of the play in the former game requiring a prompter return of the ball from the outfield, swifter and more accurate throwing, and surer catching than the ordinary practice of cricket would seem to need.
"Another result of the tour has been to show our English cousins the great contrast between the character and habits of our American base-ball professionals and those of the English professional cricketers, taking them as a class. One of the London players warmly complimented the American players on their fine physique as athletes and especially commented on their abstemious habits in contrast, as the paper stated 'with our beer-drinking English professional cricketers.' In fact, the visit of the baseball players has opened old John Bull's eyes to the fact that we are not as neglectful of athletic sports as he thought we were, for one thing, and in our American baseball representatives we presented a corps of fielders the equal of which in brilliancy of play England has never seen even among the most expert of her best trained cricketers. So much for our National Game of base-ball as a school for fielding in cricket. We sent these ball players out to show England how we played ball, but with no idea of their being able to accomplish much at cricket; but to our most agreeable surprise they defeated every club that they played with at that game, and Bell's Life does the American team the justice to say that an eleven could no doubt be selected from the American ball players that would trouble some of the best of our elevens to defeat.
"The telegrams from England in every instance referred to the games played as between twenty-two Americans and eleven English, but when the regular reports were secured by mail it was found that it was eighteen against twelve, quite a difference as regards the odds against side. The first dispatch also referred to the 'weak team presented against the Americans,' but the score when received showed that the eighteen had against them in the first match six of the crack team which came over here in 1872, together with two professionals and four of the strongest of the Marylebone Club. Englishmen did not dream that the base-ball novices could make such a good showing in the game, and knowing nothing of their ability as fielders they thought it would be an easy task to defeat even double their own number, the defeat of the celebrated Surrey and Prince's Club twelves in one inning, and of the strong teams of Sheffield, Manchester and Dublin by large scores, opened their eyes to their mistake, and very naturally they began to hold the game that could yield such players in great respect.
"Worthy of praise as the success of our base-ball representatives in England is, the fact of their admirable deportment and gentlemanly conduct on and off the field, is one which commends itself even more to the praise of our home people. That they were invited to so many high places and held intercourse with so many of the best people fully shows that their behavior was commendable in the extreme. Considering therefore the brilliant success of the tour and the credit done the American name by these base-ball representatives, it was proper that their reception on their reappearance in our midst should be commensurate with their high salaries, for in every respect did they do credit to themselves and our American game of `base-ball.'"
The players that made the first trip abroad in the interest of the National Game may well be styled the Argonauts of Base-ball, and though they brought back with them but little of the golden fleece, the trip being financially a failure, their memory is one that should always be kept green in the hearts of the game's lovers, if for no other reason than because they were the first to show our British cousins what the American athlete could do when it came both to inventing and playing a game of his own.
That they failed to make the game a popular one abroad was no fault of theirs, the fault lying, if anywhere, in the deep-rooted prejudice of the English people against anything that savored of newness and Americanism, and in the love that they had for their own national game of cricket, a game that had been played by them for generations.
I doubt if a better body of men, with the exception of your humble servant, who was too young at the game to have been taken into account, could have been selected at that time to illustrate the beauties of the National game in a foreign clime.
They were ball players, every one of them, and though new stars have risen and set since then, the stars of thirty years ago still live in the memory both of those who accompanied them on the trip and those who but knew of them through the annals of the game as published in the daily press and in the guide books.
Harry Wright, the captain of the Boston Reds, was even then the oldest ball player among the Argonauts, he having played the game for twenty years, being a member of the old Knickerbockers when many of his companions had not as yet attained the dignity of their first pair of pants. He was noted, too, as a cricketer of no mean ability, having succeeded his father as the professional of the famous St. George Club long before he was ever heard of in connection with the National Game. As an exponent of the National Game he first became noted as the captain of the celebrated Red Stocking Club of Cincinnati, a nine that went through the season of 1869, playing games from Maine to California without a single defeat. As captain and manager of a ball team Mr. Wright had few equals, and no superiors, as his subsequent history in connection with the Boston and Philadelphia Clubs will prove. He was a believer in kind words and governed his players more by precept and example than by any set of rules that he laid down for their guidance. As a player at the time of this trip he was still in his prime and could hold his own with any of the younger men in the outfit, while his knowledge of the English game proved almost invaluable to us. Harry Wright died in 1895, and when he passed away I lost a steadfast friend, and the base-ball world a man that was an honor in every way to the profession.
