The Summer of Jeff

Ted Sullivan, Humorous Stories of the Ball Field

Posted in baseball history by Jeff on August 8, 2011

Several years ago, I had some free time and easy access to a well-stocked library.  For some reason, I decided to spend that time transcribing the text of Ted Sullivan’s book, Humorous Stories of the Ball Field.

Sullivan is an important figure in early baseball, especially minor league baseball.  His Wikipedia page barely scratches the surface.  His books aren’t exactly groundbreaking, but as they are first-person narratives of the 19th-century game and its characters, they have some value.

In any event, I never finished the project, though I did transcribe roughly 75,000 words.  There are plenty of typos, and quite a few missing words, as the microfilm I was working from derived from a very worn copy.  This is not a project I’ll ever return to, and since Google Books doesn’t seem to have found Sullivan’s work yet, I’ve posted the full text of what I transcribed after the jump.

Sullivan’s book should now be in the public domain, and I disclaim any rights to any value I’ve added (if, indeed, there is any).  So use it however you want.

single asterisks indicate page breaks.  square brackets generally indicate missing words or letters.  

[Ted Sullivan, Humorous Stories of the Ball Field]

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
TO THE ENTIRE BASE BALL FRATERNITY AND
THE MILLIONS OF VOTARIES OF THE
GREAT NATIONAL GAME

*

Copyrighted 1903
By "Ted" Sullivan

*

HUMOROUS STORIES
of the
BALL FIELD

by
"TED" SULLIVAN

A Complete History of the Game
and Its Exponents.

CHICAGO:
M.A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

*

[pic of Ted]

*

INTRODUCTION (c

  To write a book on the wit and humor of [] 
field has often been suggested to me by friends []
out the United States.  The matter presented []
seriously to met later--when I thought such a []
might add a little interest to the literature of the []
and enlighten the public on many things connected
with professional baseball.  The aim, however, of this
little pamphlet is to give an impartial and unbiased
account of the great celebrities of the nation's sport,
and not to extol friends or slight enemies--nor to give
any vainglorious account of the writer himself.  My
association with professional baseball began in 1883, 
when I managed the St. Louis Browns, and afterwards 
the Washington Club of the National League.  Being
desirous of controlling clubs of my own, it led me into
the minor league field--where I have owned clubs in 
nearly all parts of America.
AUTHOR (r

*

[blank page]

*

CONTENTS (c
PAGE (r
Players of the Past and Present ... 15
Ringers Ringed ... 51
Coon Foul Catcher ... 70
Managers and Their Signs ... 74
Baseball at Killarney, Ireland ... 82 [check K spelling]
Sporting Deacon .... 86
Base-running ... 93
Handicap of Three Kings ... 96 [or 98]
Virginia Sheriff and Sunday Baseball ... 119
Charleston Blues vs. Columbia Bookers (colored 
  game) ... 125
Dress-Parade Ball Teams ... 139 [?]
Vanderahe and the Long Telegram ... 171
Chris and Wild West ... 18[?
Battle for the Colored Championship--Cubans against 
  Columbians ... 19[?
Vanderahe and Dear Umpires ... 204
Vanderahe Dodging Reporters ... 20[?
"Kicking Steers" ... 208
Essay on John L. Sullivan ... 214

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[blank]

*

HUMOROUS STORIES OF THE (c
BALL FIELD (c

ORIGIN OF THE GAME (c

  The origin of baseball may be the evolution of town-
ball, barnball, two old cat, or yet it may be the sugges-
tions of the three named.  At any rate, the game []
the product of American genius and temperamen[]
and not an offshoot of English rounders, as our English
cousins would have use believe.  Of the many times []
have been in England and the subject of baseball came
up, one Englishman would say to the other: "Why []
that blooming American game they call baseball is
nothing but our old game of rounders, you know." []
man's love of sport--for it is inherent in a Briton from
the present king down, and should an Englishman
have only his last sixpence and the alternative arose 
whether he would eat or see a field sport--he would  
undoubtedly decide in favor of the latter.  I must to-
totally disagree, however, with my British cousins that
their primitive and plebian game of rounder is the
mother of our national game.  Oh, no, dear cousins []
chase that idea out of your head, American to-day is the 
inventive torch of the world, and has bene for the []
fifty years.  The first seed of America's []

*

[] took root in Robert Fulton's brain, when he 
[]ocated steam as a motive power.  The next in line 
[] Prof. Morse's advocacy of the use of the telegraph 
[] as a a transmitter of sound.  This invention was
followed by the sewing machine, that relieved the 
weary housemaid of her burden.  On its heels came
Cyrus McCormick was his farming implements, that
taught the world how to reap their harvest in one 
tenth the time, and with a fraction of the labor of for-
mer days.  The last and greatest of America's inven-
tive thinkers is Tom Edison, the Wizard of Electricity,
who has electrified and illuminated the world, by his
inventions--and makes his native country the electric
light of the inventive world.  This may be a digression
from teh theme in hand, but I wish to show the original-
ity of the American in the line of invention--whether 
it be a past time or a beneficiary to the commerical 
world.  To return to the origin of the game, the sons
of Albion must let up on this rounder business being
the ground work of our national game or we will tell
them that they took our noble and democratic game
of "shinny" to England, and brought it back dis-
guised in a dress suit and christened it golf.  To say
rounders is baseball would be the same as claiming 
that a palace was a hut because it had a door, or a 
wheelbarrow a carriage because it had a wheel.  No,
my dear English friends, baseball is not rounders, but 
it is an American invention, suited to the temperament
and genius of the American people.
  From the time that the game was regularly played 
by the Knickerbockers of the New York until it became a 
profession, change after change has been made in the
[] make the game as perfect as possible in its

*

machinery.  The game is about 55 years of age, that
is to say, before it became national, as it was played []
New York and New England up to '61, but did not []
the limits of our country until '65 or '66.  The most im-
portant changes in the rules after the structure of []
game was put up--was first eliminating a put out on []
first bound by an outfielder.  Foul bound was in vogue
up to '85, but the most intricate and perplexing []
of all for years was the regulation of the pitching de-
partment.  The pitcher at first was compelled to de-
liver the ball to the batsman with the arm swinging 
perpendicular.  Very little speed was imparted to the
ball so delivered, and in such a manner, but the great[]
pitchers of that time, namely, Crieghton, Dick Mc-
Bride, Al Spalding, Tom Pratt, Geo. Zeitlein and Wal-
ters, disguised those required movement so nicely
that they got a great deal of speed to the ball, and that
by a simple snap o fthe wrist.  Those mentioned were
the premier pitchers of those days.  They were men
also of the highest order of intelligence, which added a 
great deal to their pitching ability.
  The pitching rule was modified about the years of 
'70 or '71 by allowing the pitcher to deliver the ball be-
low the shoulder, which was termed, "a side []
swing."  This amendment to the pitching rule []
no little trouble--for pitchers, when they got a chance[]
would deliberately throw the ball overhand to the 
batter.  The penalty was a balk--then commence[]
the debate on the distinction of the height of the arm[]
and lo! the poor umpire.  One pitcher would say []
delivered the ball below the shoulder, but his []
raised on him as he delivered the ball.  After a []
[]

*

[] wiped the distinction entirely out, by allowing
[] box man to deliver the ball as he pleased while 
[] the prescribed lines of his position.  This was 
[] beginning of the overhand throw--which finally
[] the celebrated curve.
  There has been quit a discussion among the pioneers 

[] professional ball as to who was the originator of the 
mystifying curve.  Two men have been given credit 
for its introduction, viz.: Arthur Cumming, of the 
Old Stars of Brooklyn, and Bob Mathews, who pitched 
in those days for the Mutuals of New York and Balti-
more.  But from the most authentc and reliable 
source (which is Henry chadwick, the father of base-
ball) we must give the credit to Arthur Cummings of 
New York.  The great Mathews, who had been the 
pitching marvel of the country for many years, devel-
oped and improved the curve more than Cummings.
  This innovation to the pitching department startled
the country, and the scientific men of that time would 
not believe that a rotary motion, imparted to a ball 
as it left the hand, would cause it to curve or change its
course while in the air.
  An ocular proof of the actual existence of the curve 
was given in Cincinnati before leading professor of
college by one of the crack pitchers of that day, show-
ing the wise men of teh scientific world two distinct 
kinds of curves.  That settled it.  Theory had to give
way to the practical, and the curve ball was the talk 
of the day at that time.
  This new delivery of the ball came inot use about
'71 or '72[,?] but it became conspicuously in 1874 by the 
[] Mathews.  The batting department had hard
[]

*

men who were considered good batters before the man-
ipulation of the curve, had to retire altogether from
the ball business in their inability to hit the new deliv-
ery.  The pitching department has ever presented []
complex problem to the rule makers, and to-day the
pitching staff costs more to a major league club that en-
tire ball teams did in years past.

PLAYERS OF THE PAST AND PRESENT (c

  Comparisons are odious, and they are ten times more
odious in baseball.  In this essay on the great celebri-
ties of the national game, both past and present, I aim 
to give only my humble opinion on the merits of
those men as they impressed me, taking as a standard
the work of their palmiest days, but still it must be re-
memebered that it is only one man's opinion at that.
  The first great catchers of teh profession were Nathan
Hicks of the Mutuals, New York, Chas. Mills of the At-
lantics of Brooklyn, Dave Birdsall, of teh Unions of
Morisina, New York, Bob Ferguson of the Atlantics,
who caught occasionally (and regularly, after Mills
went to the Mutuals), Fergy Malone of the Athletics 
of Philadelphia, Bill Craver of the old Haymakers of
Troy and Lansingburg, New York, Dug Allison of the
old Cincinnati Reds and Jim White, first of Cleveland 
and later of Boston and Chicago.
  Those first catchers of the profession were excellent 
specimens of physical manhood, and their manner[]
and bearing gave tone to the profession they followed.
I say to the reader, should those men be re-juvenated
to-day, they would suffer no comparison to the catch-
ers of the present, and would be eclipsed only by
[?

*

[] and appliance of the Modern Upholstery.  Athlet-
ics in general have made vast stride in teh past fifteen 
years, and acrobats do things now that the acts of the
past seem but crude, but that argument does not apply
to all things athletically, and especially to some de-
partments of baseball.  Hicks, Allison, Craver, Malone,
Bob Ferguson and Jim White, were men of no light 
caliber, either mentally of physically; they were never
duplicated in the latter periods of the game unless by
Ewing, Flint, Bennett and Mike Kelly.
  True, those first men of the profession had only to 
handle underhand delivery, but they did that without 
mask or glove, and some of those catchers caught pitch-
ers at the distance of 45 feet, with the overhand throw
in use, and even then refused to use mask or glove for
a while.
  Of those catchers named in the first period of the 
game, namely Mills and Allison, they were the personi-
fications of grace.  Mills could shut off teh speediest
base runner, and that by a short, easy snap of the arm,
but the man of tricks and brains behind the bat was
Bill Craver of the Old Haymakers--who could invent 
as the game went on, and as resourceful in strategy as
the immortal Mike Kelly.  We come to a later period 
of teh history of the game and we find another group
of great backstops, who were all called on to handle
the new rule in pitching, namely, the overhand throw,
which is in vogue to-day.  Those men were Ewing,
Snyder, Bennett, Flint, Tom Sululivan of St. Louis, Jack 
Rowe, Deasley and Bushing.  Of that great constella-
tion of stars, Ewing was one of the brightest; chiefly
[] account of his combined ability, anmely, throwing,
[] adn base running.  Ewing was, in fact, one of 
[]?

*

the greatest ball players that ever graced the []
He could throw from any position and he did not re-
quire a derrick to straighten him up before he got the
ball out of his hand, for his aim was as deadly accurate
from a stooping position as it was if he was standing 
erect.  Bennett was the Adonis of them all in his tyle
of catching.  He was quick as lightning in recovering 
a half-passed ball, adn hurling it to second with a 
speed of a catapult.  What a revelation to the new 
generation of patrons should they see the counterpart
of Bennett on the ball field once more.  Chas. Snyder,
another great catcher of that galaxy of stars was always
graceful and brainy.  He was the first to face the light-
ning delivery of Jim Devlin of Louisville.  Snyder
was one of teh most modest men of the profession, and 
a gentleman always.  Frank Flint, another of that 
group, will never be forgotten by the old patrons of the
game.  He possessed all the requisites of teh higher []
class major league backstop, but he possessed in a 
higher degree, grit.  His personality was such that it
made him thousands of friends in the city of Chicago.
M. Gross, who now lives in Chicago, was another great 
catcher of that period.  His work for the Providence 
club for years demonstrated that he was one of the
greatest batting catchers in the history of the game.
He was a man of find physical appearance and looked 
the ideal catcher.  Deasley and Bushong were also
high-class catcher, and no gamer man ever lived than 
Tom Deasley, who faced the rifle shot pitching of Jim
Whitney and Tony Malone in their palmiest days.[]
Yes, my boys of to-day, this man Deasley did []
these man with a mattress on his hand either[]
Rowe was another []

*

[] boys of the past, but left the position after-
wards and played shortstop for the famous Detroit
Clubs of '86 and '87.  Mike Kelly, who played right field
first for the famous Chicagos, but alternated in the
catcher's position with Flint afterwards, will have to
be set aside and a chapter given to him as one of the
game's greatest geniuses.
  I will fearlessly state to the reader of the page of
this little book that the catchers enumerated, which I
have termed the second period of the game, namely,
Ewing, Bennett, Kelley, Flynt, Gross, Bushong, Deas-
ley, Boyle, Rowe, Synder and Tom Sullivan (who origi-
nally handled Radburn), never had superiors of were
duplicated, as a whole, on teh ball field, and I am posi-
tive Ewing, Bennett and Synder have not been equalled.
These men were of fine stature and well developed
physically, and possessed a personality which made 
hundreds a friends for the game itself.
  I must confess I have a weakness for big men as
catchers, but it seems that the generation of large men
on the whole are run out.  Small catchers belong in
minor leagues and big ones in major.  I got on the old
adage that a good big man is better than a good little
man.  We have some great catchers to-day in both 
major leagues.  Jack O'Connor is one of the brainest
and pluckiest in the business.  Zimmer, in the many
years he has caught for the National League, has shown 
the highest qualities of teh major league backsotp, and
a reliable man he is, too.  Sullivan and McFarland of
the Chicago Whites are also excellent catchers.  Jim 
[] seems to be getting better as he grows older,
[] strange phenomenon in a ball player.  Far-
[]

*

worth.  Beulow of Detroit is a fast man on his feet
and quick to get the ball out of his hands, and has not 
arrived at his finishing point at that.  Wilbur Robin-
son has for the last eight years been one of the premier
catchers of the country.  His work in Baltimore in
the years of '94, '95, '96 and '97 placed him as one of 
the greatest catchers in the history of the game.
  Jack Boyle, of the Browns of teh middle '80's must 
not be forgotten.  He was one of the most natural 
catchers in the history of the game, and his throwing 
to bases, was one of the strongest fatures of his catch-
ing.  If any names of the past and present catchers
are omitted, it is not intentional, as this book is written
entirely from memory.

PITCHERS OF THE PAST AND PRESENT (c

  The pitchers that made their bow, contemporane-
ous with professional baseball, were Martin, Pobor,
Brainard, Zetlein, Cummings, Spaulding, Matthews,
McBride, Cherokee Fisher and Walter.  Clubs in
those days did not use but one pitcher.  They had []
stock what they termed a change pitcher, who usually
played right field.  The mode of delivering the ball at
that time did not call for any extra strain of the arm
as the ball was pitched to the batter underhanded []
with a quick snap of the wrist.  The pitcher that []
impart the most speed with this restriction of the []
of course, was the most successful one, but not [].
The bright particuar stars of those days were []
ing, Walters, Brainard, Zetlein, Pobor and McBride []
Bride at first headed the list, but Spaulding []
the Adonia of them all, became []
[]?

*

of his time with this restricted delivery.  Spaulding
was the perfection of grace itself and his poise in the
box before delivering the ball was not for the sake of
effect, but a natural graceful preliminary movement.
Matthews and Cummings became the stars afterwards, 
as they both discovered the secrets of the curve
about the same time (although from reliable author-
ity, Cummings was the first discoverer of it), but Mat-
thews was the first to put it into greater effect, after
the pitching rules were amended, in which the pitcher
was allowed to throw the ball as he chose while remain-
ing within the prescribed limits of the box.  This 
change introduced a new batch of pitchers to the pub-
lic--namely, Bond, Devlin, Bradley, Larkin, Corcoran, 
Goldsmith, Keefe and Welch.  Keefe and Welch did
not become great until the latter period, as they were
rather young when they entered with the above-
mentioned group.  Bond, Bradley, Devlin and Corcoran 
were the best pitchers of that time, and Devlin would
have continued as a premier pitcher for years if it were
not for an unfortunate temptation that lured him into 
questionable methods in the interest of gamblers.  He
was expelled for life as an example to all, and nothing
of its kind has ever been attempted in the game since.
  Devlin was a nobl fellow and a mantle of charity 
should be thrown over his case, as it was reported at 
the time that the club he was working for was in ar-
rears to him for salary, and he listened to the tempter
[] money was offered, but it was not so much the
[] that the league wanted to punish (as they
[] Devlin in many ways among themselves), but it 
[] kill forever the principle and attempt to poolute
[] game.  From '79 to '89 another constella-
[]

*

tion of bright luminaries in the shape of pitchers made
their appearance in the baseball firmament.  They 
were John Ward, Jim McCormick, Galvin, Hugh Daly
(one armed), Kilroy, Morris, Keefe, Welch, Calrkson,
Radbourne, Mulane, McGinnis, Whitney, Buffington, 
Foutz, Carruthers, Ferguson and Hank O'Day.  From 
'79 to '89 may be termed the golden era of great pitch-
ers and the history of the game has not since produced 
such a number of great twirlers.  They also were men 
of the highest order of intelligence.  Among them
were stars of stars.  In the humble opinion of the
writer, Charles Radburn of Bloomington, Ill., was the 
brightest of them all.  Outside of his pitching he had 
all the requisites of a first-class ball-players, batter, 
fielder and base-runner.  He was one of the greatest
fielders in his position that ever faced a batter.  In his 
prime he did not know what fatigue was--which he
demonstrated in the number of consecutive games he
pitched in Providence in 1884, which won the cham-
pionship of the National League for that city.  I hope
I am not jarring the feelings of the present generation 
of pitchers when I tell them that the number of consec-
utive games that Radburn pitched would consume or 
necessitate a ball club to carry about forty of the holi-
day working pitchers of to-day.  Remember, boys, 
that this phenomenal feat of pitching was accom-
plished with about one or may be two days' rest in the 
week.  F.C. Bancroft, who was manager of the Prov-
idence club that year, will bear the writer out in this
statement.  Taking as a standard the number of pitch-
ers that a club has to carry now to do a week's work,
Radburn must have done the work of twenty pitchers,
but I tell you, my pitching boys, how he did most of it.

*

Rad was a man of strong physique and stamina at that
stage of his life.  He told the writer that while he was 
accomplishing that unparalleled feat he never wasted 
a ball on a weak hitter, but made him make a base hit
or get out.  His system of working a batter was alto-
gether different from most of the present generation of
twirlers.  He never tasked his arm only on certain
batters; he had many deliveries, and one of them was
the most perplexing slow ball that was ever handed
over to tempt a batter to hit--equalling, if not surpas-
sing, John Clarkson's and Tim Keefe's slow ones.  He
was a student of his art from the very time he did reg-
ular pitching for the writer, up in Iowa, nor is the 
writer paying him any fulsome praise, because he did
his first pitching for him.  The first sign that Radburn
told the writer that he worked with his cacher was 
the cahnging of a quid of tobacco from one side of his
mouth to the other.  Radburn invariably did his own 
signing, but when he and Mike Kelley doubled up in
Boston he gave the only Mike the leeway once in a 
while.

THE PRESENT PITCHERS OF THE DAY (c

  There are some great pitchers doing work for both
the major leagues to-day.  When I speak of them I
comment on their work of four of five years.  No
pitcher should be judged by on year good, or one year 
bad.  The work of four or five years settled the status
of any pitcher.  Up to the time Russia impaired his 
skill, he was one of the premier pitchers of the country.
When Joe Corbett left the Baltimore Club, he was at 
the very height of his skill, and the writer was very

*

sorry to see him go. as he was above the average []
the pitchers in fielding and batting skill.  Breitenst[]
was another crack pitcher of the latter days.  []
men who have been doing great work for the past six 
or seven years and are still doing it, are Jack Powell 
of the St. Louis Browns, Philips, Griffiths, Callahan,
Nichols, Noahoue, Dineen, Hahn, Hughes, Young,
Tannehill, Waddell, Orth, and Madathewson.  There
are other young adn coming pitchers who have 
done excellent work last year.  But, as I have stated, 
it is those boys that earned their spurs by their long
service that I wish to comment on, and not the on-
year or two-year men.  Amongst that grand array of
pitchers just mentioned, Jack Powell, of the St. Louis
Browns, stands out boldly as one of the gamest and 
brainest pitchers that ever stood in teh box in teh crisis
of a great game.  Callahan, of all the modern pitchers,
is my ideal, when in proper form.  He has many attri-
butes of the great Radburn, when you consider his
batting and fielding.  Young and Nichols, have dem-
onstrated by their long and brilliant service to be
among the best boxmen of any period, but that little
fellow from Bloomington, who has weathered all storms
and is endowed with more brain than some pitchers
avoirdupois, and that when facing the sluggers, shows
the power of brain over matter.  This little man, for 
the length of time that he has done service in the major 
league has made him th epitching marvel of the mod-
ern slabmen.  His name is Clark Griffiths.  There are
some pitchers that have left the major leagues in the
past years that are worth mentioning.  Pink Hawley
is one; but the crackerjack with the stout hear and
nervy ways was John McMahon of the []

*

[] He was a counterpart of Powell in the crisis []
[] a game.
  Any slob can pitch when no men are on bases and 
the team behind them picking up base hits, adn the
outfielders making impossible catches.  But show me
the pitcher with teh bases loaded and stop the opposing
side from scoreing, and I will say he is worth the 
highest salary that can be paid to a professional man.