A.G. Spalding was at that time justly regarded as being one of the very best pitchers in the profession, and from the time that he first appeared in a Boston uniform until the time that he left the club and cast his fortunes with the Chicagos he was a great favorite with both press and public. As Harry Chadwick once wrote of him, "In judgment, command of the ball, pluck, endurance, and nerve in his position he had no superior." He could disguise a change of pace in such a manner as to deceive the most expert batsman, while as a scientific hitter himself he had few superiors. He had brains and used them, and this made him a success not only as a ball player but as a business man. As a manufacturer and dealer, Mr. Spalding has acquired a world-wide reputation, and it is safe to say that none glory in his success more than do his old associates on the ball field.
James O'Rourke, or "Jim," as we all called him, was a splendid ball player and especially excelled in playing behind the bat and in the outfield, which position he played for many years. A sure catch, an active fielder, a good thrower, and a fine batsman, O'Rourke was always to be relied upon. Born of Irish parentage, he hailed from the Nutmeg State and was when I last heard of him in business at Bridgeport, Conn., and reported as doing well. He was a quiet, gentlemanly young fellow, blessed with a goodly share of Irish wit, and a rich vocabulary of jawbreaking words.
Ross Barnes, who held down the second bag, was one of the best ball players that ever wore a shoe, and I would like to have nine men just like him right now under my management. He was an all-around man, and I do not know of a single man on the diamond at the present time that I regard as his superior. He was a Rockford product, but after his ball playing days were over he drifted to Chicago and was at the last time I saw him circulating around on the open Board of Trade.
"Harry" Schafer was a good, all-around player, but I have seen men that could play third base a good deal better than he could. Sometimes his work was of a brilliant character, while at others it was but mediocre. He was a native of Pennsylvania and his usually smiling face and unfailing fund of good nature served to make him a general favorite wherever he went.
George Wright, a brother of the lamented Harry, was another splendid all-around ball player, and one that up to the time that he injured his leg had no equal in his position, that of shortstop. He was one of the swiftest and most accurate of throwers, and could pull down a ball that would have gone over the head of almost any other man in the business, bounding into the air for it like a rubber ball. As a cricketer he ranked among the best in the country. Retiring from the ball field, he became a dealer in sporting goods at Boston, Mass., where he still is, and where he is reported to have "struck it rich."
Andrew J. Leonard, a product of the Emerald Isle, was brought up in New Jersey, and excelled as an outfielder, being a splendid judge of high balls, a sure catch, and a swift and accurate long-distance thrower. He was a good batsman and a splendid base runner, and was nearly as good a player on the infield as in the out. He is at present in Newark, N. J., where he is engaged in business and reported as fairly successful.
Cal C. McVey, the heavy-weight of the team, came like myself from the broad prairies of Iowa, and was built about as I am, on good, broad Western lines. He was a fairly good outfielder, but excelled either as a catcher or baseman. He was conscientious and a hard worker, but his strongest point was his batting, and as a wielder of the ash he had at that time few superiors. He is somewhere in California at the present writing, and has money enough in his pocket to pay for at least a lodging and breakfast, and does not have to worry as to where his dinner is to come from.
Young Kent, the Harvard College man, who took Jim White's place on the trip, was a tall, rangy fellow and a good amateur ball player. He never joined the professional ranks, but since his graduation has written several books, and made himself quite a reputation in literary circles.
John E. Clapp, the regular catcher of the Athletics, was a cool, quiet, plucky fellow, and one of the best catchers at that time the profession could boast of. He hailed originally from New York, I believe, and while in England surprised the cricketers by his fine catching, no ball being too hot for him to handle. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he is now a member of the Ithaca, N. Y., police force, and an honored member of the blue-coat and brass-button brigade.
James Dickson McBride, who was better known the country over as "Dick" McBride, was at that time the most experienced man in his position that the country could boast of, he having been the regular pitcher of the Athletics since 1860. He had speed in a marked degree, plenty of pluck and endurance and a thorough command of the ball. He was a man of brains, who always played to win, and to his hard work and general knowledge of the fine points of the game the Athletics owed much of their success. "Dick" was a good cricketer, too, that being his game prior to his appearance on the diamond. He hailed from the Quaker City, where he still resides, having a good position in the postoffice.
West D. Fisler was a fine, all-around ball player, remarkable for his coolness and nerve. He was a very quiet sort of fellow and one of the last men that you would pick out for a really great player. He could play any position on the team, was thoroughly honest and always played the best he knew how. He is still living in the neighborhood of Philadelphia, and though not rich in this world's goods, has still enough to live on.
Joe Batten was the youngest member of the Athletic team and at that time quite a promising young player. He did not last long with the Athletics, however, and after playing on one or two other league teams he dropped out sight. He was a bricklayer by trade, and the last time I heard of him he was in St. Louis working at his trade.
Ezra B. Sutton then ranked as one of the best third-base players in the country. He was one of the most accurate throwers that I ever saw; a splendid fielder and a good batter, though not a particularly heavy one. When he finally quit the game he settled down in business at Rochester, where he was still living the last I heard of him. A good man was Sutton, and one that would compare very favorably with the best in his line at the present day.
M. H. McGeary was a Pennsylvanian by birth, though not a Dutchman, as his name goes to prove. He was not only an effective and active shortstop but a good change catcher as well, being noted for his handling of sharp fly tips while in the latter position. He was in Philadelphia when last heard from, and doing fairly well.
Albert W. Gedney was the postoffice clerk of the New York State Senate at the time of our trip, and was one of the best of left fielders, being an excellent judge of high balls and a sure catch, especially in taking balls on the run. He is now a prosperous mill owner near New York City and does not have to worry as to where the next meal is coming from.
James McMullen, who played the center field, was an active and effective man in that position. He was also a fairly good left-handed pitcher, and a rattling good batsman, who excelled in fair-foul hitting. McMullen was an all-around good fellow, and when he died in 1881 he left a host of friends to mourn his loss.
J. P. Sensenderfer accompanied the club as, a substitute, as did Timothy Murnane, and both were good, all-around ball players, and are both still in the land of the living and doing more than well, Philadelphia being the abiding place of the former, while the last named is the sporting editor of the "Boston Globe."
I take particular pride in calling the attention of the public to the fact that but one player of all those making the trip went wrong in the after years, that one being George W. Hall, who accompanied the Bostons as a substitute and who in company with A. H. Nichols, James H. Craver and James A. Devlin was expelled by the Louisville Club in 1877 for crooked playing, they having sold out to the gamblers.
That there should have been but one black sheep among so many, in my estimation speaks well for the integrity of ball players as a class and for the Argonauts of 1874 in particular.
That the great majority of these men have also made a success in other lines of business since they retired from the profession is also an argument in favor of teaching the young athletic sports. A successful athlete must be the possessor of courage, pluck and good habits, and these three attributes combined will make a successful business man no matter what that particular line of business may be.
For the companions of that, my first trip across the Atlantic, who are still in the land of the living I have still a warm place in my heart. I have both slept and eaten with them, and if we have disagreed in some particulars it was an honest disagreement. Whenever the information comes to me that some one of them is doing particularly well, I am honestly glad of it, and I have faith enough in human nature to believe that they have the same feeling so far as I am concerned.