FIRST BASE (c

  The guardians of the initial bag have gained more
importance in the last sixteen years than ever before.  
At one time a first basemen was only supposed to stand
on the bag like a post and receive a ball.  The catch-
ing of the ball is only the minor part of the many other
features of playing the bag to-day.  The great first
basemen of the past that came in with the introduction
of professional baseball were Joe Start of the Atlan-
tics of Brooklyn, West Fizzler of the Athletics of Phil-
adlphia, Goldie of the Unions of Morsiana and McAttee 
of the old Haymakers of Lansingburg, N.Y.  There
were others, but these men were conspicuously the best,
namely, Start, Fizzler and McAttee.  Joe Start by
all means was the star first basemen of that time and
continued so for many years.  Joe was a natural first-
class let-hand batter, and a man of fine stature.  Fizz-
ler was a man of small stature, but a crack frist baseman
for those times, and no ball came to him too speedy,
and I assure you that there were some great infield
throwers in those times, too.  We pass another mile-
stone in the game's history, and new men enter for
[] namely, Ed Mills, James (Chub)

*

Sullivan, Jno. Morell of Boston, Roger Connor, Martin
Powell of Detroit, Delman of teh old St. Louis Browns, 
Chas. Gould of the old Cincinnati Reds, Tim Murnane, 
first of the Athletics of Philadelphia, and later of Boston
and Latham (Juice).  As Anson began to play
first base in '79 in Chicago, we might as well place him
among those great stars, and also Don Brouthers who
played for Buffalo and Detroit.  Joe Start was still
amonsgst those newcomers and held his own.  He final-
ly retired in '86.  If I remember right, it was with the 
Washington League team.
  It would be invidious on the part of the writer to
state who was teh brightest star of that number, but[]
from all accounts of the experts of that time, James 
"Chub" Sullivan they claimed was the most natural
and finished of them all.  He died, however, early in 
his life, which prevented a porper estimate of his abil-
ity.  I saw h im only in three games when he played
with Cincinnati.
  A batting first baseman in a major league should al-
ways rank ahead of a fielder, and I am positive Sulli-
van did not rank as a batter with Anson, Connor,
Brouthers and Joe Start.  Tim Murnane outclassed
them all as a base runner, and equalled in fielding
the very best.  Tim may also be placed as the pioneer of
heady base running.  Cal McVeight, who began his 
ball playing with the Cincinnati Reds in '69, and after-
wards caught for Boston, was also a first-class batting
baseman for the time he played.
  But for the length of period the bag was played to []
the passing away of the second bunch of first basemen, []
taking batting and base running as the first considera-
tion, the honors were bunched between Joe Start, An-

*

son, Brouthers and Roger Connor.  Connor, of the four, 
was the most modern in his style of fielding, and a great
and timely batsman.  Start began with the introduc-
tion of professional baseball in '65 or '66 and held his 
own for twenty years, and he did it with that left-
handed easy swing of the bat.  But old Capt. Anson, 
and I say it in simple and honest justice, that he was 
a great batter before the curve; he was a great batter
during the curve, and any kind of a curve at that.  He 
kept pace with all kind of deliveries year after year,
nor did he care whether it was a drop or a rasie, an in-
shoot or an out-shoot; he simply shot them all away
and far over the fielders' head, and I will unhesitat-
ingly state hwas the most aggressive batsman that
ever faced a pitcher in the history of baseball.
  The beginning of '82 brought two or three other 
young men inot the major league ranks to gain fame
and fortune on that first bag.  One of those was a mod-
est young fellow, lean, lanky and tall, that was once a 
pitcher up in one of the Iowa towns.  He had a volcano 
fire burning inside him to make himself famous, and on
that very first base.  This young man was originally
from Chicago.  He arrived in St. Louis in answer
to a call to report on a Sunday morning ot the new
Browns, of '82, who were to play their first exhibition
game.  Ned Cuthbert was teh manager of teh Browns,
and Al Spink, originally of the Sporting News, was
the only single well-wisher of this young man on that
day at Sportman's Park.  Cuthbert was undecided
whether to play Walker a regular first baseman from 
the East on the bag that Sunday afternoon or this 
young man from the Iowa prairies.  Before the game
started Cuthbert asked the young fellow how he would

*

like to play center field, as he wished to play a []
who came from Brooklyn in his regular position []
first.  This modest, but determined young fellow fold
him that he came down to play the bag or nothing.
Ned was at once struck with teh confidence of teh new-
comer, so he told him all right, go on and play it and
he would put the other man in center field.  That big
crowd on this particular Sunday watched this young
fellow walk to the bag and take his position.  The first
batter up for the opposing side hit a high foul fly to-
wards the right-field bleachers, the right fielder started
for teh ball, but teh crowd saw he could not get to it,
but they never realized that this unsophisticated young 
first baseman had also started for that ball, but he had. 
As all hopes were given up of the fielder getting to it,
like a meteor that comes across the horizon, this young 
fellow started and clutched the descending ball on the 
dead run.  The audience was electrified to see this new 
and unknown newcomer dash out inot territory that 
was never trespassed on before by a first baseman.
They cheered and cheered as he was returning to his
bag.  After the enthusiasm had ceased, some one 
called out to teh catcher: "Say, what is that first base-
man's name?"  The player yelled back: "His name is
Comiskey."  Yes! it was Charles Comiskey, the owner
of the present Chicago American League Club, who
was destined to revolutionize the whole style of playing
first base.
  Some years ago I heard that a certain actor named
Louis Aldridge was given a certain inferior part in a 
play called "The Danites."  This part was considered
a fourth-class part to that which was to be interpreted 
by the star, but the talent and individuality of Aldridge []

*

made it the star part of the play, so it was the same as
first base with Comiskey.  He made it for years that 
[] position of that famous infield of teh renowned St.
Louis Browns.  It was nothing to see him at one time
out in right field knocking down a base hit and the
pitcher or Billy Robinson, 2nd basemen, making the put-
out at first base.  At another time he would be seen
covering the home plate while the catcher and pitcher 
were after teh sphere.  His intuition in defining the
thoughts of his oppponents and making his play accord-
ingly, placed him head and shoulders over any man
that played that position before or after.  In the crisis
of many hard-fought games of those years from '83 to
'89, Comiskey in that infield was in the thickest of the 
fight--instructing and enthusing his infield to make
the proper play.  No game was too close that he did 
not see the weak point in the defense of teh opposition,
and he himself, with that celerity of foot, would dash
through and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
He was with John Ward and Mike Kelley, one of the 
greatest base runners in the history of the game.  I
do not mean dress-parade running, to show the aud-
ience that he could run, irrespective of how the game 
stood, but Comiskey's base running was done at a time
and place when it meant victory for his side.  He was
far from being the machine batter that Anson, Connor,
----- Start and other first basemen were, but as a run 
getter, which means the combination of hitting, wait-
ing, bunting and base running, he outclassed the other
four.  This fulsome praise is not given to Comiskey
because he started his baseball career under me; not
at all, but all the leading experts who saw him from
[] will say that he was the greatest first base-

*

man in the history of the game.  To-day we have 
some finished experts guaring that bag, namely, Jake
Beckley, Tenny, Jack Doyle, Cary, Dan McGan, Dillon
and John Anderson.  Jacke Beckley, Tenny, Jack 
Doyle and Cary stand out conspicuously amongst the 
present first basemen on account of the long service
they have given to the game.  Cary and Dan McGan
are right in line with the rest, but as the batter always
take precedence over the fielder, in a major league 
company, Jake Beckley's bat has caused him to out-
live many a youngster.  Doyle in porper shape is near-
est to Comiskey in his quickness of brain than any of
the modern first basemen.  Remember, I am taking
the standard of Doyle's playing from his Baltimore and
New York days.  No practical ball man can gainsay 
but that the man with the brightest torch surpasses
the one with the lesser, in fact the more intellectual the
man is the better he can play the base.  No dummy
can play the bag and play it right in a major league.

SECOND BASEMAN. (c

  The famous second baseman of professional ball 
who played it up to the beginning of the '70's were Al
Reach (now manufacturer of baseballs and part owners 
of the Philadelphia Club), Jimmy Wood of the original
White Stockings of Chicago, who came from the Eck-
fords of Brooklyn, Lipman Pike and Bob Ferguson of
the Atlantics of Brooklyn; however, Ferguson showed
brilliantly afterwards at third, where he will be spoken
of amongst the men who played that position.  Reach 
and Wood were conspicuously the best of the second
basemen of early professional baseball []

*

heavy hitter and above teh average as a fielder in those
early days.  Jimmy Wood was th star of that time 
in all departments of the game, and if it were not for
the unforunate acident whereby he lost his leg he
would have continued to be a star for many years.
From '74 to '84 the game held in its ranks some of the 
greatest second basemen that ever put on a pair of ball
shoes, beginning with Ross Barnes (first of Rockford,
Ill.), following the list down to John Burdock, Jack
Ferrell of Providence, Joe Quest, Fred Pfeffer, Fred
Dunlap, Bill Robinson (of St. Louis Browns), Joe Ger-
hardt and John McFee, we find among those bright 
luminaries of the second bag some that were never
equalled and others that were never surpassed.  Yet
you will hear them say to-day those men did not cover
the ground like our up-to-date boys.  Listen, you old
followers of the game, who saw those bright lights
shine--John Burdock could be seen at one time scoop-
in up a ground ball in right field on teh dead run that
had passed the first baseman, and retiring his man at 
first.  Ross Barnes at another time would be seen to 
start like a flash from his position between first and 
second and knock down a bounding ball that passed
over second base, and with that characteristic chain
lightning movement of his get the ball to first before 
his man.  Jack Ferrell of Providence, the brainiest 
man of them all, in my opinion, that ever played the 
base, would be seen at deep right short looking for a 
batter that was to hit in that direction while base run-
ners were first and third, yet, when both men started 
to steal, one for home and the other for second, Ferrell 
[] in another position and had the ball back in the 
[] his man at the plate.  These
[]

*

kinds of players were for these kinds of men, and []
plays were made only for those men, and those kinds
of men must have the mental force and mechanical
speed to execute those kinds of plays, whether they are
on the ball field to-day or twenty years ago.  To con-
tinue, we look at the graceful Pfeffer and see him go
over near right field bleachers and get balls that the
first baseman cannot get to.  We remember McPhee
when he began his career in Cincinnati in '82 go out
for years into center field and pull down short field that
ordinarily used to drop safe.  Oh, no, those boys of 
that period of professional baseball covered no ground.  
Bill Roonson of the famous Browns of the middle '80's 
executed more tricks around that bag, adn that with-
out any spiking, than the average present day second 
baseman ever dreamed of.  This knowledge of those 
famous men was not gleaned by the writer from news-
paper reading.  I saw them and have had my clubs 
against them in many a strife.  To illustrate the minds
of some of those ball players in its capacity and limit, 
I would say, first, there is a capacity to a pint of water 
and a capacity and a limit to a gallon.  When a pint is
full, to put in any more is to slop over, so it is with the
gallon; yet we know the gallon has larger capacity
than the pint and will hold more of any kind of liquid,
so it is with the small brains and large ones of ball play-
ers.  The man with the "pint" brain cannot take any
more than its capacity or it will slop over, so for him to 
keep pace with the times or absord any new ideas is im-
possible, as it is for teh pint to take any more than its
full extent; but the man with the gallon capacity will
take more until it is full, so this is the best illustration
[]

*

[] catch a new idea, nor can a class of managers, 
either.  The two major leagues of to-day, both Na-
tional and American, have on their payrolls some of 
the most brilliant second basemen that ever wore a 
uniform.  Tom Daly of the Chicago Whites, Dick
Padden of St. Louis, Lajio of Cleveland, Williams of
Baltimore, Gleason of Detroit, Demonttreville of Wash-
ington, Murphy, the new man of the Philadelphia's and
Ritchie of Pittsburg, all these men are good, and some
very good; but, as brains come first always with aver-
age mechanical speed, we single out Tom Daly and
Dick Padden, and say both of you go to the head of the
class.  For bold Napoleon Lajio, the chivalrous French-
man, we tap him on the shoulder and say: you are in 
no class, my boy; you are ust the best hitting second 
basemen in the history of the game, and that settles
you, La Belle France.

THIRD BASEMEN. (c

  The conspicuously good third baseman, contempo-
raneous with professional baseball were Charley Smith
of teh Atlantic of Brooklyn and Candy Nelson of the
Mutuals of New York, but Nelson was not in Smith's
class.  The others came later and many good ball-
players came from that side of the diamond. Third 
base has always been a very hard spot for certain men
to fill, as the balls generally come pretty wicked from
the bat.  Before the old rule of the fair foul was abol-
ished, it took no ordinary man to play that base.  The
talk nowadays about the bagmen being fretted to
death about those little bunts.  What if he had []
[]

*

foul hitting to the present generation of patrons before
I got any further.  It meant that any ball that was hit
in front of the plate on fair grounds, that went on foul
grounds before reaching third or first was fair.  Here
were some batsmen like Ross Barnes who had this fair 
foul hitting down as fine as McGraw (and other have 
the bunt, pasting a ball at you with rifle-shot speed if
you moved in towards the plate.  Why, some of those 
men had to play on foul grounds to the right of third
base, sometimes, to field the ball from some crack bat-
ters that made a specialty of hitting that way.  No 
"gimpy" arm could play third with those rules.  There
were hard lines in those days for the weak-kneed third 
baseman to get those fair foul hitters.  Remember,
also, reader, the ball was pitched underhand in those
times and the ball almost twice as elastice as it is now,
and the baseman was not protected with modern up-
holstery in the shape of door mats and padded gloves
on their hands, either.  The man who stood out boldly
ahead of his compeers in facing this cannonading of the 
fair foul hitting was Bob Ferguson.  I have seen this 
game player face this terrific hitting around third and
pick up the hottest grounders, and that with an un-
gloved hand, and field his men out at first with the
greatest of ease.  Fred Waterman, of teh old Cincin-
nati Reds was another good third baseman of those
early days.  Pinkham and Myrelie of the old Chicago 
Whites also alternated in that position from the pitch-
er's box.  Ezra Sutton of the old Cleveland, and Joe
Batton, of the Athletics of Philadelphia, came in about
'70.  Sutton for years afterwards was considered one 
of the best third basemen of the country.  His throw-
ing being the bright particular feature of his []

*

[] good qualities.  Ferguson played the bag up to 
a late date.  Anson played third base for many years,
in fact, was about the first position he played with the
old Rockford Club of Illinois.  He began regularly 
when he came to Chicgao in '76 and played it
up to '79.  Other new men in that position 
made their appearance about '78 and '79 and sur-
passed in general playing the work of the former guar-
dians of that bag.  Of this great batch of third base-
men, Ned Williamson of the old Chicagos of the '80's,
Jerry Denny of Providence, Walter Latham of the St.
Louis Browns, Arthur Whitney, Hick Carpenter, Fred
Corey, Mulvy and nash, the above mentioned were
the stars of that position.  Amongst that number of
great players loom up th eforms of Williamson and
Jerry Denny.  When I consider such stars as Latham, 
Mulvy, Nash and others and say that Williamson and
Denny were the greatest of the group, in all that makes
one man superior to another, I do not think I am going 
too far.  Williamson never had an equal in that period
when fielding, base running, batting and throwing is
considered.  Denny was neck and neck with him in 
fielding, but in base running Ed surpassed him and had 
a little shade the better of Denny in hitting.  Denny 
covered an immense amount of ground, and no man
that ever played the bag excelled him in that feature
of the game, and only one equalled him, and that was 
Williamson.  Latham, whom the writer first gave his
major league engagement, namely, while manager of
the St. Louis Browns, (which was the year of '83), was
distinct in his style of playing third base.  While he 
was a rattling good fielder, he excelled More as a run-
getter for his team.  Taking him all and all, batting

*

base running and coaching, he was in a []
by himself, being original in everything he []
he was not of the heavy caliber of []
Denny, I think as a hustler in the game for []
he equalled, if not excelled, them.  Walter []
road to victory pretty well and many of game []
for the Browns that the world was oblivious []
ball in general is very ungrateful and misund []
Men get credit for things they never did, while []
who furnish the real brain and did the actual []
entirely forgotten.  Latham was never taken []
on account of his great humor on the field []
kind reader, there was a method in that []
cultured humor of this witty Yankee.  His []
ager, the writer, pays him this tribute, that []
nality, humor, dash and enthusiasm, he never []
equal, but had bad imitators in his style of []
Of the present day third basemen there are []
tinct men that overshadow the rest.  John M []
when in good shape, stands with the rest []
things.  As an inside man, he beats Collins []
ley, but, strange also to say, Collins, in his style []
ing the manners is a duplicated of Ed Willi []
and Bradley in general is a counterpart of []
Denny.  Any of the old patrons of the game []
seen all these men will bear me out.  Collins, []
and easy, is Williamson to a nicety.  If any []
the poetry of action without affectation, it is []
Collins of the Boston Americans.  He makes []
work of the hardest hit balls, and the gam []
many years older before it produces another []
everything that makes an ideal player and []
Bradley has come fast and he will come []

*

[] to say about him.  John McGraw, divested 
[] stands alone in his knowledge of the
[] -getting.  The readers of this volume must 
[] that there are other good third basemen in 
[] leagues that are high-class: namely, Leach, 
[] McCormick, Irwin, Lave Cross, and Louder
[] sometimes is sensational in his stops of dif-
[] lls, while Casey is a student in working out a 
[] play.  Leach and Lave Cross are reliable men
[] which is a great quality in any player who 
[] the finishing play when things are going badly. 
[] are great with the tide, when matters are go-
[] way, but it takes a higher quality of teh tis-
[] flesh and blood to play against the tide, and all
[] ass major league managers know these men.

SHORTSTOPS. (c

[]my boy, be careful what you say now; don't give
[] praise to those old timers, or the present gen-
[] of short fielders will boycott your book; but, as 
[] stated in the preface, it is only one man's opinion
[].
  [] first clubs that introduced professional short-
[] represent them on the ball field were the At-
[] of Brooklyn, Mutuals of New York, Eckfords of 
[] lyn, Haymakers of Troy, Union of Morisianna,
[] of Washington and Athletics of Philadel-
phia.  There may have been others, but those are the
[] clubs who battled for championship honors.
[] of those clubs were paid either by percentage
[] receipts or given commercial positions in
[] ive cities, which was equivalent to pay.

*

Some cracking short fielders were developed by
these clubs--John Ratcliff of the Athletics of Philadel-
phia, Dick Pierce of the Atlantics of Brooklyn, Dever
of the New York Mutuals and Geo. Wright of the Unions 
of Morisianna.
  The players above mentioned were undoubtedly the 
crack men of the game's first professionals, and Geo.
Wright, Pierce and Ratcliff were the stars.  Ratcliff
was a very heavy hitter and a good all around player.
Pierce was a brainy scientific man, and he was the first 
to introduce a short snap hit that fell between the in
and outfielders.  Geo. Wrightwell Geo. Wright was in
a class clearly by himself, when all departments of the
game were considered, and he remained alone in this 
class for many years.  Wright was the pioneer of
brainy playing in the infield, and his style was copied 
by others afterwards.  I saw George first when I was
a mere boy in '69 with the Cincinnati Reds, and I saw
him consecutively for years up to '82, when he finished
with Providence, so I ought to have a fair knowledge
of his skill.  I have heard the question asked often 
within my hearing, did George Wright cover as much
ground of play as deep in the field as the present day
shortstop.  To analyze his style of playing, I will say 
he played deeper for certain batters, being one of the 
speediest throwers that ever figured in the game, he
could do it and catch the fastest man at that before he
got to first.  He was brain and nothing but brain in all 
his movements.  When a whole infield was going to 
pieces in the face of a tornado of hitting, Wright was
as cool as an iceberg, watching for the chance to put an 
end to the batting streak of his opponents.  Wright
[] mechanical requisite of a great player--he

*

was a base runner, batter, fielder and the swiftest
thrower that ever played in that position, and I am 
taking into consideration two other great throwers who 
occupied that position afterwards, namely, Bill Gleason
of the old Browns, Tom Burns and Ed Williamson,
latterly.  The old-timers that saw George in the Cin-
cinnati Reds infield and saw him on the Bostons after-
wards, saw the peerless George one time gather up a
ball that had passed third base on its way to left field,
and like a flash with a rifle shot throw settled his man
at first.  At another time you would see him going over 
second base, getting a ball gracefully on the dead run 
and retiring his man before he reached first base.
Wright covered any ground taht was ever covered.
If anyone equalled Wright it was Hugh Jennings up to
the time he left that position, which he was com-
pelled to on account of injury to his arm.  The
other great shortstops that were contemporaneous
with, or followed Wright, were Davy Force of
Washington, D.c. (who was called at that time the
Little George Wright.) Tom Cary, John Peters, Mona-
han, Bill Gleason of the St. Louis Browns, Glassockc,
John Ward, Sadie Hauck, Arthur Irwin, Tom Burns
and Billie McClellan.  Just look over those names, all
ye old lovers and followers of the game, and think of 
those stars of the short field that have passed away by 
the approach of time.  Mostly all those men were great
at different periods of their playing days until deterio-
ration of skill set in.  From '79 on to a good many 
years, Glasscock and Tom Burns shared the honors as
premiers of the shortstops.  Arthur Irwin was also a 
first-class man in taht position, and he and Jack Ferrell
of Providence executed many a lightning double play

*

that helped that Providence club to win the champion-
ship in '84.  John Ward, who retired from pitching 
after '83, when he came to New York from Providence, 
developed into one of the leading shortstops of the pro-
fession, if not the leader in that position up to '93.
John Ward was a first-class, brainy pitcher, and he was
more brainy at short,--besides being one of the best
base-runners in the history of the game.  While speaking
of Ward, I wish to inform the present generation of 
pitchers that Ward and Radburn alternated for a while
in '82 from the pitcher's box to right field, and some-
times from short field to the pitching lines.  While
Ward for three or four years was carrying off the honors
of the National League at short, there was another man
in the American Association named Gleason, of the St.
Louis Browns, outclassing all his colleagues in the
American Association, and especially so in the depart-
ments of aggressive batting and base running.  In
the famous series for teh world's championship be-
tween the Chicagos, champions of the National League
of '86 and the St. Louis Browns of the same year,
champions of the American Association, demonstrated
that Gleason was one of the nerviest players that ever
stood up at the plate.  This series between the Browns 
and Chicago were not only for the world's highest hon-
ors in base ball, but also for a king's ransom of $18,000.,
the entire gate receipts.  It was a series of seven games,
that is, the club that would win four out of seven
should be declared the winner.  The final game []
the sixth of the seven.  The Chicagos had won two []
of three at home; they then came to St. Louis and []
Browns won three straight.  The last game, which was
the sixth of the series, the City of St. Louis was on tip-

*

top of excitement, Sportsmans' Park was thronged
and packed from gate to fence and from stand to
bleacher.  If the Browns won this game it would settle
all; if they lost it they still had another chance, as the
series would be three and three with the seventh game
to decide all.  The Chicago team had Clarkson and the
mighty Kelley as a battery in that memorable contest.
A.G. Spalding, for the first time in years, sat on the
Chicago bench, watching eagerly every movement of 
his club.  Anson, the leader and captain of the might-
iest aggregation of ball-players that was ever organized,
was sure of victory.  After the Chicago club had done
their first practice--retired to their bench, when they
heard the gong ring for teh Browns to appear.  At the 
sound of the bell the nervy Browns emerged from their
dressing-rooms, which was a little house in the extreme 
right field.  They formed in line which they usually
did, which was composed of a flank of Comisky, Rob-
inson, Gleason, Latham, Jim O'Neal, Curt Welsh, Dave
Fouts, Carruthers and Bushong.  They came across
that field to the diamond with a nervy and steady step.
Cheer after cheer rent the air, hats were waived and the
heart of St. Louis beat fast to see the gallant Browns 
take their positions on the diamond for teh preliminary
work.  After fifteen minutes of the fastest practice
that that famous organization ever put up, the gong 
again rang for the beginning of the contest.  This sar-
dine-packed mass of humanity cheered and cheered 
every movement of a club that brought four champion-
ship flags to old Sportsmans' Park.  As inning after 
inning passed on.  The game varied.  One time the
Browns would be ahead and then again the Chicagos. 
In that memorable contest, Gleason kept sending in

*

run after run off the mighty Clarkson with his aggressive
bat.  The Chicagos led up to the last part of the game
when the nervy Latham drove a ball over Dalyrim-
ple's head in left field that tied the score and put the 
Browns on equal terms with the Chicagos.  The roar
of Niagara was like the sound of child's prattle com-
pared with the cheering of taht vast assemblage.  The
distinct noise could be heard at the bulletin boards of
the Globe-Democrat office, two miles away.  In the in-
ing afterwards Curt Welch got around to third base,
scored on a wild pitch of Clarkson's and the game was
won by St. Louis.  In commemoration of the great bat-
ting of Gleason of that game, he was carried by the peo-
ple across the field to the Browns' dressing-rooms.  It
was a great day for Gleason and it will go down in base-
ball history of St. Louis as the greatest ball game of
the century.
  Other great shortstops have come and gone from the 
game since that time, especially one great batsman,
Ed McKean, formerly of Cleveland.  The two major league 
clubs of today have in their ranks some won-
derful men, and some of them are the equals of teh best
of the past.
  Before commenting on the present short fielders,
allow me to state that one left that position before his 
time on account of an injury to his arm.  It was Hugh
Jennings, who is today playing first base for the Phil-
adelphia league team.  It has been a mooted and de-
batable question for many years amongst the ac-
knowledged critics of the game who saw George Wright
and Jennings play--as to which of the two kings of 
that position were the best; that they were the two
best men in that position in their time, no one will

*

deny.  To analyze the playing and personality of 
both, I will humbly say--that in all the mechanical 
features of the game, batting, base running and field-
ing, Wright excellend Jennings only in one, and that
was throwing.  The question might be asked of me
was Jennings as brainy and as cool as Wright in the 
crisis of a great game?
  Yes!
  Did Jennings cover as much ground as Wright to 
the left and right of him?  Yes!  Could Jennings
carry the moral weight in a hotly contested game as
Wright did? and enthuse his fellow players with con-
fidence to win?  Yes!--Jennings in his day could do 
all that.  Then where was the distinction in the per-
sonality of both men, where one excelled the other,
and counted in a friction of a contest?  This was teh
distinction--both were the kings of that position in
the entire history of the game, but I say boldly that
Hugh Jennings had the most magnetic personality
that ever made up a winning shortstop than any oc-
cupant of that position, and that is where he excelled
Wright.  Geo. Wright in his temperment was a host 
in himself on the ball field, but to the close chapter
on shortstops, I consider Jennings the king of them 
all (in the history of the game) while he had the proper
use of his arm.
  The present men who occupy the left of the dia-
mond are first-class and some of them are stars of
stars, notably Wallace of the St. Louis Browns, Cor-
coran of Cincinnati and Long of Boston.  Let it be 
said of Long that his long and phenomenal work in
that position places him right in the front rank of
latter day shortstops.  George Davis is a first class

*

batting shortstop and has been for years.  Dahlen
of Brooklyn, Cross of Philadelphia, Elberfelt of De-
troit, Parent of Boston, Conroy of Pittsburg, Tinker
of Chicago, and it must be forgotten also that E[]
of Washington has played that position in a first class 
manner for years.  Those men mentioned are high
class players and have demonstrated it for years.
Two men I noticed in that position, namely Elberfield
and Tinker will be top notchers for years to come.

LEFT FIELDER (c

  There has been many a star that has occupied
that plateau of ground of the national game, called
left field.  I never knew how important that position 
was--until I saw the great game between the old
Chicago White Stockings and the Mutuals of New
York, which ended in the first whitewash game, namely
9 to 0.  This contest took place in Dexter Park in 1870,
the left fielder of the Mutuals on that day was named
Patterson and all through that unique contest was 
pulling down fly after fly after long chases.  The
fielders in those days with that underhand pitching
and elastic ball, had no chance to go to sleep between
innings.  The crack left fielders that came to the
front with professional ball and held their own for
many years against all comers were Jack Chapman,
John Hatfield, Andy Leonard and Ned Cuthbert.
These men, gentle reader, were not mediocre in any
department of the game but great.  Andy Leonard
never had a superior in that position.  When all
requisites of a major league player are considered, as
a thrower from left field he never had an equal.  []

*

[] of course played many position in those 
days, and as a thrower, there was no one in his class,
[] as Leonard played left field up to the time he
quit the diamond, we must take his standard of play-
ing from the time he occupied that position.  Cuth-
bert and Leonard outclassed all new comers for years.
"Cuthy" was one of the crack batters and base run-
ners of his time.   Chapman and Leonard were models 
in physique and the very type of base ball athletes.
Leonard, however, was the beau-ideal of a fielder,
which he showed in all his movements.  Leonard
could come in from the field and play short in a first
class manner.  Beginning with '78, another crop of 
left fielders sprung up in that left garden, namely Joe
Horning, Jim O'Neal, Dalyrimph, Stovy, Tom York,
Wood and Jim O'Rourke, although the great Jim
started his professional baseball career on first base
for Boston.  Charley Jones was also one of the great
batting fielders of those times.  Those stalwarts just
enumerated were about equal in many things, some
excelled the others in batting and base running, es-
pecially Dalrymph, but he did not possess the high
fielding skill of some of the others, but none of those
players equalled the standard in some things of Andy
Leonard.
  The left fielders of today in the major league are good,
and some very good, that equal in brilliancy in many 
departments the best of the past.  The boys who have
earned their spurs in that position are Joe Kelley,
Delehanty, Clark Burkett, and we can also add Mike
Donlin to that list.  Of course Donlin has not played
the field only a fraction of the time that the others
[] but nevertheless he is in that class and will

*

prove it in his work in the future.  There are other
good fielders and hitters in the two major leagues, 
notably Mertes, but no one can gainsay but that the 
first mentioned four are the stars of the profession.
Delehanty is the best batting left fielder in the history
of the game, and I am putting him at a high premium
at that, when it is considered that one of the most
natural batters that stood before a pitcher was Jim
O'Neil of the old Browns.  For all around fielding in 
that position it lies between Joe Kelley, Fred Clark
and Jesse Burkeett.  Clark is a cracking major league 
batter, and has been one of the stars in that position
since he joined the National League.  Of all the fielders
today occupying that position, Joe Kelly must be 
considered the most versatile at the bat, taking into
consideration the many ways he has of getting to 
first base, but the superiority of handling the cudgel
out and out belongs to the Old Gladiator, Delehanty.

CENTER FIELDER (c

  Center field is a position that many a man has im-
mortalized himself in.  Catches have been made in that 
field by celebreties of the past and present that have
enthused people which shook stands and bleachers.
The fielders of that position that entered the arena
with the advent of professional ball were Dave Eggler
of the New York Mutuals, Fred Crane of the Atlantic[]
of Brooklyn, Count Sensenderfer of the Philadelphia 
Athletics and Harry Wright, (the first real tutor []
professional baseball.)  There were others, but []
[]

*

other crack center fielder of those times was Mart
King of the old Haymakers of the Chicagos of
1870 and 1871.  From '74 on many a shining star in 
that position has come and twinkled out.  Gore of the
Chicagos of teh early 80's, Dick Johnston, Paul Hines,
Ned Hanlon, and Curt Welsh of the famous Browns.
The writer has already stated--that he is drawing 
entirely from memory, and should any one be omitted
in this position, allowance must be made.  The first
center fielders of the game's profession, nemely Sen-
senderfer, Harry Wright and Fred Crane were all skill-
ful and gentlemanly and gave tone to their calling.
The second crop of fielders however, were the best in
skill, and a few of them were never duplicated and 
some never surpassed in that position.  Paul Hines
was the first to dazzle the entire baseball public by his 
brilliant fielding in center field.  Just think of a man
six feet tall with a well rounded physique--that was 
Hines.  He was as elastic on his feet when he first 
entered the profession as a bounding deer.  When
he first came to Chicago he demonstrated that he was 
one of the most natural batters that ever stood up to
the plate.  Paul carries on his body today marks of
those wild and woolly pitchers who used to take a hop,
skip, and a jump within the lines of their position
and throw overhand at the distance of 45 and 50 feet.
The other fielders that came in just as Paul was de-
teriorating but added a new feature to their work,
namely aggressive base running, were Gore, Hanlon and 
[] Welsh, they were past masters in that, but two
[] most sensational fielders nearly of that time
[]

*

fielders, Hoye, when he first entered the National 
League under the writer's management at Washing-
ton, D.C., jumped into public favor at once, not only
by his brilliant and sensational fielding, but batting
and base running.  McAlleer for years made the ter-
ritory of centerfield a dangerous place to hit a ball 
and a great many of his catches bordered on the mar-
velous.  Gore and Hanlon were heavy left hand bats-
men, but as Edward had always the brightest torch
he did many things in that position others did not
see, and his base running, for years with Detroit made
him one of the most valuable men in the profession.
  Curt Welsh.  When we mention Curt Welsh of the
invincible Browns of the American Assocation, we 
stop and want to see were we can place him as a center
fielder and everything else that makes a winning ball-
players.  He never had a superior and it is a question 
if he had an equal, playing that position.  He was off
at the crack of the bat and he seemed at once to devine
where the ball was to light.  His batting and base
running was a part and parcel of each other.  He sub-
ordinated everything of the dress parade order in his
desire to get to that first bag and win for his side.  I
do not believe Curt Welsh ever looked at the average.
His average could not be put on paper, but the hidden 
average he made for his club counted more than all
the dress parade ball players put together.  His gen-
eration has gone, nor do his counterparts of dupli-
cates live.  The late Welsh had a magnetic person-
ality, that always enthused his comrades to win.  No
wonder the Browns won the pennant four times in 
succession with those hustling spirits like
Gleason, Latham []

*

ruthers.  there are fielders today if they get a couple
of hits they are satisfied.  We have a few men of
Welsh's style however today, namely McGraw, Pat
Donovan, Jennings, Keeler and some others.  The
players of today that occupy center field are some
brilliant men, beginning with Jones of the White 
Stockings, who is not only a versatile batter and run-
ner, but a fielder of the highest order, continuing on 
to Barrett, Fultz, Harley, Hemphill, Bay, Beaumont,
Dobbs and Brody.  All these men are number one
fielders and fine types of physical manhood.  A major 
league fielder, as every man well knows, must have the
first two requisites to make a star in that position,
namely, batting and base running.  I do not mean a 
sprinter going to first.  A runner ends at first, base
running begins afterwards.  It is not the legs that 
makes the base runner, but it is the head, after reaching
first.

RIGHT FIELDERS (c

  Right field at the beginning of professional baseball 
was the despised position on the ball field.  It was the 
storehouse of brokendown men, and when the ques-
tion arose, Where will we play this fellow? Don't think 
he is much good? the answer would come back: Put him
in right field.  To play right field in a major league now
adays the man must be the brainiest of the three fielders.
The plays of that position have entirely changed in
late years and a man must be a quick thinker and 
must know what the play is as he is coming in to meet
the ball and must be ready to checkmate any witty
base runners tactics.  The past good right fielders were
[]

*

Heubell of the old Philadelphia Athletics.  The posi-
tion for years was filled with mediocre men until Jake
Evans of teh old Clevelands drew attention to it by
his clever work.  The next man who introduced a 
new feature to that position was the peerless Hugh
Nichol, (late manager of Rockford club) who made a 
specialty of throwing men out at first base from right
field.  Nichol for some years was the sensation of that 
position for the St. Louis Browns.  The writer took
Nichol from the old Chicago club and brought him to
St. Louis.  Next was the redoubtable and original 
Jim Fogerty of the Philadelphia club, who played that 
position and his penomenal work was the talk of the
National League in the years '86-'87-'88 and '89.  Along
with Keeler, Jim Fogerty, outside of his sensational
fielding, was one of the game's greatest base runners.
He was high class every way; possessing a genial dis-
position that made him hundreds of friends everywhere
he played.  Would that there were Forgerty's in
the game.  Tom Brown, the present umpire of the
National League also played that position and played
it well.  He was a wonderful runner, and if I am not
in error, he was the fastest man going to first base in
the history of the game.  Mike Kelly played that 
position, but we will let Mike alone, he stands no com-
parison nor will I compare him.  There is a saying 
that "you must not fetter genius" and another say-
ing that "mediocrity commits no errors."  Of the
two sayings the latter one fits the late lamented Kelley.
Today there are some excellent men playing right field
and Donovan is one of them when you take him all 
in all, but I declare to the entire baseball world []
[] is a modest little man out in that field []

*

been there since 1894 that stands no comparison with 
any one in the entire history of baseball.  He is as
far ahead of his compeers in speed (which means all)
as the New York Empire express is ahead of the milk
trains that gather up cans between Albany and Schen-
ectady.  His name is Keeler, the most finished and
scientific batsman in the entire history of baseball and
you can add to that his wonderful fielding, throwing
and base running.  Keeler never had an equal in the 
entire history of professional baseball.  I have seen 
him play since the year of 1894 up to the present time.
Players came and go year out and year in and will for
many years, but not players with the calibre and per-
sonality of Keeler.  There is a dividing line and close
distinction between players and player.  There is the
cold mechanical and machine ball player, who shows
up well on paper and to the superficial audience, but
there is alos the impetuous, dashing, and magnetic 
spirit, who enthuses his fellow comrades on to victory,
and causes confusion in the opposition by the friction
of his style of playing.  Keeler, like all great men in 
any profession is retiring and modest, and does not 
wear snow bells to let people know that he is around.
This is Billy Keeler honestly analyzed.  Before I close 
this chapter on the great right fielders of the
game, Tom McCarty, who was with the Browns of the
latter 80's, and afterwards of Boston, must not be
forgotten.  McCarthy was a high class major league
player and had the fire and dash of the ideal winner.
He and Hugh Duffy, while playing the Boston outfield
introduced more points in playing for different styles of
batters than was ever known before.  Hugh Duffy
[] have lost some of his major league []

*

but at that, you could blindfold and place him in
the outfield, and tell him who the batters were as they
came to the plate, and I venture to say he could grope
his way to the spot where that style of a batter gener-
ally hit to, and that is more than some major league
fielders could do today with their eyes wide open.

"RINGERS--RINGED." (c

  About the last of the '70's and early 80's there was
a great practice amongst the smaller cities of the north-
west and sruurounding villages to "ring in" on each
other outside players from Chicago and other cities.
There were two cities in upper Iowa that were bitter 
rivals in baseball, namely Decorah and Crescoe.  The
habit of one of those cities was to bring the players to
their towns, give them jobs temporarily, and then bet
on their club against their rival city.  Chicago was the
market for this supply of "ringer-in players."  Dur-
ing this particular summer Decorah made a match 
with Crescoe for a certain date.  The Decorah manager 
went to Chicago immediately and secured five Chicago 
city players, and gave them ten-day jobs in various 
places in the city, with the pretensions of making 
them regular residents, Crescoe was honest in its in-
tentions and expected to give battle with its regular
team.  They had no idea of the trick of their sister
city to collect outside players to beat them.  At that
time the whole country went stark mad in betting on
baseball.  All kinds of bets were offered on Decorah
by those that were on the "inside," and knew of the 
five "imports," who had fake jobs in Decorah []
great game finnaly came off--and poor Crescoe []

*

[] good and hard on the betting exchange--and came
near bankrubting some of the Crescoe farmers.  The
whole plot was revealed after the game.  Revenge was
planned to get even with Decorah, and revenge it
should be and no mistake.  The farmers around 
Crescoe and citizens of that town said Decorah should 
suffer for this gigantic cheat.  A traveling man from
Dubuque, Ia., was one of the chief victims, and this
scheme of Decorah was to be offset and he would do 
the whole planning.
  Revenge he did have doubly and trebly.  As a re-
turn mtach was arranged a deep plot was laid by this
astute traveling man from Dubuque.  Crescoe said
nothing to Decorah about her counterfeit players, as
she was to do some "ringing-in" herself, and a ring
that would be heard all over the state.  On the other
hand Decorah was not satisfied by retaining the five
original Chicago players, but reinforced them by two 
more from the prairies of that city--making in total 
seven.  Crescoe, however, with the traveling salesman
as their manager went deep and ingenious into their
scheme to get square with Decorah.  The Dubuque
team of 1879, which the writer was the organizer 
and manager were resting on their oars after winning
the championship of the northwest.  The Dubuque
team composed Tom Sullivan of St. Louis, Radbourne,
Lapham, Loftus, Comisky, the two Gleason brothers,
Billy Taylor and Reis.  The great Radbourne was on
the threshold of his greatness.  This was the year 
before he joined the national league, and he was ready
for any scheme where there was fun and a little pay.
[] Taylor who died some years ago in Florida, was 
[] the most natural ball players that ever donned
[]?

*

a uniform.  He demonstrated it afterwards in Pitts-
burg by pitching one day and catching the next.  []
those two were the battery that the traveling man
engaged.  Rad was ever in his element when it came
to the task of making pretenders lay down their bats.  
At that time he could give 50 strikes to a Chicago City 
League player, and he wouldn't touch the ball.  All
arrangements were made for Taylor and Radbourne 
to go to Crescoe on a farm near that city, and remain
there until the day of the match.  Their line of business
was to watch the other farm hands toss hay, etc., and
men of the ball field have passed out of the flesh, but
often did the great Radbourne convulse me with
laughter, describing his life on that farm, while waiting
for the great game.  Rad and Taylor could play a 
Reuben and play it well.  They were treated on that 
farm like kings and lords, and all Crescoe was chuck-
ling to themselves on the cards they had up their 
sleeves for Decorah.  Here was the position of the
two cities, one week before the match.  Decorah 
had seven Chicago players with the addition of two
or three or her own.  Crescoe had her two stalwart
farm hands to be added to seven of her own men.
Decorah put watch on Crescoe to see if they were 
getting any new men, but no new faces were seen on
the team while Crescoe was practicing for teh great
match.  Radbourne and Taylor never appeared with 
the Crescoe team while they were practicing.  There 
was an air of mystery about the latter city that De-
corah could not understand.  Crescoe held their secret
well as this traveling man closed all leaks.  The game
was the talk of that section of teh country, and Crescoe

*

took every bet that Decorah could muster.  Men had 
[] and every confidence in Radbourne and Taylor.
They knew they were robbed by Dacorah in the last
game, and they were boiling hot to get even.  Decorah
had detective in Crescoe up to the afternoon of the 
game, but no new faces were seen.  What could this 
mean?  Crescoe was backing their club and never
spoke of any new players.  The traveling man had ar-
ranged for the novel appearance of Radbourne and
Taylor on the day of the game.  The great day of the
match opened up bright and clear.  From early morn
to noon wagons were pouring into Crescoe loaded
with people from the surrounding country to see the
game that was the topic of conversation for three
weeks.  Excursions on the railroads came up from
Decorah with people who were eager to bet on their
invincible team.  The Chicago contingent of players
urged their friends to take all kinds of bets and they 
were going to make a holy show of the Crescoe "yaps"
--not thinking of what they were going against.  It
was a free ground where no admission was charged,
but the playing field was protected by a rope.  The
Decorah team when they arrived at the grounds was
cheered immensely by their friends.  They com-
menced their practice and a beautiful dress parade one
it was.  They caught the ball in all fantastic shapes,
which set their adherents wild with delight, and cor-
respondingly depressed the followers of the Crescoe
club.  The artistic display of picking balls up with
one finger bewildered the countrymen.  Bets were
called out by the friends of the Decorah club, but
Crescoe was on hand to take them.  Any practical 
[] knows what a dress parade means before a 

*

country audience.  It is to scare the opposing club. 
Well after those wafer boys of Chicago prairies and
city left the diamond, the awkward and ungainly
oaks of Crescoe appeared, but they were minus their
battery.  They threw the ball around awhile but the
contrast between their dress parade and the "laddas"
was decidedly in favor of Decorah.  Bu dear reader
there was one thing those Crescoe boys could do--
they could hit a little.  The original battery of the Cres-
coe club had not yet appeared, but their absence was 
explained by their manager, that they could not get 
off from their work until a certain time in the day,
but they would be on hand in plenty time to being
the game.  About this time a farmer appeared with
a load of hay whose top was covered with about twenty
farm hands who came along to witness the game.
The farmer insisted on driving near the ropes, but
they drove him back and his team to the right side of
the diamond.  The traveling man was there for Crescoe
pilotting the whole business.  A cry was set up by
the whole crowd for the game to start, but Crescoe 
said they could not commence the game until their
two players arrived, (it was not intended they would 
appear) but they knew they would be there soon,
and as one of them was their pitcher they would
rather let the game go by default than begin without
him.  There was an immense crowd surrounded
the field, which was composed of wagons, horses and
pedestrians.  Cry after cry was set up from the im-
patient crowd for the game to commence.  Crescoe
claimed they could not commence the game with
seven men, as they were waiting for their regular two
men to come up from the city.  Finally this old farmer

*

who drove in with a load of hay covered with his farm
hands called out, "Say boys, I can loan you two of my 
men to help you out until your two men arrive."  This
remark of the old farmer Jenkins was cheered by
crowd.  The traveling man who was directing the af-
fairs of Crescoe say no, we will wait for our regular 
two men or there will be no game.  The Decorah
manager told the Crescoe manager that he could put
those two men in and he could take them out when
the two regular men appeared.  He replied that he
would see.  The crowd heard this and demanded 
that Farmer Jenkin's two men be put in the game
until the others arrived.  There was an immense amount
of money, and horses, bet on the game, and the Crescoe 
people said it was an awful shame that Decorah should
have such a soft thing.  Finally the Crescoe manager
called out, "Send down your two men, Mr. Jenkins, 
from that load of hay."  I'll put them in the game any-
way.  At this call Rad and Taylor toppled down from
the load of hay, and powerful looking men they were
at that time of their life.  All eyes were now riveted 
on them.  The number of Crescoe people "that were 
in on the play" cheered and cheered Rad and Taylor.
Those two men had their overhalls on but before going
to the field they divested themselves of their outward
heavy shirts.  The Chicago players commenced to
laugh as they saw them descend from the load of hay.
They might have heard of Radbourne and Taylor but 
they never saw them.  The Crescoes took the field
and as "Rad" went toward the box that sullen, dogged and
indifferent appearance which was ever characteristic 
of him, somewhat impressed the Chicago players.  As
big Taylor donned the mask Farmer Jenkins called

*

out, "Don't hurt yourselves, boys, you know we com-
mence thrashing tomorrow."  As Radbourne faced
the first Chicago hitter he smiled with that defiant
air which always lit up the countenances of two men in
their different professions.  One was John L. Sullivan's
as he looked across the ring at his opponent, and one 
was Charles Radbourne when he first faced a batter.
You can call it hypnotism, manetism, or some other
"ism," it was there just the same.  Radbourne showed
it in the many years that he was in the National League.
Sullivan demonstrated it in the twelve years he was
champion of the world.  Rad opened up this game by
calling out to Taylor "Hold up your hands, Billy? 
belt high over the plate, I want to shoot three or four
balls over it on that cigarette batter."  Talk about
being on the double track of the B. & O., between
Baltimore and Washington, and your train standing
still waiting for the New York Lightning express to 
pass, which she does with a "zip," then you'll have
a faint idea how Rad sent the first ball over the plate
on this Chicago City League batter.  Rad and Taylor
threw all their ardor and jollity into this game.  This 
batter fanned out and was glad to leave the plate,
when Taylor calls out, "Come on here you mosquito
batters from the prairie grass of Chicago, I want some
of the atmosphere fanned away from here."  Holy 
Moses their heart failed.  They knew they were up 
against the real thing, where they came from or how 
they got there they knew not.  Radbourne looked at
them; he shot them high and he shot them low with
curves and jumps that made them seasick while they
were at the plate.  He retired the side on strike []
[]