For the two that are dead I have naught but kind words and pleasant memories. They were my friends while living, and dead I still cherish their memory.
To me they are not dead, only sleeping.
If it is true, as some people allege, that marriage is a lottery, then all I have to say regarding it is that I drew the capital prize and consequently may well be regarded as a lucky man, for truer, fonder, and more sensible wife than I have, or a happier home cannot be found even though you search the wide world over. It was in Philadelphia that I wooed and won her, and I was by no means the only contestant that was in the field for her heart and hand. There were others, and one in particular that was far better looking and much more of a lady's man than myself, but when he found that I had a pull at the weights he retired, though not without a struggle, and left me in undisputed possession of the field.
Just why I happened to be the successful suitor is now, and always has been, to me a mystery. I have asked Mrs. Anson to explain, but somehow I can get very little satisfaction. I was by no means a model man in the early days of my courtship, as my experiences detailed elsewhere go to prove, but I was an honest and faithful wooer, as my wife can testify, and that perhaps had as much to do with the successful termination of my suit as anything. I had been used to having everything that I wanted from my babyhood up, and after I had once made up my mind that I wanted my wife, which I did very early in our acquaintance, I laid siege to her heart with all the artifices that I could command.
I am sometimes inclined to believe that I fell in love with her, at least part way, the very first time that I met her, else why should I remember her so vividly?
Her name was Virginia M. Fiegal, and she was one of a family of two, and the only daughter, her father being John Fiegal, a hotel and restaurant man in the Quaker City.
The first time that I ever saw her was at a ball given by the National Guards in Philadelphia, and though she was then but a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of some twelve or thirteen summers, and still in short dresses, she attracted my attention. Just how she was dressed on that occasion I could not tell you to save my life, nor do I think I could have done so an hour after the ball was over, but for all that the memory of her sweet face and girlish ways lingered with me long after the strains of music had died away and the ball-room was given over to the flitting shadows.
Some months, or weeks, perhaps, I have really forgotten which, drifted by before I saw her again, and then it was at a club ball, and this time I paid her considerable attention, in fact, I liked her better than any girl that I had yet met and was not afraid to show it, although I could not then muster up the necessary courage to go on boldly about my wooing. In fact, I left a great deal to chance, and chance in this case treated me very kindly.
Some time later, when the summer days were long, I met her again in company with a Miss Cobb, later the wife of Johnnie McMullen, the base-ball pitcher, at Fairmount Park, and that was the day of my undoing. After a pleasant time I accompanied her home to luncheon at her invitation, and that I had lost my heart long before the door of her house was reached I am now certain.
Once inside the door I asked her rather abruptly if her father or mother was at home, and I fancied she looked rather relieved when she found out that the only reason that I had asked her was that I wanted to smoke a cigar, and not to loot the house of its valuables.
Prior to that time I had circulated among the ladies but little, my whole mind having been concentrated on base-ball and billiard playing, and the particular fit of my coat or the fashion of my trousers caused me but little concern. From that afternoon on, however, things were different, and I am afraid that I spent more time before the mirror than was really necessary. I also began to hunt up excuses of various kinds for visiting the house of the Fiegals, and some of these were of the flimsiest character. I fancied then that I was deceiving the entire family, but I know now that I was deceiving only myself.
I was not the only ball player that laid siege to Miss Virginia's heart in those days. There was another, the handsome and debonair Charlie Snyder, who was a great favorite with the girls wherever he went. I became jealous very early in the game of Charlie's attentions to the young lady that I had determined upon making Mrs. Anson. It was rather annoying to have him dropping in when I had planned to have her all to myself for an evening, and still more annoying to find him snugly ensconced in the parlor when I myself put in an appearance on the scene.
So unbearable did this become that I finally informed him that I would stand no more trespassing on my stamping grounds, and advised him to keep away. But to this he paid but little attention and it was not until my sweetheart herself, at my request, gave him his conge that he refrained from longer calling at the house. It was the old story of "two is company, three is none," and I was greatly relieved when he abandoned the field.