*

they saw the doom of their bitter opponents.  As
Decorah went to the field Taylor made it worse by
telling them to go out now and show the people how
to pick up a ball with one finger.  Chicago players
realized now what they were against and it affected 
their entire playing.  Taylor, the first batter up for
Crescoe, drove a ball high and dry over the wagons 
in center field into a small creek.  The Crescoe play-
ers now took heart when they saw they had a sure thing
on their tricky opponents and commenced to bat.
The Decorahs who were catching balls on their fingers
before the game were now catching them on their
shins and bounding them out into the field.  Rad-
bourne who was always a good batter drove liners and
grounders through their "lace curtain" infield.  Every-
thing was going against Decorahs helter skelter.  The
first inning netted Crescoe seven runs.  All through 
Rad kept striking the Chicago crowd out and Taylor
with his kidding kept telling them the kind of balls
that were coming.  Decorah crowd saw they were out-
jobbed and outwitted and commenced to leave the 
field.  The game finally ended up by a score of twenty-
two to nothing.  When the game ended the Crescoe 
people went stark mad.  They took Rad and Taylor
off the field on their shoulders.  They pulled Farmer
Jenkins off his hay, they took the hay as a souvenir by 
the order of Jenkins and lit it up as a bonfire by his or-
ders to commemorate the victory.  Rad and Taylor 
were brought into the city and made heroes.  They
paid those two men and very well.  They kept them
up in that country for a while before they let them
[] but it settled forever any "ringing-in" of outside
[]

*

THE HUNGRY BALL TEAM AND THE FIRST
BUFFET CAR

  The Kansas City team of 1885, member of the Wes-
tern League was one of the sturdiest combination of
ball players in that whole section of the country.
They were large in physique, and particularly known
by some hotel keepers as ravenous eaters.  Their
health and good spirit was a stimulent that made
them such great gulttens.  Two in particular could
eat more in one meal than an army of candy dudes
could in a month.  I venture to say that one of them
could break up a dude boarding-house in two meals, 
and this was good natured, jolly Billie O'Brien.  Billie
was the jolliest fellow that ever traveled with a mana-
ger.  He was a great batter and the hit he made off
Charlie Radburn, in Washington, D.C. (the line drive
over center field) has been the high-water mark of
long hitting in that city for years.  I was the manager
of this Kansas City Club, and Bill's jokes made me
smile many a time.  This particular instance I wish 
to cite was on a train from Milwaukee to Kansas City.
The dinner station was reached about half past two
in the afternoon.  The boys, however, spied a buffet 
car, which was the first time this car was introduced
in the West.  The buffet car in those days were
merely light carriers of lunches for canary birds.  A
consumptive dude would starve if he was compelled
to dine there a whole day.  The prices of this car
would astonish you and would drive a hole in a Vander-
bilt pocket book.  To enter the car at all was equal 
to 25c, to touch the bill of far was equal to 50c, and
to smile at the wait was $1.00, so the reader []

*
imagine the cost of the first buffet car, and should a 
stomach be questioned how it felt after consuming
one of these sparrow meals, it would answer back it
could stand another load of feathers.  At about 12:30
of that day the boys were rather hungry from a long
morning ride--they spied Miss Buffet, in the rear of
the train.  They at once came to me and told me
if I would give them the money that was to be paid
for their dinner at the regular dinner station, they
would eat in the buffet car.  They were dazzled, of
course, by the nice white aprons of the coon waiters,
and a bunch of grapes they saw on a table through
the window.  The regular dinner station was an hour
and a half away yet and I asked them to wait and get
a good dinner.  They said, "Oh, no!" the novelty of eat-
ing in a buffet car dazzled them, but the greatest in-
centive to most of them was to make extra money 
for themselves on the price of their meals.  I asked
them how much they wanted, they said the regular 
price that was to be paid at the dinner station,
namely, 50c.  This was the amount per man they
asked for.  I told them, however, I would give them
75c on this particular occasion, knowing very well 
what they were up against.  They were profuse in
their thanks for that extra donation, and there was 
[] one like Ted.  They calculated to be ahead at 
least 40 c or 50c on this speculation.  Now, gentle
reader, remember 12 ball players with the appetite 
of that number of farm hands, taking a meal that
[] cigarette dude would starve on.  Big Billy O'Brien
[] the first in and the last out.  They went on order-
[] not thinking at all about the price.  I waited in
[] coach with inward mirth of the climax.  About

*

thirty minutes here they all came into the coach,
talking about their losses instead of their gains.  Some
bills reached $1.00, while others went up to $2.00, while
poor big Bill O'Brien went to $2.75.  I was so con-
vulsed with laughter I could not look at them.  All
at once O'Brien makes his entrance and says to the
boys, "You talk about your Buffet and Biffits, talk
about trains being held up by the Dalton gang or 
any other gang, why those Biffits hold up passengers
here.  Here I thought I was making 50c on my
venture and am out $2.25 and I am hungry yet.  I
believe they gave us the photograph of that stuff they
sold us.  Just think of it, boys, it was a red bunch 
of grapes that coaxed you fellows in that car.  Nothing
will catch me hereafter through a buffet window
but a pig's foot or 'crubine' or a plate of corn beef
and cabbage."  I had my head up against the back 
of the seat, nearly dead with laughter trying to hold
in.  They thought I was asleep, but Big Billy was 
more bold, came over and tapped me on the shoulder
and exclaimed: "Say, Ted, did you hear about 
the hold-up in the Biffit car, we were all robbed."
They saw me trying to hold in with laughter, and they
commenced to smile.  I knew they were still hungry,
so I said never mind, boys, that is all right, be ready
to get off for regular dinner, we will be at the dinner
station in 10 minutes.  The holdup in the buffet 
caused much laughter amongst the boys till we got
to Kansas City, but you never could get any of that
ball team to enter a buffet car afterwards.  The play-
ers that composed that team, Billy O'Brien, Tom
O'Brien, Conny Doyle, (brother of Jack), Walter

*

Hackett, Burch, Visner and Emmet Seary, Veach
Colgam and Bob Black.

TIM HURST

  There have been many celebrated characters in the
past eighteen years connected with the National game,
but the most unique and original character of them
all is Tim Hurt, who has been for years an umpire
in the National League.  This fearless and honest
man is away ahead of the ordinary in his ability as
an umpire and in the execution of his duty.  The 
shape of his head alone would indicate merit of some
kind.  Some men are odd to others from their in-
feriority of intellect, same as the flight of teh eagle
is odd and eccentric to the owl and bat, so any man
that is endowed with superior talents is eccentric to
the owl and bat minds of his fellow-men.   To sit and
talk with Hurst for an hour, you will at once detect 
that he is original in his ideas and matters generally.
It is no re-hash, either, of second-handed ideas handed
down from some fountain head.  His atmosphere is
clean from filth while he is conversing, and it is not preg-
nant with vilification of his fellow-men, nor tainted 
with obscene stories.  Suc is Tim Hurst with a heart 
as true as steel and one of the few men you meet that
you can pick out as a diamond amongst cobble stones.
Major leagues should have retained Hurst in their 
ranks if it were possible, but yet it may be that he
found it more lucrative in his other calling.

CUBAN GIANTS

  The Cuban Giants used to make their annual spring 
[] Washington to play []

*

[] holiday to give practice to the Washington
[] gue team.  The great Negro holiday in Washington
[] Emancipation Day, and it was on this day that the
great Cubans were to play their league team.  There
are at least 100,000 colored people in Washington.
I had to advertise the game, so I hit upon the plan
of putting two darkies in the middle of the parade
on two fantastic looking mules, with a banner on
their shoulders, bearing the inscription, "Come out 
to the Base Ball park to-day and see the Cuban Giants
burn up the grass while practising."  It was a good
ad, and people were laughing at those two mules and
banner along the route of the parade.  The marshalls 
of the day finally saw this advertisement, which was
lessening the dignity of the great Emancipation turn-
out.  One coon marshall rushed up to those two fel-
lows and with drawn sword, said: "Get out of here,
men, do you want to disgrace our race? This is no 
base ball play."  The darkies left their lines with their
mules, but I ran across the street and told them if 
they wished to earn the $5.00 they would have to fall
into the parade on the next street in a different part
of the line.  After going two blocks away they were 
driven out again, and the negro marshall swore ven-
gence on them.  The darkies darted in again, this
time behind a band.  One of the mules got scared and
balky.  It was evident that he was not a musical 
mule.  I believe he was a Culpepper County Mules
and not used to city ways.  Any way he blocked the
parade and the whole streets were in laughter.  The
negro marshalls were furious.  The balky mule and 
the ludicrous signs was the center of all attraction.
Finally one high-tone coon rode up, grabbed the sign

*

out of the hands of the bearer, threw it on the gr []
and told the negro to lead his mule away, that this 
was not a circus parade.  The entire parade was
stopped, it could not move until the two mules were
either coaxed or dragged away.  He was a country 
mule sure enough.  One of the coon marshalls was so 
exasperated at the delaying scandal that he tried to
shove the mule from behind, when old Balky flew 
up with both feet and Mr. Coon was driven up against
a big wench near the curb stone.  He was picked up
and led away.  The poor negro boys were trying to 
lead them by the reins, but Mr. Mule would not stir.
The negro had on a base-ball suit and that made the
marshall furious.  Finally they concluded to go 
around the mule and leave them in the middle of the
street.  The band struck up and the mule struck out
for a side street on a bee line.  The big coons, little
coons and members scattered pell mell out of the way.  
The mule never stopped until it got to the barn, and
the great Cuban Giant game was advertised for the 
great Emancipation Day, the 19th of April.

DAN O'LEARY's HUMOR OF THRICE TOLD TALES

  None is more amusing, in the major league, than 
the story of Dan O'Leary and the can of milk.  Dan,
while managing the Cincinnati Unions, in 1884,
entered the dressing-room one day feeling joyful 
over a great victory.  It seemed before the game ended 
Dan had dispathced a boy for a large pitcher of beer.
Justice Thorner, who was president of the club, entered
the dressing-room that afternoon as the boy came in 
with the pitcher of beer.  Dan was nonplused at 
the entry of the president, simultaneously with the

*

beer, but the bold Daniel was equal to the occasion,
he straightened up and looked at the boy with scorn,
exclaiming, "My dear son, did I not tell you it was
milk that I wanted, not berr."  There was a huge
laugh all around, Thorner laughing the heartiest.

RETIRING BALL PLAYERS

  Adeline Patti has often made her "farewells," Barnum
also, but neither of them equals teh ball player who pro-
claims to the world, that he is tired of drawing $6,000
or $7,000 a year with the addition of Pullmans and 
swell hotels thrown in.  Let us see how he first sounds 
the alarm ofretiring.  It may be he is to marry an
heiress, or again, it may be a rich widow, who wants
him to quit the horrid game, and look out for her 
interests.  Or still, it might be that some relative
left him a mine in the far West.  One of the other 
will be an excuse anyway.  His pet reporter, will first
hear of this, and will say: "Oh, no! That can't be!" 
The speaker will say: "Yes! It is so--he confidently 
told me in the dressing-room yesterday that this is
his last year in the game."  Has he told the president
of the club? the reporter will ask.  No, he hates to []
he has been treated so nicely the present year.  Next
morning in large type the newspaper will lead off Mr. 
So & So is to retire altogether from base-ball.  Holy
Moses!  The followers of this player are up in arms.
One excitable fan will say, "I knew it! I knew it! I
don't blame him--he never could get along with that
secretary and directors."  Another fan is on his feet,
"I bet some of those other clubs are after him."  The
fan remarks: "Don't you see he is to retire altogether,

*

going into business with his uncle in their (minds)
mines."  Third fan speaks up: "Well, that will settle the
club--I gave them my last half dollar."  The next
day the president meets the player.  "What, John!
Is this true what I see in the paper?"  Player says:
"Yes, Mr. President, I am afraid it is--you see I cannot
play ball forever and this chance may not come again.
My uncle has been at me the past two years to quit
the game.  Then you see I bought some property
lately, that $5,000 has to be paid on and uncle
will do it if I quit."  Here the president speaks up,
"Why, pshaw! stay with me the coming year and I 
will advance you that amount and increase your salary 
to $8,000 for a year.  You know, John, I cannot
replace you this year, at least, and you know I have
always treated you well."  The player looks at the
president in a sympathetic and innocent way.  "Why,
Mr. President, for that reason it breaks my heart to
leave you.  And I hate to have you believe I want 
any increase on salary, but I will write to uncle to
allow me to stay in the business one more year at least.
Just to please you.  Well, reader, this player stops in
[] game that year and many other years afterwards,
[] the only time he will leave the ball field is when
the field is tired of him.  The only ball player in the
history of the game that retired when he said so and
that was Jim McCormick, the famous National League
pitcher, who played with Cleveland and Chicago.
This may be a little satire on the retiring ball player,
but who can blame him.  Don't all business, trades 
and arts have their tricks.  Indeed, they do--from
the minister of the gospel down.  I knew of a minister
out west that was to retire and go into business.  The

*

congregation raised his salary, he reconsidered it []
remained with his beloved parishoners--simply because
he loved them and his salary.

PLAYERS THAT WOULD AND WOULDN'T

  There is another class of would-be professional ball-
players who claimed they had offers from the Major
League Clubs of the United States.  But refused
them for this and that reason.  In every village or
city in the country you will hear the fans say: "I
know of a great player of so-so city.  But you can't
get him.  His folks will not allow him to play profes-
sional base-ball, and then again, he is rich, he don't 
have to.  He don't have to, reader, because he knows 
down in his heart that he has not the speed or nerve to
take the chance.  If he thought he had the ability to 
earn $300 on a ball-field, with the luxuries of fine 
hotels and sights of the best parts of the United States,
he would butt his head through a brick wall to get
there and leave his $25 a month job.  Last year
I met one those kind of boys, he was a pitcher and 
worked in a dry goods store in a small town in Texas.
I was annoyed for weeks, by friends of mine, to get 
this pitcher that they all heard of.  Finally, I decided
to go to this town, and see what this young man looked
like.  I heard great stories about him, and one was
that nobody could beat him before a lady audience.
In fact, he was the Beau Brummel pitcher of Texas.  I
met him one noon in his store, as he was about to engage
in his noon-day lunch.  He heard of my coming, and
was glad to see  me.  I saw at once he was of the
etherial make-up, more fit to excel at croquet than

*

[] an athletic field.  He began by saying, as he un-
[] the tissue paper from his invisible lunch: "My
folks, up in Vermont, are awfully against me playing
professional base ball.  And before I left for Texas
they insisted that I should buy two large revolvers."
As he said this his lunch was entirely visible, which 
consisted of two caramels, a slice of transparent chicken
and one cigarette.  He turns at once on me, and says: 
"Mr. Sullivan, will you not partake of some of my 
lunch?  My boarding-house lady just over burders 
me with too much luncheon."  Here a big Texas fly
lit on his hand.  He slaps it wickedly, remarking:
"You horrid thing, take that slap, for interrupting
me in my conversation with company.["]  The fly fell 
to his feet minus one wing and a broken leg.  He then 
says: "A Vermont fly has at least manners, and they
are not so rough and torturous in their sting.  In fact,
they are well-bred flies."  I began: "Mr. Gillfeather,
is there any inducements that could be offered to have
you pitch for me this year?"  As he looked towards
me to speak, I noticed his articulation was impeded
a little by a caramel that he was masticating.  The
wind shifted through the door, and blew his trans-
parent slice of chicken on the fly's crippled back,
which the insect at once consumed.  He remarked to
me: "Hardly, Mr. Sullivan, hardly."  I said: "Why 
Texas is all right every way, Mr. Gillfeather, and I'm 
sure you will not be contaminated in your affiliation
with professional baseball players."  He says: "Yes,
Texas is all right, and I have already learned to love
her people.  The state had been entirely misrepresented 
to me in Vermont.  And don't you believe," he con-
tinued, "I have had no chance to use my two revolvers

*

since I came.  True, we had a little society quarrel
the other evening, over at Mrs. Fearless', and instead
of what I heard of in my state about shooting in Texas,
it was just the reverse.  Certainly, there was a little
harshaness on the part of Gussy Smoke, when he hit
Mr. Ordway with the point of his lace handkerchief.
That precipitated a terrible row, cigarettes and chewing
gum were used as weapons.  I carry a terrible lump
on my arm, where I was struck a piece of pepsin
gum, in defending one of our clerk from bodily harm."
I ended the conversation right here.  "Mr. Gillfeather,
this is my proposition to you, if you want to pitch 
for me in the Texas League, you will work only a
game a week, which will be on ladies' day.  On that
day a vallet, who will be furnished to you, free of 
charge, will be with you throughout the entire
season, he will carry your bat to and from the home
plate.  If the ball is too heavy for you to hold before 
you deliver it to the batsman, he will hold it for you.
This attendant of yours will 'fan' you between innings,
and serve you cream and strawberries, a carriage will
be furnished to carry you to and from the grounds,
a special room in teh hotels will be kept one week
ahead for you.  Two large bouquets will be given 
on the day you pitch, but they will be stock bouquets
and perfumed only for that occasion.  On sleeping cars two
whole sections will be engaged for you.  One to lay
your hat and garters, and the other for you necktie and
perfumes.  This is the best I can do in the way of
accommodations.  As to your salary for the season,
here is a blank check that I will leave which you can

*

fill out to any amount you wish for advance money.
Here is a contract also, which is blank and you can 
insert any salary you wish--in that contract.  Write
to your people in Vermont and take all those induce-
ments into consideration.  I will have to leave you
now and take the next train for Dallas.  So, good-
bye, Mr. Gillfeather, and be very careful about your
bruised arm, so that you will have it in good
shape next year, if you decide to play professional
base-ball."

COON FOUL CATCHER

  Away down in George, in 1892, there was a coon 
catcher in a black village near Atlanta, and his name
was Sim Blass.  This catcher could imitate the fowls 
of teh air, the beasts of the field, the rumbling of rail-
road trains, the paddles of steam boats and their
whistles.  He was a very large darky and his lips
were unusually thick.  His imitation of foul tips
surpassed all his other efforts as an imitator, and was
the cause of bringing many a coon club to grief.  His
reputation as a foul tip catcher was known throughout
the states of Georgia and Tenn.  The coon clubs after 
a while became suspicious about their playing going
out on so many fouls when Sim was behind the bat.
This, of course, was before the foul tip was abrogated
from teh playing rules.  Sim Blass' services were in 
demand all over the state and the darky clubs would 
pay Sim good money to come and catch for them
on important matches.  While Mr. Blass' ability in
catching the feathery fowls was above mediocrity,
still the fouls of a ball game came easier and he was

*

paid to catch them, while gathering in the feathery
fowl it would entangle him in the meshes of the law,
and make him a contestant of vicious dogs and guns.
When Sim caught, coon batters were going out on
from 16 to 20 fouls by the manipulation of his lips.
If the batter ever hit at the ball and missed it, no 
matter where, Sim worked his lips and they went out
on a foul.  Some superstitious darkies claimed that
Sim charmed the ball and he was about to be barred
from all clubs, until a final test came up on an impor-
tant game at Chicken Creek, Georgia.  The game that
was arranged was an important one and the coon
gamblers were there from Atlanta, Marietta and 
Persimmons Bend.  They were betting heavily on
Sim's club, depending, of course, on Mr. Blass' ability
as a foul catcher Mr. Blass was catching for the Stone
Mountain team, which was playing against the Marietta.
The game was played at Chicken Creek, twenty miles
from Atlanta.  A secret conference of the Marietta
team was held before the game, and it was agreed that
a close watch would be kept on the movements of
Sim's lips during the game.
  The man selected to umpire the game was a fierce
coon from Atlanta, by the name of Razor Pete, who
always full of bad pizen, but nevertheless had a 
reputation for fairness in a ball game. As he took his
position behind the catcher, he removed his coat and
a belt encircled his body, which was conspicuous by
the number of razor blades that were protruding
through the leather case.  The first two batters of
the Mariettas went out on fouls, and the last man
hit at least a foot from the ball but had him out
on a foul tip just the same.  That settled it []

*

[] was made for the umpire to make him come and 
watch Sim catching fouls.  Razors and cotton hooks
were drawn by the adherents of both teams.  The
Mariettas said that they would quit unless Sim put
a rubber or something in his mouth, while behind the
bat.  Razor Pete, the umpire, became indignant and 
exclaimed in a loud voice that he did not care 
to watch any man catch fouls, as that was 
a nightly he attended to himself.  This created
a great laughter among the audience, and helped to
allay the excitement among both teams.  Finally,
Mr. Blass, with a rubber in his mouth, began catching
as the Mariettas came to the bat.  They knew if he 
could make any fouls with his lips with that rubber
in his mouth they would notice it.  As the Marietta's 
first batter cameup with this handicap on Sim, he
went out just the same on a foul tip, manufactured 
by Sim.  The Mariettas were amazed.  A plan was
now hit upon.  A batter was to go up and to pretend 
that he was going to hit at the ball and as the ball 
was coming to him to draw back--bring the bat for-
ward slowly but not strike.  The whole Marietta
nine now had their eyes rooted on Sim, as they knew
what their batter was to do.  This is where Mr.
Blass was lead into a trap and nearly created a riot
at Chicken Creek.  The batter stepped up and made
a feign as to hit the ball, drawing the bat back and
moving it forward slowly, but Sim smacked his lips 
and made the foul just the same.  The Mariettas
made a rush for Sim.  Teh umpire was pushed for-
ward and told that Mr. Blass had robbed them all
through the game.  Razors that were intended to do
[] barbers' work were in the coons' hands.

*

  Razor Pete reached behind him and pulled out his
longest razor blade, rushed in and said he would
rescue Sim.  A terrible fight was now to be precipi-
tated, but the quick wit on a parson averted a direful
calamity.  He had been a quiet spectator throughout,
and while cotton hooks and razors were in the air, a
chicken he had hit under his coat and intended for
a feastful supper, he now thought he would serve the 
Lord and sacrifice his appetite by distracting his race
with their acknowledged weakness.  He hurled the 
chicken high in the air.  It was one of those large,
juicy, long-gilled roosters.  Sim was at once forgotten.
A wild rush was made for the chicken, and in the
melee and hurly burly as to who would get it, Sim
escaped to the tall timbers and was lost in the George
pines and Mr. Blass was never sought after by any
more clubs.  His occupation was gone.

A HIGH-LIVING BALL PLAYER

  Ball players of the National league who have traveled
over the circuit two or three seasons are the easist
to satisfy in regard to hotel accommodations.  A good
story is told of two fresh minors who were brought
from some class B league, and joined the major body
on an eastern trip.  This National league team stopped
at a swell hotel in New York City, on Broadway. 
After the players were assigned to their rooms the
two swelled up minors came down in teh elevator, and
in an injured tone asked the clerk if those were the
best rooms he had for them.
  The clerk looked at the two players in utter surprise
and said: "Why, gentlemen, ex-President Harrison

*

occupied those very apartments last week, and I am
positive he made no objection."
  One of the players looked at the other and said:
"What de ye tink, Jimmy, will we stand it.  We are
here just de two days, see?"
  The other player remarked: "I guess we'll have 
to, but yer bet yer life on de next trip ifo our manager
don't stop at de Waldorf-Astoria I'll ask fer me re-
release."

MANAGERS AND THEIR SIGNS

  There is one class of base ball fallacies that I want to
shatter into as many pieces as Buffalo Bill does the real
article with his rifle.  It is the bug-a-boo of base ball
managers' signs.  This supposed one million signs are
commented upon by a class of ignorant ball players for
the edification of verdant and gullible reporters, who
want to bring into derision some of the best and well
posted managers of the national game.  Let me state 
to the army of base ball enthusiasts through the breadth
of this county, that any professional club with any
pretensions of success, must have some signs or another
or it is not a ball club.  Signs regulate themsleves
and are used by efficient captains or managers accord-
ing to the intelligence or experience of the players
they guide.  The manager must govern himself by
the wit of the men he has under him.  So, with dif-
ferent men, different methods.  You cannot go by 
any set rules in base ball, because what is right at one 
stage of the game under certain conditions, would be
wrong at another time.  This "rot" of men like Watkins
having more signs than players is an insult to the intel-
ligence of any base ball man.  They may have four

*

or five signs or may be three to govern certain plays 
that may rise in a crisis of the game and no more.
A manager with a lot of raw material must in some
way teach those players the alphabet of team work,
then he will have to govern himself by it.  Hundreds
of the new comers are nervous and anxious to make
a success.  And the manager must have circum-
spection enough to know whether the player possesses
wit or not.  If not possessed of this divine spark
the young fellow must be left alone and jollied in his
work.
  The writer remembers having some experience with
a player some years ago in a minor league, and I at
once saw that there was no craft in the young fellow,
and I did not want him to be burdened with the sem-
blance of a sign, so he would have no excuse for his 
failure.  I told him that he was a free agent, and the
only signs for him was to hit the ball when he chose,
catch in any field and throw it where his judgment
thought it was right.  He went one week and never
hit the ball out of the diamond, I jollied him every 
way, I asked him if he had any excuse, he said no.
But he did tell me that if he had a sign or two to go
by he thought he would be a winner.
  Now, reader, if this individual had the handicap 
of even one sign he would tell his friends if he was 
released that the one sign was the cause of his mis-
fortune, so this is one class of ball players.  In my
baseball career, I made the gullible opposition believe
that I had forty signs in a game of ball.  And it was 
carried out to perfection by the wits that played for
me, who joshed the other players []
that it was so, yet four signs []

*

beginners, and one or two that may have to be put into
practice in the crisis of a game.  To make my essay 
more clear to the public, some ball players are as 
impervious to taking signs as a duck's back is to 
absorb water.  This class should be left alone.  Their
destiny in the national game is purely mechanical,
and if you introduce any chess or dominoes in their
ball playing, they are lost.  Class A, players of superior 
intelligence who have played for a year or so are
easily handled by a manager.  As the plays of the
game come up those men generally know what action
to take, and the manager only steps in at teh crisis
of the game, where his superior knowledge of the
issue knows what tactics to pursue.
  Take the class of player of Keeler, Jennings, Kelly,
McGraw, Doyle, Patton, Tom Daily and others.  The
intuition of each others actions does not require any
particular signs, either verbal or dumb.  And when
that class of men are set on a ball field, the plays of
the game come up before them as clear as the cards 
in a game eucher, yet their must be a head to that
combination of players, too.  There is a hidden 
science to base ball, in the machinery of its playing. 
The human nature part of it the audience never catch
sight of.  The moral effect one play has on another
the audience never notices, but the hidden works of
a base ball clock they never see.  It is the movements
of the hands that they notice, but not the friction
in its inside works, which sometimes make the hands
move erratically.  There has to be signs between 
pitcher and catcher, second baseman and the third
[] have to be operated while the
[] You cannot make a pebble a

*

diamond no matter how much you polish it.  And a 
certain class of players could play one hundred years 
and retain nothing but the polish of the pebble.  But
a diamond will be a diamond no matter what it is
encased in.  That is the difference between some
ball players' intellects and others, as between the
polished pebble and the real diamond.

COLLEGE MEN AND BASE BALL.

  Of the many college men that have entered the
professional ranks very few have made a success of
it.  It may be startling and astounding when the 
essayest of this article, states to the base ball world,
that he had under his management one time men who 
could only make their mark to sign a contract, yet
could teach the highest classical scholars of Yale,
Harvard and Princton the chess of the game.  I mean
the intellectual points of base ball.  This talent in
the untutored man applies exclusively to the native
Americans, professional men in Great Britain cannot
affiliate with people who are above them socially
and intellectually.  But it is different with the Amer-
ican ball player.  Surrounded with the galmor of 
the game--if he has any qualifications of a gentleman
he has access to the conversation of teh best, so all
glory to American Democracy.  There is one reason
why the unlettered professional can surpass collegians
in points of the game--it is because the collegian is
full of theory, and the professional ball player is full
of the hidden science of the human nature of the 
game.  The latter day collegian will hardly ever hire
[] of their own ranks.

*

Which makes the colleges the nursery of egotistical 
snobbery
There is as much difference between the tactics of
the college base ball, and the major league professional
ball as there is between simple addition and the
equation of unknown quantities in Algebra.  The
collegian is theoretical and routine in all his work.
He will practice a certain play but does not at all
consider that the execution of such a play in a contest 
requires a man of head and heart, to be equal to the 
friction that requires the execution of it, or to be
less ambiguous, a military company on parade will
execute moves in a sham battle, where only blank
cartridges are fired at them, that they will not when they
know that they are to be peppered by the real lead.  
The collegian is also methodical and sometimes devoid 
of wit of the human action of teh game.  There are,
however, exceptions to the rules, as the persons
of Will Murphy of Yale, Huchitson of Yale and a few 
others.  There are some players in the two major 
leagues to-day, who claim that they are college gradu-
ates, they may or may not be, but it is a question in
my mind if some of those graduates of our great
colleges could read the Latin on their diplomas.  Pro-
fessionalism of late years has been highly glossed over
by the athletic committies of the different education
institutions of the country.  It is all right for any 
young man to exchange his base ball or foot ball skill
for his tuition at our colleges, such a thing is com-
mendable every way.  It gives the poor boy a chance 
to get a college training for the little foot ball or base
ballskill that he may possess.  One of the most disgusting
features of college athletics [] pro-

*

fessional graduate coach who sometimes resorts to the
methods of the meanest professional grafters.  I have
nothing but the highest respect for our seats of learn-
ing, but I want to hit this cheap graduate coach full
in the eye no matter where he is found.  There is not
a collegian in the United States to-day but knows
that this cheap professional grafter taints the purity
of college athletics.

VERSATILITY IN BATTING

  Players that are versitile in their batting are the
most sought after by crafty men of the profession. 
The machine batter can be checkmated in more ways
than one.  He has only one style, one idea, and that
is to kill the ball irrespective of how many balls are
called or how the game stands.  He stands well with 
the audience, who know not--or care not--for the
technique of the game, but want the ball to be hit,
and far away at that, we all like that if it could always 
be done.  But the uncertainty of the game is against 
its constant repetition.  This kind of a batter is in-
variably a victim to heady pitching, and he generally
falls when the exigency of the case demands it.  Then
when he slumps in his batting, which positively comes
to all, where are his resources?  He has none, but it
is different with the versatile batter.  What is meant
by versatility when it applies to batting.  It is a man
that can hit may be as good  as the machine or dress
parade hitter, but he can bunt--he can wait, when he
has got the best of the pitcher, in fact, he resorts to 
any and every scheme to get to first base.  When he
[] of driving []

*

the out field he resorts to other resources to get to
the bag.  In places where a hit counts he will not
take Yellow Jaundice, like the purely machine hitter.
He may not have as many hits at the end of the sea-
son as the machine batter, but he will be the cause of
winning more games for his club, than all the machine
battes put together.  I defy any brainy manager
in the United States to gain say what I have stated
of teh two types of hitters.  To illustrate what a 
manager thinkings of a versatile batter and an out
and out machine hitter at a critical stage of the game.
In 1888, while the Washington League Team was playing
the Bostons in the latter city, the Washington was
one run ahead of the Bostons in the ninth inning.  
When they took the field, Hank O'Day, the present 
league umpire, was pitching for the Washingtons,
and he was undoubtedly one of the premier pitchers
of the National League that  year.  All through that
memorable game he had the Bostons at his mercy.
Before the Washington club took the field, I looked
at the Boston score card and saw that Mike Kelly
was the first up for the Boston club.  The only Kell
was the king of versatile batters.  He was the right 
man in the right place for Boston, and the wrong man
for Washington.  Before my club took the field 
I told Hank, who was coming up, and told him to 
waste no ball on Kell, he knew it himself and told
me he would shoot every ball that he pitched over
the plate.  Now, reader, why was I afraid of Kelly,
it is because he had his heart and soul to tie that game
and I knew his resources and what he would resort 
to to get that base.  If all the greatest batters of
[] were coming []

*

would not be afraid of them, and yet Kell could crack
the ball on the nose in a tight pinch with any of them.
But if Kell and all of them hit the ball I had seven 
men to gather it in, but this mighty genius, Kelly,
would not trust that ball to the fortunes of seven men,
but he would fall back on the tactics of one man who
was himself.  In his fight with O'Day, in getting to 
first base on balls was quite a battle, finally it came
down where either one ball more would make it 
either a strike or give him his base.  He laced four
ball like a rifle shot to the foul side of third base that
would have cut the plate it he had let it go by.  O'Day 
was on his metal as much as Kell, but the "original" 
got the base on balls.  Cony Mac, now manager of
the Philadelphia club, was the catcher, and as accurate-
ly as he was throwing to bases that day, Kell stole
second on him.  Next batter hit a high ball to Mute
Hoy is center field, Kell went back to second base
and had his foot on the bag so it threw Hoy off alto-
gether of what he was going to do, but as soon as Hoy
threw the ball to second base, Kell, by one of those
unexpected sensational moves, made a bold line for
third, no one thought that he would dare to make
such a move, but he did, and made it by sliding under
the third baseman.  Now came the climax of his 
whole sensational work since he started to the bat,
there was one man out and Kelly on third.  At hot 
ball was hit to Fuller at short, which he handled clean,
but Mike had started for the plate.  The ball was
thrown to Mac by Fuller and he had Kelly at least
ten feet, it looked like an eaasy put out.  But Kel[]
[]int as if he was coming in to the[]
[] made one of his famous cur[]

*

slides by throwing his body one way and his hand 
another and tied the score for the Boston club.  It
surpassed anything I ever saw on a ball field.  That
individual work of Kelly to tie that score in the ninth
ending.  The Boston club finally won the game in the 
14th ending, and Kelly drove in the run that won it.

BASE BALL AT KILLARNEY, IRELAND

  My first trip to Europe was in the spring of 1889,
and was made entirely for pleasure and historical
sightseeing, with the Paris Exposition as the big
incentive of my trip.  I brought along a dozen Spauld-
ing league balls, and one-half dozen bats to show the
natives in the United Kingdom, the national game
of America, if the occasion presented itself.  My first
stop was at Queenstown, Ireland, in the beautiful 
month of May.  The home of heroes always extends
a hearty welcome to an American.  And should a 
son of the Emerland Isle have only one meal to eat
he would give it to the strange, and make him believe
that he had plenty in his house.  The lakes of Kil-
larney is the Mecca of all tourists who visit Ireland.
If it took the Lord six days to make the earth, he
must have spent three of those days in perfecting
the lakes of Killarney, for indeed it has the handiwork 
of Providnece.  I spent one week in Killarney.  This 
city is the garden spot for English tourists, and they
indulge in all their sports from cricket down.  I spoke 
to a few of the cricketers one day and asked them if
they would not indulge in a game of American base
ball, and told them that two []
[] where two English bowl[]

*

  Some of the cricketers made a remark to one of the 
Irish peasants that they did not want to see any of
the "blooming American game."  The Irish people,
however, who love everything from America, told
me that they would take part in the game and be
pleased to see how it was played.  The English portion
heard this and changed their mind a little about the
American game.  But that conceited prejudice was
there at that.  And I want to incidentally state in
this book that wine and banquet alliances may go
very well between Ambassadors and Anglo Snobs of
America, but the alliances of hearts does not exist
between the two peoples; I mean the Democracy of 
American and the English.
  The game was finally arranged and there was plenty
of amusement for me to hear the talk of the English
and Irish about our base ball.  When the positions
were assigned to the two sides, the game started, and
after one inning was played, which took one half hour,
the English portion got disgusted and said the bloom-
ing Yankee game was sillier than marbles, mumble-
peg or quoits.  The Irish portion who were looking
on enjoyed it very much.  To tell the truth I laughed
that afternoon till my sides were sore in the way they
went to field the ball.  The climax cabe by the
appearance of a fine athletic fellow (who was cheered
by the crowd).  His named was Mike Dempsey, the 
crack hurler of the County Kerry.  I heard all the
Irish portion remark that they wish Mike was in
that game, as they would like to see him "souse" that
ball.  Dempsey was a hitter of the hurly ball, same
as Delahantey or Lajoie was of the base ball.  I saw
such admiration from the crwod for Dempsey, that

*

I asked him finally would he go into the game.  He
said he would.  When the Irish heard this there
was great cheering for Mike.  One of the men who
was next to the bat voluntarily gave up to him.  The
crowd who were looking on, enjoyed the mirth of the 
game.  Dempsey takes the heaviest bat I had, which 
he called a "cudgel."   Cheers upon cheers greeted
Mike as he stepped to the plate to hit one of the English-
man's slow balls.  The Britisher pitched one ball but
did not suit the giant Dempsey.  The next ball the
Englishman pitched it was, "shining high" right at the
knee, Mike swung--the ball was met--and the English pitcher 
dropped it.  The ball hit him full on the shin
and caromed out in the field; there was a mad rush
made for the English pitcher by the people, thinking
he was killed.  He was finally picked up by the players,
and brought from the pitching box and laid on the
grass, he was suffering with pain but his shin was not
broken but badly bruised; so when he fully recovered
and was seated on the bench, he made this exclama-
tion to the natives: "I wish thet blowsted, blooming 
Yankee and his blawsted, bleeding game was sunk 
in the middle of the blooming ocean before he came
over here," and this was all brought about by the
great Mike Dempsey going to the bat.  That settled
the game in Killarney county, Kerry, Ireland, near
Ross Castle, that day.

SUN WAS IN THE CATCHER'S EYES

  Of the many funny dispatches I received in my 
life in regard to a game of ball, one was sent to me
while in Texas, in 1895.  There is a town called La

*

Grange in South Texas and the captain of the team
wanted an exhibition game with my "steers."  After 
exchanging a few telegrams about terms on which
the game was to be played, the captain finally sent
one stating we should be on the ground before the
sun would be in the catcher's eyes.  I found out
afterwards that after a certain hour in teh afternoon
that the sun shown directly into the batters and
catcher's face.

DENNY LONG ON THE NATIONALITY QUESTION

  Of the many gentleman that were connected with
the National game, none were more apt to see the
salable side of a player than Mr. Long, of Lowell,
Mass.  Mr. Long was quite witty and a gentlemen 
of more than the average intelligence.  He had a 
certain great pitcher in his Wilmington, Del., team.
His name was Jerry Nops.  As the base ball season
was closing, Long was anxious to get a good price for 
his player before the drafting season came on.  Nops
was sought after by many clubs, particularly Phila-
delphia and Baltimore, but his preference was BAlti-
more, therefore, genial Deny had to boom his many 
qualities to the owners of that club.  First he told
Verderhost, the president of the Baltimore club that
among many good things, Nops' father was a German,
and in a conversation with Ned Hanlon, he wound up
by telling the far seeing Ned that Nops' mother was
of excellent Irish stock.  Ned turned on him and
says, "I see he is of a quick thinking race any way."
So Nops was finally sold but I do not think that the
assimilation of his Teutonic and Celtic blood had []

*

influence on the transaction.  But it showed what an
adept Long was when any sentiment could be brought
to bear on nationality.

SPORTING DEACON.

  One of the most humorous and picturesque scenes
I ever witnessed in my many trips through Dixie,
took place near Mobile, Ala.  While visiting in that
city in 1893, I was told that a great coon game was 
to take place four miles outside the city, at a place
called Coon's Rest.  The negroes in the south have
a custom of calling places after a certain kind of animal 
and fowl.  So the reader will understand that all
of the places named in this story are not fictitious.
  This great game that was to take place at Coon's
Neck was a contest for forty watermelons between
two negro teams, and the melons would be furnished 
by a celebrated character, known in that section as 
Deacon Crow, the sporting deacon of Ala.  This
sporting deacon of Coon's Rest had a questionable
reputation amongst the church people of that whole 
section of the country.  It was said that before he 
joined the church, that in his  younger days he was
a horse jockey on the race course at New Orleans,
other claimed that he was the champion crap player
of Mobile in his younger days; but no matter what
trouble he got into, he generally came off with flying
colors, and the congregation would think, after the
trial was over, that they had done their beloved 
deacon a great harm.  One big scandal that particular-
ly aroused the church people was that he was accused
of kissing one of the sisters at a camp-meeting, at Spar-

*

row's Roost, on the front tooth.  He extricated him-
self from this terrible accusation by stating that he
was only taking a bee out of the sister's eye.  It was
whispered around the circuit where he preached that
when he left any house after prayer meeting, that a
chicken was missing and this was further explained
that he usually carried a larg carpet valise, which stood
erect and this valise he left in the back yard of every
house, where the chickens congregated and <i>in it</i> was a 
decoy automaton chicken picking corn in the bottom of
his valise, and as soon as the pullet entered the aper-
ture of the carpet bag, the trap sprung and Miss Chicken
was a caged bird.  He also made it a particular point
that every one on the premises should enter the house
and take part in teh prayer, so that no one would wit-
ness the working of his trick trap-valise.  A week be-
fore this ball game took place at Coon's Rest the
whole congregation was startled on a Sunday, while at
the Mourners bench when he drew his handkerchief
to wipe his face, when crap-bones were seen to fall on
the floor from the folds of his handkerchief.  Here a 
murmur of disapproval and horror arose from the con-
gregation on the sight of those playthings of the evil
spirit.  But the old sport was equal to the occasion;
he looked down the aisle at teh children of the Lord 
and smiled, he began his explanation in a confidential 
air.  He says, "Brothers and sisters, you saw de weapons 
of the Devil fall from my pocked, but when you know
how I imprisoned Satan's tools you will say 'blessed be 
the deacon.'  This morning on the way to this church
I noticed a group of men near the roadside among
some bushes.  As the agent of the Lord came along, 
they tried to hide their pastime, but Deacon Crow

*

had a duty to perform for the Lord and for this con-
gregation, as Ajax defied the lightning, I defied the
messengers of the Devil, and the risk of being hacked 
to pieces with cotton hooks I rushed among them and
grab-d up deir crap-bones.  And now to show you
what I will do with Satan, I will just burn his play-
things before all, right in dis stove."  Here the
deacon threw the bones into the stove and ordered a
fire to carry out his wish.  The whole congregation 
gathered around him and gave vent in loud exhorta-
tions of the blessed deacon they had in their church.
  To continue the narrative of this great game on this 
particular Sunday at Coon's Rest, where the deacon
came near loosing all his reputation and prestage.  The
old sport agreed that the two ball teams should have
the vacant piece of clear of ground near the church,
provided they played for his mellons.  About two 
o'clock on the day of the game, darkies in wagons and 
on mules were approaching the grounds from all direc-
tions, some were coming to the revival meeting, while
the majority were coming to see the great game for the
40 melons between Gooseneck and Rooster Bends.  As
the hour approached for the beginning of the game the
whole surroundings presented a novel and picturesque 
sight.  Darkies were on trees, fences and even some
perched on the roof of the church.  As the mourners
entered the house of teh Lord they gave a disdainful
look at the ball grounds.  A big shout went up as the
Chicken Bend Team hove in sight drawn by four bay
mules.  Their uniform was yellow socking, red shirts
and green caps.  As they leaped from the wagon 
another terrific shout was heard from the distance.  It
was the appearance of the Gooseneck club drawn by

*

two oxen and two gray mules.  The oxen horns had
the colors of the Gooseneck club.  The uniforms of
this club was firery red.  Some heavy and reckless
betters from the little hamlets of Alabama, accompa-
nied the Gooseneck team.  They commenced to offer
all kinds of wagers on their favorites, while they were
boasting of their heavy bets and taunting the other
side, they were thrown into a panic by the appearance
of Alabama's greatest better.  High Betting Billy of
Mobile, who walked across the field where the Goose-
neck crowd was seated and exclaimed in a loud voice,
["] People I am going to give you heart disease in betting.  
A dollar 'de Cluckens' win the game."  There were no
takers at the end of this scene.  A shout was heard 
down the road, it was taken up by those near the grounds, 
until it became an artillery of human voices.  This was
all caused by the appearance of the Old Sport, Deacon
Crow, driving his big yellow mule with teh forty
melons piled in pyrimid shape on his wagon.  As he 
drove on the ground with those large green juicy
melons, many a wistful glance was thrown towards the
wagon by entire darkdom.  The great sporting deacon was
cheered again and again, but nevertheless he had his
eye to business.  He had to be paid before he went 
into the church, the two captains finally paid him and
the wagon of melons was placed in the rear of the field
on the brow of a hill and a guard placed around them
by both the ball teams.  The people were going fast
into church and teh deacon could not afford to be seen
near the ball field by the pastor who was soon to ap-
pear.  The game had started when the pastor ap-
peared, with bible and umbrella in hand.  He looked 
with dismay at the tremendous crowd looking at the

*

ball game, but finally he entered the church.  The
game was in action when the mourners in the church
began to shout, their voices were as noiseless as the
squaks of chickens to that of the roar of lions com-
paired with that tremendous shout that was set up
outside of the church, when one of the Gooseneck team
hit a ball over the watermelon wagon and down the
hill for a home run.  The preacher in the church was
frantically mad and so were the revivalists to think
that there ceremonies in church should be interrupted
by the Devil's crowd on the outside.  The pastor,
Jefferson Johnston told Deaconn Crow to go outside and
tell those sinner people to leave those grounds at once 
as it was church property.  The deacon was in a terri-
ble dilemma, he had given the grounds to the club for
buying his watermelons, so the best he could do was to 
go out and make a bluff which he did, he told them
not to holler so loud.  The teams told him that he had
better go back in church and tend to his prayers.  They 
paid him for his melons and grounds so he had no more
to say.  He went in to church and told the pastor that
they would stop now, since he gave them a good sermon
about disturbing the church.  The preacher now order-
ed prayer and commenced to exhort the revivalists by
the following prayer with bowed head and bended 
knees, "O Lord send into this holy building to us poor
sinner people a winged messenger."  When all at once
a crash at the window was heard.  A foul ball came 
whirling through a pane of glass and struck the pastor
in the back of the head and felled him to the floor.  The
congregation was in a panic.  Some started to leave
the church, believing that their preacher was a hypo-
crite and that the Lord had punished him, while others