I was now the fair Virginia's steady company, and long before I came to Chicago we understood each other so well that I ceased to worry about any of the callers at her home and began to dream of the time when I should have one of my own in which she should be the presiding genius of the hearth-stone.
She was not in favor of my coming to Chicago, and had it been possible for me to remain with honor in Philadelphia I should have done so, but that being impossible I left for the great metropolis of the West, promising to return for her providing her father would give his consent to our marriage as soon as possible.
I think one of the first things almost that I did after arriving in Chicago was to write the daddy of my sweetheart asking for her hand. I had been a little afraid to do so when at close range, but the farther away I went the bolder I became, for I knew that whatever his answer might be I was certainly out of any personal danger.
The old gentleman's answer was, however, a favorable one, and so after my first season's play in Chicago was over I returned to Philadelphia and there was united to the woman of my choice, and I am frank to confess that I was more nervous when I faced the minister on that occasion that I ever was when, bat in hand, I stood before the swiftest pitcher in the league.
The first little visitor that came to us was a baby girl that we called Grace, who was born October 6, 1877. That seems a long time ago now. The baby Grace has grown to womanhood's estate and is the happy wife of Walter H. Clough, and the proud mother of Anson McNeal Clough, who was born May 7, 1899, and who will be taught to call me "grandpa" as soon as his baby lips can lisp the words.
Adrian Hulbert Anson was our next baby. He was born Sept. 4, 1882, and died four days afterward, that being the first grief that we had known since our marriage. Another daughter, Adele, crept into our hearts and household April 24th, 1884, and is still with us.
Adrian C. Anson Jr. came into the world on September 4th, 1887, and died on the eighteenth day of January following. He lived the longest of all of my boys and his death was the cause of great grief both to his mother and myself.
The storks brought me another daughter, my little Dorothy, on August 13th, 1889, and she, thank God, is still engaged in making sunshine for us all.
John Henry Anson was born on May 3d, 1892, but four days later the angel of Death again stopped at my threshold and when he departed he bore a baby boy in his arms, whither I know not, but to a better world that this I feel certain, and one to which his baby brothers had journeyed before him.
Virginia Jeanette arrived November 22d, 1899, and has already learned to kick at the umpire when her meals are not furnished as promptly as she has reason to think they should be. She is a strong, healthy baby, and bids fair to remain with us for some years to come.
Before returning again to the ball field, on which the greater portion of my life has been spent, I wish to record the fact that all that I have and all that I have earned in the way both of money and reputation in later years I owe not to myself, but to Mrs. Anson. She has been to me a helpmeet in the truest and best sense of the word, rejoicing with me in the days of my success and sympathizing with me in the days of my adversity.
It was owing to her good counsel that I braced up in the days when she was my sweetheart, and it was to please her that I have staid braced up ever since, and am consequently still strong in mind and limb and as healthy a specimen of an athlete as you can find in a year's travel, albeit a little too heavy to run the bases still and play the game of ball that I used to play.
I have never found it necessary when I have lost $250 on a horse race or a match of any kind to go home and inform Mrs. Anson that owing to my bad judgment I had lost $2.50, but on the contrary I have made it a point to tell her the truth at all times, so that she knows just as well how I stand to-day as I do myself.
She and I are not only husband and wife in the truest sense of the word, but we are boon companions as well, and I always enjoy myself better on a trip when Mrs. Anson accompanies me that I do if I am alone.
I am as proud of my daughters as any man can well be and my only desire is that they shall all be as good as their mother and make the husbands of their choice as good and true wives.
At the present writing the only one of my birds that has left its parent nest and started out to build a home of its own is in Baltimore, where her husband, as fine a fellow as any man could wish to have for a son-in-law, is at present engaged in superintending the putting up of an office building contracted for the George H. Fuller Co., of Chicago, in whose employ he is.