*

ran to the aid of the pastor to pick him up.  All at
once the truth was known, one of the mourners picked
up the ball and showed it to the congregation.
  Now gentle reader any other kind of a foul would be
welcome to that congregation but a baseball foul
manufactured from acertain angle of the bat is another
thing.  But the feathery fowl would always be wel-
comed.  Terrible indignation came over the congrega-
tion, when both teams rushed into the church and de-
manded the ball.  The preacher would not give it up,
and said the Devil's plaything would be burned.  A
fight was about to ensue between the congregation and
the ball players.  While the wrangling was going on 
in the church about the possession of the ball, melon 
after melon was being purloined from the wagon and
rolled down the hill by a gang who had feasted their
eyes on the melons from the time they were brought on
the field by the deacon.  The fight for the ball was at
its highest pitch when one of the players rushed into
the church and called out to both teams; "Boys they
are stealing the melons, a mad rush was made by both 
teams to leave the church, making their exit through 
doors and windows, the cry went up "Anything to save
the melons."  But before they left they said in answer
to the pastro that it was Deacon Crow that gave them
the grounds for playing for his watermelons.  Oh, where
was the deacon in all of this confusion.  The congrega-
tion and the pastor were ready at once to expel and
throw him out of the church, for this utter desecration
of the Lord's house and his aiding and abetting the
agents of Satan in giving up his melons for gambling
purposes.  The good old sporting deacon was seen in
the rear of the church with a bowed head engaged []

*

prayer, the congregation was astounded at his attitude
and especially the sisters who always seemed to favor
him.  The preacher who was highly incensed, called
out in a loud voice, "Deacon Crow come up to the pul-
pit."  The deacon advanced with a bowed head, the 
pastor commenced a speech on the Deacon's conduct 
of the day.  He says, "Deacon Crow you have been a 
deacon of this church just three years, you ahve es-
caped expulsions many times, but you always get out
of your troubles by some wonderful excuses.  Today 
in the middle of solemn prayer, I called on the Lord to
send into this church a winged messenger when Satan's 
plaything came through the window, and struck me on
the head.  You have given up your helons for the
Devil's use, that the Lord had brought out of the
ground for you.  Now let us hear what excuse you
have this time?"
  Well reader do you think that the old sport did not
dodge the situation.  Well I should say that he did.
The deacon commenced thusley: "Beloved pastor and 
fellow mourners, Peter was stoned to death, Paul was
crucified, a crown of thorns was put on the Lord's head,
you have done that already on me, so finish it up and
lead me to Calvary.  When I tell you why I did all of 
this to-day, you will fall on my feet and sob, to ask my
forgiveness.  Daniel was thrown into the lion's den and
came out safely.  The children of Israel were thrown 
into the firery furnace and never had a hair singed. 
Why?  Because they were innocent and the Lord pro-
tected them.  When I tell you why I gave the ball-
people of Gooseneck and Chicken Bench the grounds of
the church to play on, it was to break up the sinful
proceedings that was to take place in those localities in

*

crap shooting, and rooster fights.  I brought them
near the church that they may be influenced by prayer
and hymns.  Yet I would bear all your censure like the 
Lord did before Pilot."  At this part of his explanation
some of the sisters began to weep and cry, and said, 
"Oh, deacon I hope that you will forgive us."  Deacon
continues, "You will ask me again why did I give up my
melons to be played for.  It was to fool and cheat 
Satan.  He had tempted people to rob me of my melons
this very night, but I made him serve the Lord for the
first time in this neighborhood.  The money that
bought the melons will be given to the pastor here to
buy a new black coat and pay his way to the Baptist
Conference in Montgomery."  The pastor put his head
on the deacon's shoulder and sobbed, and the sister
shouted, "What heavenly wisdom from our own beloved
deacon.  They all then cryed aloud, saying, "Oh, 
Deacon will you forgive us?"  Then the deacon raised 
his head and hands as if to bestow benediction and
said in solemn, tones, "Yes brethern."

BASE-RUNNING

  Base running is the art of run-getting.  Base-run-
ners are born not made.  Where the runner stops the
base runner begins.  Fleetness of foot carries a man to
first base.  Brains carry him around to the home
plate.  To be more lucid in expression, a man to steal
a base must maneuver like a boxer to put in his blow
or a swordsman to thrust his rapier through the open-
ing, his opponent leaves in his guard.  The intuition is
the same in the three--boxer, fencer and base-runner.
For a second to coach a boxer to tell him when the

*

opening in his oppoenent's guard would be silly, before
the second uttered a word the opening would be closed.
The same applies to the fencer or the base-runner.
You will hear many a time a cry set up by the audience
and the blank cartridge brain of some ball players,
when a base-runner is caught where was the coacher.
I will tell the public that there are some base-runners
in the baseball profession that are so dull that if the
rule would admit of a man to guide some of those base-
runners around from first to home, that he would break
away from him and be caught.
  All the famous base-runners of the game never
wanted any one to tell them when to steal and how to
take a lead.  It is just and right that the baseball
public should be enlightened on this one subject called
base-running.  John Ward, Mike Keller, Jim Fogerty 
of the past.  Jennings, Keller, McGraw of the present
know when to steal, and how to maneuver a lead.  The 
base-runner must pick a time and place to steal it.
And he must maneuver a lead that cannot be taught
to him by any captain or coacher.
  If nature did not contribute this attribute of in-
tuition and descretion before birth, it is beyond the
power of any man to impart that heaven born spark
to the runner.  Where a coacher is necessary it is on
the third base line where a runner will loose time by
looking back to see where the ball is.  But I have
known of eagle eyed men of the profession that calcu-
lated distance so nicely as to know where the ball was
when he was coming towards third, that no coacher
was necessary to hold him there or to send him in.

*

OPPORTUNITY OF YOUNG PLAYERS

  Young players of the present generation have []
idea of the easy sailing they have now compared with
the young men of the past.  There are hundreds of 
young men who never got the opportunity some years
ago to join the baseball profession, for there were no 
minor leagues.  Up to year '79, when the writer and
James McGee organized the first minor league of the
United States, (N. W.) namely: Rockford, Omaha,
Davenport and Dubuque.  Up to that time and later
on, league clubs had to draw their recruits from the raw
amateur ranks, and it took them some years before
they were developed.  To-day the young player grad-
uates from one minor league to another, so that they
are pretty well finished before they go to the major 
league body.  There are exceptions however, where a 
crack player in a fifth-rate minor league shows speed
enough to jump into the strongest major, especially
pitchers and outfielders.  So the young ball player of
to-day with steady habits and common sense can earn
enough money to start him in life when his playing
skill has left him.  My further advice to the young
player, that is thinking of making baseball his profes-
sion, he must cast aside any false idea of the game.
There are lots of bumps and knocks that he will have
to pass through, if he takes up the idea when he is 
entering professional baseball, as when he first enters
school, to know that he has a pile to learn, the same as
a scholar would think before he enters the eight grade
or the high school, or the high school student before he
enters the university.  If he takes that idea into view
he will get to the top more quickly than if he was fas-

*

cinated with the idea that he knew it all.  He must
[] be well posted on the human nature of the game
[] be ready to be called down for a careless of dumb
[] to those that are his best friends.  But his hardest 
knocks will be in many cases, when he is entering some
major league to take some older player's place.  Those
old players in many clubs by look and manner, will let 
him know that he is an intruder.  And if this young 
fellow is not under the management of a nervy and
keen sighted manager who can detect the attempted
embarrassment of this young fellow by the older ones,
Good day Mr. Young Player.
  Many a magnate of the Major league club has been 
robbed of many a crack young player, by the cunning
intrigue of a combination of those old players and figure-
head managers, who don't have the chivaly or man-
hood to let them kinow they could not drive out the
young aspirant.
  Now let me cite from actual experience, the trave-
sty on this noble stand of any manager for any young
player.  I have known one or two in my life who came
to me with tears in their eyes and as suppliant and
cringing as the lowest spaniel and told me that they
were not wanted in the club.  They did not have to
tell me of it, for my knowledge of baseball human nature
knows its cunning ways.  After I manfully called
those big ones down they let them alone.  The fellows
that I speak of became stars of the diamond afterwards, 
but they on their part years afterwards turned out to
be the biggest bullies and most tyrannical fellows
that had to commence like themselves.
  Baseball is indeed a churner of mankind, in its con-

*

flicting interest it will bring to the top the noblest
qualities in a man, if he has them, or the lowest and
basest.  The hyenas and ghouls of the grave yards may 
remember you with kindness, if you open the gate to
let them depart when hunted.  The rattler might not
sting you, if you keep your heel off his head, and let him
pass as he is crossing a road.  But never in your life
will this being, whcih you call a baseball player return
you any gratitude, though you fight for him for twenty 
years and push him to the front, irrespective of what
you lose by it.  I don't mean to say that this covers
the entire mass of the exponents of the national game,
far from it, but I do apply it to a certain class of men
who afterwards became stars and try to deny their
humble beginnings, and never speak of those manly
fellows who put them on the baseball map--and that
in downright pure sympathy--prompted only by a 
good heart.  All professions have its class of ingrates.
So baseball is not the exception by any means.  The
greatest men of the world boasted of their humble be-
ginning.  Bonaparte used to startle and horrify the
kings of Europe by stating that he did not have money
enough at one time in Paris to pay his laundry bill.
Lincoln said he cut logs by day and studied by candle
light at night.  So different brains, different ideas.

VON-DER-AHEISMS

  During the early 80's when the St. Louis Browns 
were making Chris Von-der-ahe's name conspicuous in
baseball literature, an exciting and amusing scene oc-
curred in the old Sportman's park which made Chris un-

*

wittingly logical by his prompt order in deciding the
case.  There was a ground rule in which a batted ball
hit over the right field fence entitled the batsmen to
two bases, but this day the Browns' captain forgot to 
mention it either to the new umpire or the visiting
manager.  About the second inning one of the Browns 
drove the sphere over the right field fence and made the
circuit of the bases.  A cry went up from the visiting 
team that the hit entitled the batsman to only two
bases, as that was the rule on their last visit.  The
Browns' captain would not agree to it, and the umpire 
was in a quandary as to what he should do.  In the
midst of all this kicking Chris leaped over the railing
and advanced toward the umpire and excited players 
and in a loud voice he asked what was the cause of the 
trouble.
  The captain of the Browns said the opposing team
wanted the man to go back to second base instead of 
allowing a home run for the hit over the fence.
  Chris was in his element that day, as there was a 
tremendous crowd on the grounds and he wanted to
show them that he ruled the roost.  He called out
before the grand stand:
  "Look here, Mr. Umpire, vat is knocked is knocked,
vat is ofer the fence is ofer the fence.  Go ahead mit der
game yet"--and the game went on.

THE HANDICAP OF THE THREE KINGS

  While managing the Washington team in1888, there
were three kings of the baseball diamond at the same 
time in that city.  Two of them represented a battery
of the Boston League Club, namely: Mike []

*

and Charles Radbourne, the other king was that fear-
less of all baseball umpires, honest John Kelly, now 
of New York.  There were two congressmen attend-
ing the session of congress and were great ball fiends,
and were particular admirers of those three kings
of the diamond.  The Arlington Hotel in Washington,
D.C., that night was the scene of a happy time.  These 
two defenders of the nation's interests had their select
friends and nothing would suit them unless the three
kings accept an invitation to spend the evening with 
them.  Wine of all kinds was opened, until daylight
net morning.  Rad and Kell went to bed to take a
nap before the afternoon's game.  Kelly, the umpire,
remained with the congressman all that morning,
but came down to the office of the ball grounds at 2 P.
M., and fell asleep on the sofa in the back office of the
club.  Games do not begin in Washinton until 4:30 
P.M.  At four o'clock the Boston club appeared on
the grounds, with Kelly and Radbourne, who were the
battery one the score card for that day's game.  Not
a soul in that vast audience knew their night's outing.
The two kings were still under the influence of the
hospitality of their congressman friends, but so quiet
and unassuming were they in their action, that not a 
person knew of their condition but myself and the
Washington team.  Yet, with that handicap of all
kinds of wine they were still kings.  The personality 
of Kelly and Radburn was so great that if they were
carried to the grounds on a coat they would outshine
some people.
  Rad's uniform only was pitching the last two years
of his life on the ball grounds--the physique of the 
original Rad was there no more--but there was a 

*

trick left yet in that uniform.  Kelley's glove and
mask still had the magic to bluff a base-runner of
"kid" a batter.  They were both in their element
this day.  Radbourne, with that slow ball of his, that
was never duplicated, had the Washington batters
hitting at it before it arrived at the plate.  Friend
John, the king of all umpires, whom I ordered to be
woke up at 4:15, was in the back room of the ticket-
office.  I have heard of John L. Sullivan having cold
water thrown on his head and rubbed to wake him
from his spree on the night he fought Slade at Madison
Square Garden.  Well, it was about the same with 
John Kelly, ready to go out and umpire the game. 
At 4:30, the time for the game, good-natured Nick
Young, president of the National League, came and
asked me if I had seen John Kelly.  Mr. Young was
a great admirer of John's ability as an umpire and he
was ever charitable of great men's faults, if they
showed any great disposition to attend to duty.  I
had to prevaricate right here to my friend Nick.  I
told him that I thought that John overslept himself
at the hotel, and I had sent a boy to bring him on 
at once, and I knew that he would arrive soon.  At
the same time I was taking a peep back into the office
to see how Kell was fixing up to go out on the field
to umpire.  He was at least ready; but how to get 
Mr. Young away from the office door, so that he would
not see Kell come out from the back room, was a 
hard matter.  By an artifice Mr. Young was called
into the grand stand, and gentlemanly John Morrill,
manager of the Boston club, came over to me and 
asked the cause of delay.  I explained to him the whole
situation.  Morrill was one those noble fellows that

*

when they are lost to the game they are seldom re-
placed.  He was broad and generous in this matter,
and generally in all matters when it came to baseball.
He finally said to me: "Is it safe to let Kelly goon
and umpire in his condition?"  I said to Morrill: "I
would rather have John Kelly out there giving de-
cisions for both of us in his condition, than all the
lop-si-loos in the world."  John smiled and went over
to his bench; but before leaving, he remarked: "It
is all up to you, Ted."  Well, the door of the office
was opened, king Kelly appeared in his blue serge 
uniform, walked out through the gate and over towards
the home plate in that military, dignified walk of his.
When the spectators caught sight of him, they gave 
him a grand ovation, as he was always popular in
Washington.  He looked around, and in that com-
manding manner and clear voice, he said, "Batter up."
And then there was action on the part of both teams.
"Kell" was still a king.
  Let me tell the reader, there never was a game
umpired better.  The other two kings, Radburn and
Mike Kelly, had this heavy batting team of Washing-
ton at their mercy.  The amusing part of the whole 
proceedings was that the Washington team knew that
Rad was "loaded."  They had beaten Boston in the
latter city on their last trip, and that with Rad sober,
but on this day, with a slow tantalizing ball, he made
fools of them--so much for the uncertainty of base-
ball.
  The game ended by Boston defeating the Wash-
ington team, notwithstanding the handicap of their
battery.  John Kelley umpired to perfection, and the
three kings still reigned.

*

MANAGERS I HAVE MET

JOHN MCCLOSKY

  Of the many managers, who have buffeted the high
seas of baseball and never faltered in his honest en-
deavors to do right it is John McClosky, formerly
manager of the Louisville league team--now at Butte,
Mont.  My aim is not to taint my writings with preju-
dice in favor or against any one.  The humble to me if 
he has an honest heart is always the one I extend the 
hand and pull or shove up the ladder but I never bow
to Kesler's hat no matter what the financial loss would
be for doing so.  Talent and honesty of purpose, I
always revere.  Aesop's proverbial ass with his load of
gold never dazzled me.  John McClosky has for years 
entered barren baseball fields, and by his hustling
energy and enthusiasm has brought baseball to life in
sections of the country where it has laid dormant 
for years.  The most ironical thing on a man's work in
baseball and in fact a travesty on any man's energy 
in professional ball, is to see some "butter-in" and shady
[]day manager barefacedly claiming credit for what
[]men of talent has worked up or done for the game,
[]professional baseball manager of a high class
has something to lose in the game but this semi-ama-
teur "who buts in one day and buts out another"--
[]and says baseball is not his business--in fact the great 
game is not--for it is too honest for his zig-zag mind.
This class you will especially meet in minor leagues,
they are no part of the honest professional men who 
[]says boldly baseball is my calling.  I might as well tell 
the reader that in []the back provinces of America that
there is a class of people who may be reputable in their 

*

[] line of business, imagine that the first requisite if
they are going to enter professional ball is to be crook-
ed, when it is just the reverse.  Mr. McClosky has for
many years developed the finest young talent that have
made reputation afterwards of the highest order in the
national league, and the game itself has not better or
honest exponent than John J. McClosky.

JAKE WELLS

  Amongst the many managers I have met during my
connection with baseball none impressed me more
for ability, intelligence and culture, than Jake Wells,
who retired some years ago, and entered the amuse-
ment fields in Richmond, Va.  It is too bad for the
game that a gentleman of Mr. Wells' caliber cannot
stay in it, but it cannot be.  To a far-seeing man 
who has energy and talent knows the base ball market 
is a poor place to exploit it in.  The politics and the
uncertainty of the game makes it so, the successful
man of one year is a dead one in the next, if his team
is a looser, yet he may display the same ability and
evergy while handling looser and he did the winner.
The bat and owl are as good as the eagle if conditions
make it so.  Talent, energy and tact are submerged
by the wave of disaster which the bench manager
has no control of.  It is all right for a playing manager
who falls back on his skill on the ball field if his []
ledge is found wanting in handling the team []
are exceptions, like Hanlon, who has proprietar[]
in a club which makes him immovable, []
also be learned that Jim Hart, Vanderhou[]
and Soden and practical ball magnates, []

*

locate baseball disaster without placing it on []
shoulders of their managers.  Mr. Wells has made []
grand success in his amusement line and I will close
by stating that he was one of the most polished 
gentlemen I ever met in a game.

PAT TEBEAU

  The greatest military genius of any age, Napoleon
Bonaparte, said: "That an army of sheep, led by a 
lion could do more than an army of lions led by a 
sheep," and this famous saying has often been illus-
trated on the ball field.  Pat Tebeau, while he was
not possessed with the highest mechanical baseball
skill, did more on the ball field than many captains
and managers that played only on their individual 
skill to keep them at the heads of teams.  Pat had
the inborn fight in him, flavored with that tabasco 
sauce, enthusiasm and grit, that infected his entire
team, which in total made him a successful leader for
years at Cleveland.  While in language and manners
[] the ball field he was not of the Adisonion Chester-
field style, yet in private life Tebeau would make 
any one his friend.  Pat is broad in views, and will 
give any man credit possessing ability, no matter
whether he likes the man personally or not.  Tebeau
on the field and off the field were two different kinds
of individuals, he knew the winning side of a player 
[] worked on that, which quality made him a 
[]

BILL JOYCE

[] the most aggressive leaders of the baseball
[] past was William Joyce, now of St. Louis.

*

[] had no velvet exterior to conceal a dagger of
[] to "con" or fool you on teh ball field, his
weapons were all in sight that he was to use on you,
he was a bold and manly fellow, and always true to
a friend.  Of the many brainy and nervy aggressive
batters I ever saw he was my ideal, he knew what to 
do at a critical stage of the game, he sized up time,
place and the fibre of the opposing pitcher.  Should 
ever a model batsman be chiseled out of marble to
be palced in the art hall of the national game, it would
lay between Jim O'Neil of the old St. Louis Browns,
and Bill Joyce, formerly manager of the New York
club.

MIKE FINN

  One of the most successful new minor league 
managers to adorn the game is Michael Finn, from
"Way down East," Mike is a typical Yankee, but
his Yankeism is flavored so much with his Irish
geniality and good nature, that should you be mad
at him his Irish sunshine would make you forget it.
Mr. Finn has more than ordinary ability in moulding
raw material into a winning team.  May his base ball 
life be ever strewn with "no bigger rocks than he
has already encountered."

ARMOUR.

  Mr. Armour, who last year entered the Major league
for fame fortune, has demonstrated that he is 
quite a student in knowing what timber it takes to
make up a winner in a major league.  I met him
some years ago when he was a fielder of the Patterson

*

Jersey Club of the Atlantic League, and I am pleased 
to see him successful in a profession that he is an []
to his work with the Cleveland club, last year was a 
surprise to many who thought he did not have know-
ledge of the speed of the American League.

GEORGE T. STALLINGS

  Mr. Stallings is another man of whom the writer 
has met and known, and can cheerfully pay a high
compliment to his qualifications as a first-class base-
ball man.  The selection of some of the past stars
of the Philadelphia club demonstrated that he had 
a talent in knowing what essential qualities in a ball
player made up a Major league player.  When he
played Lajoie on second base for the Philadelphia
club he was derided by some wise critics, but the work
of the great Frenchman in that position showed that
Mr. Stallings knew more about the game than all his
critics put together.

W.H. LUCAS

  This little gentleman, who has spent some money and
time in extending the limits of the national great sport,
should be spoken of in the highest terms.  He is one 
of the squarest little men that has been connected with
the game for years.  He has more than average in-
telligence in organizing minor leagues, and the writer 
will vouch for his stern character and honesty of pur-
pose in any baseball venture in which he undertakes.
It is my duty to speak of any man that has done some-
thing for the national game, especially when that man

*

has spent time and money with no idea of returns.
My acquaintanceship extends to the limits of the
United States, and even over to the British Isles, and 
this book is intended to let every one know I remem-
bered him, no matter what humble station he occu-
pied in the great national game.

HENRY CHADWICK

  To deny that Columbus discovered America, to
deny that George Washington crossed the Delaware,
would be the same as to deny that Henry Chadwick
is the father, propagator and adviser of the great
pastime of the United States.  He discovered the
little foundling called baseball in its swaddling clothes,
on the Elysian Fields, Hoboken, N.J., took it up in
his arms and cared for it, nursed it, suggested advice 
for it, until the game entered the state of manhood and 
was able to take care of itself.  The majority of the 
new generation do not know this, but the writer,
when he was ten years old began reading the venerable 
old man's advice to the rulers of the great pastime.
When time rolls on, and all Americans become lovers
of their great sport, they will some day perpetuate
in marble the founder and father of their national
pastime.--Henry Chadwick of Brooklyn, N.Y.

PIONEER BASEBALL IN MILWAUKEE

  The early days of baseball in Milwaukee recalls the
names of some of Milwaukee's leading citizens, who
were either exponents or votaries of the game, and
they only indulged in the pastime for the sport and
recreation it afforded, and not for revenue.  Those

*

were the days of pure amateur ball, and clubs had to
be sustained by dues and assessments of its active
and honorary members.  The active members, who
were the players of the team, had to be selected by
the honorary members, to represent their organiza-
tion on the field.  Up to 1870 there were three senior
organizations and about six junior clubs in the city.
The Cream Citys were the leaders, with the Juneaus
and Badgers next.  The Cream Citys were the repre-
sentative team for a time.  The officers and personnel
of the team were from the ranks of the best society
in the city.  They played at tourneys in the state,
and were more or less successful.  Janesville and Madi-
son were their competitors, and gritty little Janesville
generally held its own against the Cream Citys. 
The old pioneer guard of baseball supporters in Mil-
waukee from 1868 to 1870 were Morgan Furlong,
M.A. Boardman, Dick Allen (the great umpire of
that time, who stood on the side of the catcher with
an umbrella in hand), Mr. Dryden, Jeff Jenkins,
Wells F. Smith, E.H. Chandler and others of equal 
prominence.  The active members of the club were
Geo. Reddington, Archie McFadden, Jim Wood,
Charles Norris, E.H. Chandler, Archie Middlemas,
Clarence (Sleepy) Smith, Martin Larkin, Bill Dods-
worth, Mike Dunn, Joe Dunn, Joe Hooley and "Free" 
Clark.  The Cream Citys always picked a team from
these players to represent them in all match games.  
The professionals of the east visited Milwaukee in 
1869 and 1870--namely the unions of Morrisina, N.Y.,
the Atlantics of Brooklyn and Cincinnati Reds.  The
hand of progress has entirely obliterated that historic
ball ground.  First it was called Camp Reno or
Segel, where the rattle of drums and voice of command
was heard in preparing the gallant 24th Wisconsin
for the sanguinary battles of the rebellion.  Some
years afterwards the grounds were again the scene 
of mimic battles of the national game.  The voice
of the umpire took the place of the commanding 
officer, the crack of the bat that of the tap of the drum,
and the shout of the spectators supplanted the martial
music of the soldiers.  The entrance to the grounds
was on Prospect Avenue and across the prairie to
the river bank was a plat of undulating grounds which
the progress and enterprise of the city has transformed 
into beautiful avenues and palatial mansions.  Magni-
ficent residences, now occupy historical spots, where
famous plays were made by Milwaukee's greatest players
of those times--in the crisis of a game, which meant 
victory or defeat for their side.  Babes are now 
hushed to sleep by the lullaby of their nurses in a 
beautiful mansion occupied by one, Mr. Berthelet,
where sat shouting spectators, who were electrified
by the marvelous running foul catches made by
George Reddington.  Servant girls are now seen
gossiping in the yard of a palatial residence owned
by Mr. Blatz, where Jimmy Wood caught many an 
unwary base runner napping off first base.  Far to
the west of the northwest corner of Farwell Avenue
and Irving Place, stands a magnificient structure
of marvelous architecture, pained a vermillon.
The owner is Mr. Catlin.  To the left of this house, on
a well-kept lawn, swings a hammonck occupied by a 
lady reading a novel.  This is the place where Bob
Waldo of the Junior Stars made a celebrated back-
running catch with one hand that saved the day for 

*

his team against the Eckfords of Racine.  To the
north of this house, at the corner of Lafayette Place
and Farwell Avenue, the pedestrians are attracted
by the appearance of a two-story flat of Gothic archi-
tecture.  This residence is occupied by Mr. Pond,
passenger agent of the Wisconsin Central Ry.
This is where the left fielder of the Burlington, Wis-
consin club, now Congressman Cooper of the Badger
state, picked up a ball hit by Douglas Van Dyke of
Milwaukee--then the champion of the Junior Stars;
it was the longest hit ever made in the Cream City.
Van Dyke, for a youth, was the heaviest hitter of his 
day.  Yes, those were the days of genuine glory and
recreation on the ball field.
  Big Mike Dunn, the great batter of the Cream Citys,
must not be forgotten.  It is said of him that he made 
a hit in Chicago, foulwards-a-la-cricket, and remarked,
as he witnessed the course of the ball, "It is too bad,
boy, that the diamond is pitched the wrong way."
Meaning that if it was behind the catcher he would
have a home run.  While the senior organization of
the city and the state were batting it out among them-
selves for the senior championship, there was a junior
organization of the city moulding and developing
itself into a formidable team, known as the Stars.
The members of this club were from the (F. F. M's)
the first families of Milwaukee.  These young men
afterwards made themselves famous in commerce,
law and other pursuits of life.  This combination of
youths were known as the Stars.  It was the good
fortune of the writer to be selected as captain and
pitcher of that select gathering of youths, and never
in all my life, of the many clubs I handled and of the

*

games I took part in, did I ever relish a victory, or
fight harder for it, than I did for those boys of my
youth, the Stars of Milwaukee.  The young men who
were connected with that organization, either active
or honorary members, were Douglas Van Dyke, Chas.
Simonds, Chauncey Simonds, Bob Waldo, William 
Jennings, Hamilton Voss, Jess and William Tainter,
Will Rogers, Jim Bray, George Ball, Aba Hooley,
George Hooley, Happy Chandler, and Phil Ellis.  This
young organization, after defeating all junior clubs
for two years, thre down the gauntlet to their senior
brethren, the Cream Citys, for the championship of
the state, but they did not accept it.  It was the
unanimous sentiment of the city that the Cream
Citys were afraid and the stars were declared champ-
ions of the state.  A pick team of the entire city
was organized with five or six of the Cream Citys, and
the score herewith shows what that boy club did to them.
The West Ends were another social club, which
organized in the middle of the 70's, of which many
prominent men of Milwaukee to-day were its members.
Supt. Collins, of the Wis. Central, E.C. Meadows of
the Grand Trunk, Sid Cole and Will Rogers were
its sponsors and abettors.  William Furlong, who
had just come from the University of St. Louis, was
one of the pitchers and the first to introduce the 
curve to the citizens of Milwaukee.  There was also
another clubs at that time called the "Alerts," of
which the writer was the manager, and Sir Thomas
J. Shaughanessy, now president of the Canadian
Pacific Railroad, was the president.  Those two clubs
[] of a social nature and played ball for the love 
[] the game.

*

  BASEBALL--The match game of baseball played yesterday at
Cream City Park, between the Stars and Athletics, resulted in a 
victory for the Stars by a score of 22 to 2.  The playing was ex-
cellent on both sides.  Jennings, short stop of the Stars, showed
himself an accurate thrower and a good player.  Bray and Sul-
livan with their good support in the field, proved too much for 
their opponents.  We append the score:
        STARS         O.  R.             ATHLETICS       O.  R.
Sullivan, p . . . . . 2   4     J. Hooley, c. . . . . .  4   0
Van Dyke, 1st b. . .  3   3     J. Edmunds, 3d b. . . .  3   0
Waldo, cf. . . . . .  2   3     W. Edmunds, 1st b . . .  4   0
M. Bray, 3d b . . . . 3   3     Wetherby, ss . . . . . . 4   0
Ball, 2d b . . . . .  2   3	Murphy, p . . . . . . .  2   2
Simonds, rf . . . . . 4   1     Lacy, rf . . . . . . . . 3   0
Jennings, ss . . . .  6   0     Longmore . . . . . . . . 1   0
J. Bray, c . . . . .  3   3     G. Hooley . . . . . . .  3   0
Taintor, lf . . . . . 2   2     Dunn . . . . . . . . . . 3   0
                     __  __                             __  __
  Total . . . . . . .27  22       Total . . . . . . . . 27   2
                          INNINGS.
                            1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9
Stars . . . . . . . . . . . 5  2  2  6  1  0  3  2  1--22
Athletics . . . . . . . . . 0  1  0  0  0  0  0  0  1-- 2
  Fly catches--Stars--Sullivan 2, Van Dyke 2, Waldo 2, M.
Bray 2, Ball 1, Jennings 1, Taintor 1--11.
  Athletics--J. Hooley 1, J. E. Edmunds 1, W. Edmunds 2,
Wetherby 1, Lacy 3, G. Hooley 3, Dunn 3--14.
  Flys missed--Stars--Sullivan 2, J. Bray 1.
  Fouls caught--Stars--Van Dyke 1, J. Bray 6.
  Athletics--J. Hooley, G. Hooley 1.
  Passed balls--Hooley 5, Bray 1.
  Called balls--Sullivan 20, Murphy 17.
  Time of game--Two hours and twenty minutes.
  Umpire--F. Ellis.
  Scorer--F. Goll.

THE VALUE OF WIT

  In the next century, when baseball will be in the 
hands of posterity, and the present votaries and ex-
ponents gone to their long sleep, the bancroft of the
national place will place Chris Vanderahe where he
rightfully belongs.  The book is intended to be a book
of sunshine--not of cyclones and storms, but to []
the whit and humor--which is the sunny side of []

*

men connected with the game.  The man without 
either wit or humor is as flavorless as cold beef with-
out seasoning.  From the standard of the jackdown,
the eagle is considered crazy for his flighty evolutions,
the ass looks with dismay on the fleetness of the race
horse, in its circuit around the track.  The cur dog
that barks through the railing of a fence at the great
mastiff or St. Bernard, views the attitude of those 
dogs entirely from his own standard.  Prof. Morse
who advocated the use of telegraphy, was looked upon
as demented by even the brain of the nation at Wash-
ington, when he was begging a little appropriation,
from the government.  Fulton, the first advocator 
of steam as a motive power, was pointed out in t the
streets as a man who had gone daffy on some new
foolish idea of his by the human sparrows of his 
time.  So it is in baseball.  Any man who has a little 
wit is viewed altogether from a different standpoint
by people who never break the monotony of their
own atmosphere by a witty remark.  There was 
never a great man without wit.
  The great confederate general, Stonewall Jackson,
was considered eccentric and odd while a professor
at Lexington, Va., by some of the students and pro-
fessors of that institution.  And yet he had the wit
one day, while teaching a class in science, in asking
the students, "why was it impossible to send a tele-
gram from Lexington, Va. to Stanton."  The whole
class judged the taciturn professor from a cold,
stern standpoint.  Some said the reason was
that the iron in the mountains would absorb []
electric current from the wire.  Answer after answer
followed, until one witty scholar, detected under[]

*

stern brow and look of his professor a bit of humor.
As the student knew that there was no telegraph
wires at that time between the two cities, so he
arose and told his professor that that was the reason.
The whole class saw into the joke but never thought
Old Stonewall possessed such wit or would have
cracked a joke at their expense.  Well, Stonewall
Jackson went crazy during the war of the rebellion,
and he set five or six union generals crazy in trying
to locate him, and was the cause of the Federal adminis-
tration discharging five or six of their generals for
allowing Stonewall Jackson to set them crazy.  So much
for genius and wit.  The first Napoleon said that the
Lord was on the side of the army that carried the
heaviest guns.
  But, kind reader, I am not accusing Chris Vonderahe
of possessing to any degree, genius or wit, I have too
high a regard for him to say that he possessed this
divine spark, and to say so would be satirical and
ironical.
  Chris, at times has been unwittingly witty, caused
more by his disagreement with Lindley Murray and
Addison on the Queen's English, than anything else.
Of the many famous remarks that Chris made to the
writer, one was that I could hit one bird with a double
stone.  It came about in this way:  I remarked to
him that if I could not get Glen of the Richmond, Va.,
club, on the way back home I would stop off at Phila-
delphia and try to get Fred Lewis from A.J. Roach.
Chris at once retorted, "Yes, Ted, you can hit one 
bird with a double stone."  At another time he was
[] about a player that was released from two
[] ree clubs.  I told him that I didn't want him,

*

Chris says, "That is right, a rolling moss never catches 
a stone."  Chris was great on proverbs, but he used
to get them inverted.  Another famous proverb
that he had was, "Everything comes to him who waits."
So Chris hops up one day and says, "He that waits
gets nothing."  My relations with Chris would not
be complete (in his verdant days of base ball), if I did
not give a history of the watch he gave me.
  On a quiet sunny April morning, at Sportsman
Park, St. Louis, Chris whispered in my ear that he
thought there was something in a plush box for me
at his office.  I hastened to find out what it was.
When I opened the box there was a handsome gold
watch and chain contained therein.  I opened it
and inside was the following inscription, "C. Vander-
ahe to T.P. Sullivan, April 4th, 1883."  This watch
had another presentation, at the Broadway Central
Hotel, N. Y.., on a September morning of that
same year in which the writer hurled it back at him
after his disagreement with the famous Chris, but
nevertheless, I can pay the highest compliment to
the grand old Teuton who recognized my merit when
he first met me and presented me with the watch, as
a token of his esteem.  He put the watch in his pocket
and in two months afterward, at Sportsman Park,
placed it back in my hand and told me not to be so 
high strung.  In an Alabama town, eight years after-
ward, a coon purloined it and fifty dollars from my
vest, through a transom, and in my many travels
I may catch that coon with the watch on his person
at some high-toned Ethiopian ball.  But the writer
will state that Mr. Vonderahe was never given credit
for what he did, in his day of success, he was lavish

*

in his generosity to needy people, and many times I
have seen him help broken down ball players to their
homes by getting them transportation.  His political
friends in St. Louis should never have left him in
jail at Pittsburg, as he spent his own money time and
time again to get them into office.  Great kindness
of the past should never be forgotten.

THE FIRE[] AND THE BALL GAME.

  While a student at St. Mary's College, Kansas, in
1874, there was a baseball club at Topeka, Kansas,
which was very zealous that I should come and play
with them on a certain day.  The faculty of the
college was very strict in those days about the students
leaving the college to go any where, even outside of
college grounds unless you had a permit.  While the
rector personally was willing to grant me any privilege
that was consistent with college rules, still he could
not make an exception in my case.
  Topka was sending in a few smuggled letters to 
have me come on a certain day.  They considered
me a great shortstop, and they thought that I would 
help them to win the game.  I was more than anxious
myself, but how to get out was the rub.  Topeka is
some twenty-five miles from St. Mary's.  The faculty
held me in high esteem, as I was paying my own 
tuition, etc.  The opportunity finally came one day, 
and it was the day before the game.  The chance
presented itself to me in a very novel and exciting
way.  Kansas at that time used to be troubled with
prairie fires in the fall, and many a fire the students
of St. Mary's extinguished, that saved the poor farmers

*

from loss of home and property.  The primitive 
extinguisher that the boys handled were water soaked
bags.  This mode of putting out the fire was to attack
it in divided numbers along its border.  On this partic-
ular day, I remember, I was solving a problem in equa-
tions of unknown quantities, when the college bell set up
the alarm of a prairie fire.  We had a fire brigade 
in that institution that could master any fire.  Grass
in Kansas at that time used to grow very high.  To
belong to this fire brigade at old St. Mary's was no
common honor, as wine and cake was the aftermath 
of a great fire victory.  Farmers would vie with
each other in feasting us, so the fire brigade of that
college were heroes in that section of the country 
after conquering a bad prairie fire.  At this alarm clouds
of smoke were seen in the distance and about twenty
boys left the college campus with a cheer and bags
to extinguish the fire.  In the smoke of that fire I
could see the ball ground at Topka, and the suggested
idea of filling my promise fascinated me.  We flanked
and outflanked that fire, beating it down with the
water soaked bags.  Once in a while the fire would 
start up in some new direction, but we separated in
pairs to meet that contingency.  Now to get away 
from my college chums was a new puzzle.  I noticed
a little smoke about half a mile away, so I informed
my chums I would go over there and put that fire
out myself.  The boys were very tired after their
great battle with the fire so no one offered to accom-
pany me, which was to my entire satisfaction.  This 
left me free to roam, I made a bee line for that smoke,
put out the little dry grass that was burning, and
then took to the high grass towards Topeka.  The

*

boys got tired of waiting for me and went back to the 
college, thinking I took another route home.  I went
through the tall grass of the prairie until I got to
Silver Lake, a little station below the college on the
Union Pacific railway.  I took the train into Topeka,
my friends there were delighted to see me and I was
highly pleased to be in the game next day.  I told
them how I got away, and the ruse I advanced to
fool my chums.  We played the next day and we
beat the club from Lawrence.
  To get back to the college and give some plausable
excuse for my absence was harder than the problem
that I was working in the class when the alarm struck
for the fire at the college.  I stood in very
high favor with the rector, faculty and brothers, and
when I did not return with the boys they thought
that something might have happened, especially
when night came on.  Some advanced the theory 
that I got tired and lost my way in the grass and took
a wrong direction for teh college, which was no un-
common thing in those days to get lost in the prairies 
of Kansas.  One innocent, poor brother reproached
the boys for letting me go alone to put out a fire by
myself; others advanced the idea that after I found
out that I was lost I went to some farmer's house 
and would yet turn up safe.  A venerable old father,
named Joseph Remmele, who was my professor, told
the fire brigade that they had basely deserted their 
chief.  While all this alarm about my safety was 
going on I took the train from Topeka to Silver Lake--
got off--traversed my steps back to where we put out 
the prairie fire, over the hill back of the college and 
in full sight of the campus.  When the boys caught

*

sight of me coming over the hill cheer after cheer
went up, the lost was found I had the whole
college shaking hands with me.  The grand old rector,
who is now dead, never questioned me.  Professors
gathered around me to hear my story of how I found 
my way back to the college.  I told them I went 
through the high grass, thinking I was coming towards
the college and kept walking and walking until I was
nearly discouraged, the boys were listening to my 
terrible adventure.  I continued, and said  I was on
the verge of despair, ready to throw myself on the
grass, when I saw the lights of Topeka, I then knew
I was safe from the terrible fate of being eaten by
wolves.  When I got into the city, by accident I met
a friend from Kansas City, and told him my tale, 
he made me go to his house and insisted that I should
play in the game of ball the next day.  I consented, 
and here I am.  That settled it, I was back in old 
St. Mary's.
  But readers, don't you think for a moment I fooled
that grand old president, Rev. Stundebeck, of the
college, not at all, he knew of me being in Topeka 
and the artful method I took to get there.  But his
dignified silence and generous impulse hurt me more
than if I was reprimanded for the act.

VIRGINIA SHERRIF AND A SUNDAY GAME.

  In 1890 when Washington lost its league team,
by the revolt of the brotherhood, it entered the East-
ern league with the writer as sole owner of the club.
We concluded we would test the Sunday law in the
old Dominion.  The grounds were across the Potamac,

*

near Alexander, Va., and there was an immense crowd[]
from Washington on this day to see the opening
Sunday.  The game started and in the middle of the
second ending, the country sheriff appeared, and as 
he was lately elected, he wanted all to know who
he was, and wanted to arrest every one connected
with the game, from the manager down.  First he
was looking anxiously for the manager, Sullivan,
a friend heard about it and posted me.  So eight or 
nine of the men rehearsed the reception for Mr. Sheriff,
when he appeared.  As all the details of the plan 
were understood, out comes Mr. Sheriff from the 
crowd to see me.  Some one in the distance pointed
me out, who was oblivious of what the sheriff wanted,
he was partially excited, and his long, red beard
bore crumbs of a pumpkin pie.  In his hurry to get
to the ball grounds he had failed to utilize a napkin,
and the crumbs of the pie were nestling in his long, 
flowing bear, he approached me with the proverbial
Virginia politeness and said: "You will pardon me,
sir, but are you not Mr. Ted Sullivan, manager of
the Washington base ball club, I am sheriff Ashby,
of Fairfax Co., Va., and I wish to inform you that
this violation of law and desecrating of the Sabbath
will have to be stopped."  In the sweetest tone pos-
sible, I turned and extended my hand, saying,
"Sheriff Ashby, I am not Mr. Sullivan, manager of 
this base ball club, but I am Senator Tim Sullivan
of New York, allow me to introduce you to some of 
the great members of the house and senate, they
wished a little diversion this afternoon and came
over here to Old Virginia soil where even the trees
bid the stranger welcome.  Are you note a blood

*

[]native of the Ashby's of Valley of Virginia, and also
[] Turner Ashby, the Murat of the southern cavalry.
Proud am I to meet you and so are these distinguished 
gentleman."
  Reader I know the Virginians, I know them well.
My residence in Washington taught me to know
their hospitality and the traditions of that they
never allow to be questioned, and they would rather
have a hand cut off bfeore they would tell you to
leave their soil.  As a class of people they are social
kings.  The humorous side of this unsophisticated 
county sheriff in trying to stop the game, presented
itself, and I could not but take advantage of it.
  The introduction went on from man to man, one man 
was so and so of Pa., another man that was introduced
was supposed to be Senator Morgan from Alabama,
the next was a senator from Ohio, until finally we
picked a man who slightly resembled Joe Blackburn
from Old Kentucky, the latter man played Black-
burn to a dot.  First the Fairfax County sheriff
had to take a snack of Old Bourbon from Old Ken-
tucky, and Joe took from his hip pocket a flask of
Old Rye, and remarked: "Let old Virginia and 
Kentucky drink together."  And Sheriff Ashby took 
a good swallow.  The game was going on and the 
audience was cheering at all good plays.  Funny
story after funny story was told to the sheriff between
drinks, and why should he leave this distinguished
company that he was in?  He laughed so much 
that he jarred all the crumbs of th[] pkin pie
out of his beard.
  The game was nearly over when []
"Well, gentlemen, I will not hunt up []

*

but I reckon that I will let the game go on since y[]
all desire it, and if the Governor of Va. himself was
here and desired me to stop it I would not."  As the 
last inning of the game closed, the chivalrous Ashby
took one more drink of Joe Blackburn's Kentucky
whiskey, and bidding us all good-bye, thanking us
for the honor conferred upon him and happy with the
thought that eh spent an afternoon with the distin-
guished men of the nation, he left for home.  But
you can bet your life that we never attempted to
play any more Sundays over in "Old Virginia."

SENATOR SAWYER AND HIS FIRST BALL GAME.

  An amusing story is told of Senator Sawyer of
Wis.  In 1887, Oshkosh, Wis., had a great ball game,
of which a son-in-law of Senator Sawyer was backing,
in fact, the senator himself donated liberally towards
the club.  The senator had a very crude and vague 
idea of baseball and its rules, he had an idea that 
the rules of the game permitted each club to play
as many men as they wished on a side if they so
desired.  He had no idea that nine men was the limit.
During the game in Oshkosh, while the senator was
a spectator, the opposing team was batting terrifi-
cally the Oshkosh pitcher, all the hitting of that day
was to the out field.  Ball after ball was hit over the
fielder's head during this terrific fusillade, some one
that was sitting near the senator remarked that there
were not enough men out in the field to catch those
long fiels [] the senator spoke up then, saying"
[] son-in-law, was always a stingy
[] get more men and put them out

*

there, and he has plenty of money to do it, and what
are all those men doing in here piled near each other?"
referring, of course, to the infield, "why don't they
go out and chase some of those balls."

HARRY WRIGHT.

  The pioneer professional manager--the scholar, the
statistician and gentleman,--Harry Wright.  If I did
not pay the tribute to him it would demonstrate
that I did not know him, or else I was a man of no
perception.  This grand man of baseball was the 
first to demonstrate to the baseball world that com-
bined mediocre skill, which now term team work,
could defeat the best individual skill the country
could get together.  Wright was the originator of
collective plays, in the art of run getting, and also
the art of preventing it.  He began his playing in 
center field for Cincinnati, in the '69 team, and
afterwards showed the whole baseball fraternity
what a man could do sitting on the bench, directing
his team.  He was the inventory and originator of
getting men to blend their plays to the good of the
whole.  He created a profession for the present
generation that people of his time thought was a useless
and superfluous appendage to a ball club.  He was
not only a tutor of raw skill, but he was an adviser
of the young, to regulate their habits to the good
of their health and profession.  Any man that knows 
[] antecedents of professional baseball cannot gain-
[] his, unless he is either obtuse of prejudiced.
[]er met the late Mr. Wright in '83 and ever
[]ld him in the highest esteem, for not only

*

his knowledge of high class ball, but as a cultured
gentleman of the profession.  Professional baseball
owes a great deal to Harry Wright, in keeping it
clean in teh darkest days of its struggle for existence.
It was a matter of record that Harry Wright made
the position of bench manager such a factor in the
championship races, that a rule was made and adopted 
that no manager should sit on the bench during the
progress of a game.  This rule was aimed at the noble
and skillful Harry.  And after a few years the National
League rescinded it.  There was only one Harry Wright
in all that appertains to professional baseball manage-
ment.  And though he was forever passed from the
voice of the umpire, the crack of the bat and the cheer
of the crowd, he will ever remain in the minds of the 
followers of teh great national sport as one of its 
purest and ablest exponents.

ABNER POWELL

  There is one discrete, careful and thrifty little
manager who has made his home for many years
in New Orleans, La.  I have known him for the past
fourteen years, and I want to say that he is a clean
exponent of the national game.  He has always been 
to the front in keeping the game alive in that section
of Dixie, and there has been many good players
developed under his tuition and guidance.  The
greatest baseball general that ever lived can outlive
his popularity in any city if he remains there too
long.  So this may be the case with Mr. Pow[]
New Orleans.  Ned Hanlon, after giving B[]
one of the greatest clubs in the history of []

*

and own the championship for their city three con-
secutive times, and followed it up by coming second
in the race two consecutive seasons, was derided
and hooted at years afterward for taking his club
out of Baltimore.

GUS SCHMELZ.

  One of the most honorable men that the game had 
to introduce into its ranks is Gus Schmeltz, Columbus,
O.  He was a man whose personality and intelligence
would give other walks in life a tone other than the 
management of baseball clubs, he was always a gentle-
man, affable and courteous to all.  The writer knew
him since 1884, when he made the Columbus club
the great factor in the American Association race.
His retirement from the game some years ago, was
a loss to the Nation's pastime.

THE GREAT COON GAME, CHARLESTON BLUES AND
COLUMBUS BOOKERS.

  The great colored game of the south, which shall be
ever remembered by the negroes of the two Carolinas,
took place in the early '90's between the famous
Charleston Blues, of S. C. and the Columbia Bookers
of the same state.  This game was arranged for the 
fourth of July, in Columbia.  Immense preparations
were made in both cities for the great contest.  Charles-
ton people chartered a train of twenty coaches and
two flat cars for their trip to Columbia, the two flat
cars were to carry the watermelons.  The Blues had not
been beaten since their organization, and the Bookers
of Columbia laid all plans to capture this game by

*

a novel device.  Nobody knew of this scheme but
the manager and a few players of the Bookers.  Any
one who has lived in the south, knows the hospitality
that one negro section shows to the other
when they visit.  The fervor and abandon with which 
they greet one another surpasses anything in the way
of cordiality.  Columbia made extensive preparations
to meet the famous Blues.  The ball ground was
fixed up in fantastic shapes, one table was set aside
for the "famosu Blues," loaded down with chicken
in various shapes.  There was chicken leg, and chicken
wing, and chicken sandwiches.  There was also a 
table of watermelons cut in many shapes and frills.
Those two talbes were intended for the ball players
of the "Blues."  In the rind of those watermelon
lurked the demon that was to defeat the hitherto
invincible Blues, from Charleston.  The chicken sand-
wiches were well moistened with the colored man's
beverage, known as gin.  The melon rinds that were 
intended for the hospitality of the Charleston ball
club, were as full of gin as a sponge would be of water.
To carry matters to the extreme end of novelty and
originality, instead of having a foul flag of a white-
wash mark to designate the foul lines, they had a 
chicken perched and tied on a pole to show the end
of the foul line.  So the sight was novel indeed, to
see two white shanghei hens, perched on a pole in
left and right field.  When the team left Charleston 
for Columbia, that fourth of July morning, all the
people along the black belt crowded the stations to 
see the famous Blues and ecxursion train pass through
on their way to Columbia.  A white man at the station
that day was as scarce as white crows.  The Charles-

*

ton's were musicians as well as ball players and their
gaudy uniforms, which were the colors of the rain-
bow, nearly set the dusky damsels wild along the
route.  Colored people in that section of the country 
have a great weakness for anything red or yellow
The favorite negro airs of the Carolinas was plyaed 
that days at a number of the stations.  The names 
of some of the airs were inspiring in themselves, the
favorite air was: "No melon is sweeter than the one
stolen in the night."  As the Charleston train whistled
for the Columbia depot, there was a shout sent up
by that black mass of humanity that could be heard 
for a mile.
  All reserve was thrown aside, it was the first visit
of the Charleston Blues to their city.  The black
people of Columbia made it their buesiness to treat
their visitors royally.  One colored sister was heard 
to remark, as the cheering and music was going on,
looking into her escort's face: "Simpson, I know
dat my heart will be stolen back to Charleston
by de pitcher for de Blues, they say he carries a charm 
about him."  Another black girl says to her beau,
"Eben, this is going to be one scandulous day in my 
life."  (Scandalous, indeed, it was).  In this serging, seeth-
ing, maddened and enthusiastic black crowd there was
one object--and that was to get a glimpse of the 
Blues.
  As the train stopped the guard of honor of the 
Blues advanced, and pushed every one aside and met
the captain of the Blues as he stepped off the plat-
form.  He calls in a loud voice, "Charleston Blues
and friends.  We cast the key of the city high in 
the air to the Charleston Blues and their friends," at

*

the same time throwing a big wooden key, which he
held in his hand, into the crowd.  Loud mumurs of
admiration were heard at the sight of the Blues'
uniforms.  A line for a march to the ball ground,
with the Blues in the van.  The Columbia band stirried
the coondom to their highest pitch, when they struck 
up the famous darky air of long ago.  "De gal on
de log and I love to court my gal under a sparrow
roosting tree."  The Charleston band had not played
yet.   There was nothing in rag time that could stir
the music of the heart like this tune.  The strains 
of it would make a southern darkey give up his life
if you only play the air while he is dying.  The writer
has seen darkies almost go into spasms of delight
when certain coon airs were played.  But when this
celebrated darky band struck up this southern air
entitled: "Give me a yallar girl with a red dress."
The poetry of this air at once struck the wenches.
One of them fainted in her fellow's arms, nothing
could rouse her to consciousness, until some one
thought of throwing watermelon juice into her face.
This restoration had its desired effect, and when she
opened her eyes and looked into her lover's face, she
said, "Eben, why did you not let me die in dat happy
dream?"  When the ball grounds were reached,
every thing was ready for the feast and game.  The
players of the Blues were conducted to their festive[]
board, loaded with gin-soaked sandwiches and melons 
with the same article.  The Columbia band played
as an honor while the Blues were eating.  The black
masses of both excursionist and Columbia negroes
encircled the field.  The two chickens, representing
foul flags, created great merriment among the crowd.

*

Chickens were tied to a pole and guarded by four me.
It was noticed afterwards that the Blues were con-
suming more watermelons than was ever known 
before, and it was also perceptible that they only
ate the red part, which was the receptacle for the
gin.  After the repast the game was called, and the
Blues took the field and that with no steady step.
The "Bookers" were all politeness to their visitors,
as they knew from the actions of the Blues that they
were already intoxicated from the consumption of
the watermelon rinds and the chicken sandwiches.
The pitcher of the Blues was a big black fellow with
tremendous speed.  He commenced to hurl the
balls at teh batter but had no control on account of
his gin-soaked condition.  He hit the first batter on
top of the head with the ball, but the batter only
smiled and called out, as he went to first base: "who
hit me with dat peanut shell?"  The next batter
he struck full on the shin, the batter fell as if he was
hit with a hammer, he went into convulsions and
all effort to revive him proved unsuccessful.  Water
was thrown on his head, and even a bottle of water-
melon juice was sprinkled on him, finally an old
Carolina hoodoo doctor called out, "Stand back,
people, from this man," asking where was he hit.
They all told the doctor was hit on the shin.  "Den
why am you people rubbing his head?"  The players
said that he was out of his mind.  The doctor says
at once pull down his stocking and give me a glass
of water, and also some watermelon juice.  The doctor
at once dashed the water on his shin and rubbed it
with melon juice.  They player revived at once, and 
went to first base.  The colored people went wild

*

with laughter at the doctor's funny procedure of reviv-
ing the Carolina coon by rubbing water and melon
juice on his shin.
  The next ball was batted out into left field, all
of the three fielders of the Blues started to catch
the ball, but the ball caught one of them full in the
eye, as they were so drunk they could not see it.
  The manager of the Blues now saw that his team
was drunk, and how they got drunk he could not 
fathom.  He also partook of the gin-soaked sand-
wiches and melon the same as the rest, yet it had taken
no effect on him.  Finally he says, "Gentlemen of
Columbia, I think there is treachery in this hospitality."
This remark created a great sensation among the
Columbia people.  All the people that accompanied
the Charleston club demanded at once that the manager
of the Blues should apologize.  This he did, and all
went merrily.  Run after run was coming in until 
the Columbia made ten runs before the side was out.
  The Blues then went to bat and their great 
batsman, Sumpter Jones, came to the plate.  This 
batter was the terror of S. C.  The first ball pitched 
he hit it high into left field, notwithstanding that
he was under the influence of the gin.  The ball hit 
was soaring high towards the foul which was represent-
ed that day by a big white chicken, tied to a pole 
with a string.  The ball, by a coincident, looked as 
if it was to hit this feathery fowl, but the audience
in looking at this funny co-incident of the fly ball
apparently to drop on the chicken, never noticed the
big, fleet-footed left fielder of the Bookers, who
started after the ball as soon as it hit, the white
chicken, however, wished to carry out the baseball

*

rules that day, by posing as a baseball foul line, saw
both the ball and teh big black man running towards
it with high speed.  The chicken, however, might
have taken chances of being hit by the foul ball,
but never by her heriditary enemy, the coon, so the
feathery fowl began to flip and flap her wings as
she saw her old enemy coming towards her with 
outstretched arms, the poor hen broken from her
mooring and flew a hundred feet back into the crowd,
to the left of the original foul line.  Th eball fell 
safe, but of course, it would have been a foul it the
chicken remained where it was.  Sumpter Jones
made a home run, but the Columbia team claimed
that it was a foul and would be if the chicken remained
stationary.  This brought a dispute, but it was settled
by the umpire in a novel way and pleased all.  The
umpire made the following ruling, he says: "Columbia
Bookers, de Charleston team am your guests, you 
have tried to make everything real in this game,
going as far as to put a real live chicken to represent 
the foul flags.  A chicken is a chicken, no matter
where you place him, and it is a weak-hearted bird--
when in the face of our sex.  Dat chicken represented
the foul line of dis game, and I don't care if it flew
into Alabama it carried the foul line with it, and dat
settled it.  And de ball am fair.  And Sumpter 
Jones has made a home run."  This decision pleased 
all, and the umpire, Blackcloud, was known ever after
that as the black Solomon.
  The game was resumed, but the Blues' condition
made them easy victims to the pitcher of the Bookers.
Charlestons were getting beat badly, they were throw-
ing the ball all over the field.

*

  Dark clouds were now seen gathering, preceeded
by claps of thunder.  A strong breeze commenced
to blow and a tornado seemed inevitable.  A gust
of wind now and then blew over the field, this is the 
sure sign of a cyclone.  Darkies are very superstitious 
about a storm, it now commenced to blow with great
violence.  Large drops of rain began to fall.  A mile
to the rear of this ball field was a colored camp meeting,
attended by ten thousand people.  They also saw 
the cyclone advancing but their preachers told the
mourners not to mind, and not to get alarmed as it
already had spent its force on Satan's camp ground
where the sinful game of base ball was played.
  Before the bats could be gathered, the storm and
rain came on in full force.  Rain came in torrents,
and the wind in its mighty force blew tables and
wagons and all movable things aside, as if they were 
shavings.  Colored belles and fat wenches were all
huddled together behind some refreshment stands
with torrents of rain soaking them to the skin, all
was in confusion in teh face of the worst rain and
wind storm that ever visited Columbia.  The ball
players and the crowd kept moving back to the 
shelter of th eforest, where the camp meeting was
held to find some shelter from the terrible storm.
But this cyclone seemed to be an agnostic one, as it
cared neither for camp meeting shouters or ball
players.  The storm had already reached the camp 
meeting, and blew down tents, carried off the roof
of sheds and literally immersing against with heavenly
rain both saints and sinners.  As the storm was in
its violence one preacher got up and told his shouters
not to stampede, when he was hit by a board that

*

was blown off from a shed.  All had now to take
shelter either behind a tree or allow themselves to
be blown away.  The ball players made helter skelter
towards the camp meeting ground which was between 
the ball ground and the city.  As the ball players,
in their shining uniforms, came into the camp meeting
grounds to seek shelter from the storm, a cry of
indignation went up from the camp meeting followers.
To think that Satan's followers should come into the
grounds of the Lord!  One preacher, with water 
dripping from his clothes, got up on a chair and
began to rail against all of those sinful people, claiming
that iwas they who brought down the wrath of the 
Lord for playing on the Sabbath.  After uttering
these words, a clap of thunder, preceeded by a gust
of wind, blew down a limb of a tree that struck the
preacher on the back, he took this as a warning that
he should say no more, and he beat ahasty retreat 
under a large refreshment stand.  This created a 
great laughter from the rain-soaked ball players
and the crowd.  This was the second mishap to the
preachers that began to state that the ball players
and their followers were the cause of that terrible
storm.
  To picture this rain-soaked crowd by the utterance
of words would be beyond my power.  Here were 
big fat wenches, with powdered faces, leaning up
against tress with water dripping down their beautiful 
red and yellow dresses.  Preachers, with their bibles
soaked with water, and throwing angry glances at
the ball players with their shining uniforms.  This
black mass of humanity, composed of saints and
sinners, was seeking as much for shelter as the leaf[]

*

of a tree would give them.  It presented an appearance 
of a flock of blackbirds or crows.
One big fat, religious sister got up during this down-
pour and cracking of tree limbs, said dis was all brought
about by those imps of Satan, coming right here to git
sheltered from the Lord, and he followed them up and
this very sister that was talking this way had the ap-
pearance of one who is pulled out of a cistern.  She 
says further will de day come in my life that I will tend
the camp meeting that is near the ball grounds.  A
clap of thunder was heard from the heavens which
seemed to applaud the words of the sister, but it was 
followed again by a gust of wind that blew the old girl
off the chair.  The storm now ceased and they all
wended their way towards the city.
  The Charleston Blues did not go home that night,
their friends and players took them home in sections,
with intervals of days and weeks.  In all this confusion
--where were the two chickens and their guards, after
the sun came out and everything looked pleasant--the
grounds were visited by the managers, these were the 
guardians of the chickens, holding the feathery birds 
fast in their hands and they were sound asleep.  Yes, 
they were lik the romance sentinel, faithful to their
trust to the last.

THE ROUDY SPECTATOR.

  A great deal of agitated stuff has been written about
the roudy ball player, there may be some excuse for
the bad temper of a ball player who is a participant in 
a hotly contested game.  It generally comes from 
players who have their heart and soul in the winning of
the game, but there is no excuse for the society roudy

*

who sits in the grand stand in the grab of a gentleman
yet with the manners of a hoodlum.  This inbred roudy
with his immaculate linen, decorated with a borrowed
diamond pin, sits in the stand among cultivated laides
and gentlemen and by his language to the ball players
of the field is a jar to the entire audience around him.
There should be some way of ejecting and debarring 
this hoodlum from the grand stand, at least, he should
not be allowed to sit even, among the hardworking men
of the bleechers, because that class of men would know 
how to act at least in the presence of ladies and gentle-
men.  There should be some way of keeping him out
of the grounds the same as they do out of the race
courses.

NED HANLON.

  Ned Hanlon, manager of the Brooklyn Club was at 
one time in his life one of the greatest players in the
National League.  And the famous saying of Shake-
speare, which says, "There is a divinity that shapes
our ends, rough hew them as we may" can be well ap-
plied to Hanlon's case in baseball.  If it were not for
an unfortunate accident, to him while playing on the 
Pittsburg team, he might have never been the manager
of the Baltimore club.  This mishap to Hanlon kept
him out of the game for two or three weeks, Bucking-
burger at the time was manager of the Pittsburg club.
So the accident to Hanlon, was a blessing in disguise 
and steered his course in another direction.  His com-
ing to Baltimore came about in this way: Harry Van-
derhoust, owner of the Baltimore club, needed a man-
ager and he finally made arrangements with Pittsburg
to let Hanlon go to Baltimore to handle his club, []

*

[pages 136-7 missing!]

*

ward had the magnetism of the late Billy Barney or the
off-hand jollity of Loftis he would be a wonder, but all 
in all he is a well balanced man and I have always
like him, his is a credit to his calling and it will be
many a year before Ned Hanlon will be duplicated in
the baseball profession.

GOLD BRICKING.

  Gold bricking in baseball is the art of making the 
other fellow believe that he is getting the best of you.

DRESS PARADE BALL TEAM.

  What an outward show of display of courage some
ball teams and ball players show when they are winning
and they don't know why.  For a week they may be at 
home where they are catching clubs coming into their
town all broke up, by having their best pitchers crip-
pled, etc.  Their work is all outward show, they will
start up town and tell the people they struck their gait
at last.  "They knew that they would get there" and
they'd got there.  When one or two players of that
team come home to their village town after a playing 
season, they think it is an honor to bow to you.  Some
man that has kept them all winter before they got a job,
they will hardly notice when they get home.  All the
puffs they received that season while out, they have
plastered under the rims of their hat.  But to get to the
dress parade team that is winning and they don't know
why, is the ones that I wish to comment on.  As I have 
stated [] they have "heads up" during those weeks of 
[] success, but when they haveto take the 
[]ing three or four games, they put me in mind 

*

[] an old dung-hill rooster that I used to have when I
was a boy, who used to fly up on the neightbors' fence
and crow all day at the quiet game rooster in the next
yard.  When I was a boy I was quite a rooster righter,
but the laws of refined evolution put me out of that
barbaric sport.  In the adjoining yard was a boy friend
of mine, who had a game rooster.  This dung-hill of
mine was very aggressive at a distance, (that is when
he was up on a high fence,) he would crow, flap his
wings, and try to impress on teh game roosters' mind,
that he was a regular Jeffries in the art of fighting.
One day there was a board pulled off of the fence, and
my rooster and a few of his feminine gender strayed
into the game rooster's yard.  The game rooster saw
him and his plumes struck a fighting attitude, my dung-
hill was not going to run away, without at least making 
a bluff, so his tail and long feathers about his gills
raised up and was getting the full benefit of the breeze,
he struck a menacing attitude towards his race of a 
different blood, but with all his biting of stones and
spiting them up he kept on receding while the game was 
coming towards him.  While he was backing up to-
wards the fence, with all his bluffs, I noticed that he
threw his head backwards once in a while to see if he 
was backing towards the hole in the fence, so he could 
make a quick exit, when Mr. Game would make a dart 
at him.  While this preliminary skirmishing was going
on, a dog passed through the yard and Mr. Dunghill
commenced to cackle, in chicken lanague to his ad-
versary, that they both better look out as this dog may
bite them.  Any excuse to dstract Mr. Game to get out 
of the fight.  Old true Game, did not give a d--- if a 
million dogs passed by, he had Mr. Dunghill now and

*

he was going to pluck him.  He remembered all the []
suits of the past six months of Mr. Dunghill, who perch-
ed himself on his high fence in his own yard, and called
him all kinds of cowardly names in his chicken crowing
language.  He was now crowding Mr. Dunghill towards
the fence, but "rooster yellow" threw that left peeper
of his over his wing to see if he was right at the hole in 
the fence.  His calculation on his side-stepping was cor-
rect.  Old game got tired of his bluffing, and made a 
lunge at him, spurs and all, but Henry Dunghill anti-
cipated him and doged through the hole in the fence,
over in his own yard.  He then flew up on the high 
fence like all cowards and crowed.  When translated
into the vernacular of roosterdown, it means you dare
not come over in my yard and fight.
  My chum and myself saw the whole proceedings and
I made a bargain that I would fight his game four days 
afterwards, with a new rooster that I was to get from
another part of the city.  The bargain was made and I 
hit upon a plan of disguising and fitting out this rooster
of mine in a real fighting regalia.  I first got my father's
fazor and cut his comb and gills and trimmed his tail
and wings, he had fine yellow feathers and I painted 
them green, after this trimming took place he looked 
like a real fighter sure enough.  He appeared in the 
yard with the hens the next day, trimmed up like a 
warrior but combs and gills were yet a little sore.
Father asked me what was the matter with my rooster,
I told him, as Dick could get no rooster to fight, he
tackled a buzz saw and got the worst of it.  Some of
the hens did not know him and would not associate 
with him when I was feeding the chicks corn.  Dick
called a couple of the henss to him, to show his good

*

nature, but they didn't want any part of him, as they
did not recognize him as their old (guardian) Dick.
Dick himself thought that he was rigged out for some
festive occasion, but wondered why he had to go 
through a surgical operation in having his comb and 
gills cut.  The day of teh battle arrived, and my boy
companion was there to see me fight my new rooster,
with his game cock in the next yard.  Not even my
boy friend recognized my old dunghill in his new fight-
ing garb.  His game was in the yard, I had old Dick
in my arms.  Mr. Game spied him and recognized at
once it was his old neighbor Dunghill Dick,--trimmed
up as a fighter, as soon as I dropped my Dunghill down
in front of him, Mr. Game made a lunge at him.  Mr. 
Dick took to his heels with old game after him.  He ran
into a corner, put his head under a fence.  Mr. Dunghill
then made one of those crooking cries, "Please let me 
alone."  Mr. Game made another dash but Mr. Dung-
hill got under the house out into another yard and never
stopped until he got back into his own premises and
ever after that, he only raised quarrels with bantams 
and ducks.  Some ball teams and players are like this 
dunghill rooster, they cannot stand the gaff of defeat.
They are only great when the other clubs quit on them.

PLAYER RELEASED FOR HAVING NO ERRORS.

  Mike Scanlan, of Washington, D. C., is one of the
oldest baseball men in the United State, and in fact, 
the father of the game at the capital of the nation.
Mike, like all men of his caliber carries no deceit, and
speaks out the promptings of his head and heart nobly
and honestly to any person that is trying to deceive

*

him.  His best friends were not made at the star,
but after they enter the inner door of his social man-
sion, then they will see the true gold in the big-hearted
Irishman.  Mr. Scanlan was always a good judge of 
a ball players and he could judge quickly if the player
had the art of avoiding a difficult play, or in other
words if he was what they called a "record ball player."
The story of Mr. Scanlan's dealing with a famous 
player, who in his last years on the diamond was deteri-
orating, has been told at many fanning bees.
  If I remember right, this great infielder, whose
skill had left him, was one of Mr. Scanlan's proteges,
who for many years shared the honors with George
Wright, as the premier short stop of the world.  All
practical baseball men know that a man who gets
older is covering less ground, especially if he is an in-
fielder.  If the story goes right, it was the last year of
this famous player on the diamond and it happened 
to be with his old friend Mike, the erstwhile peerless
shortstop, that used to get balls that looked to every-
body safe, couldn't gather balls in his last years that were
hit apparently at him, but somehow he had the art of
going for the ball but never got his hands on it, there-
fore, no error could be charged, the shortstop skill
entirely changed to another part of the game.  At
one time in his life it was a wonder how to got the 
balls, in the latter years of his life it was a wonder
how the ball got to him without getting into his hands;
any awy he played some twenty games without an
error.  Mr. Scanlan made up his mind to release him 
just for that, if nothing else.  Mike, who was always
governed by sentiment, reluctantly let the shortstop
go, but when the player told him that it was funny

*

that he should be released and yet had no error in all
of the games, Mike, who would have said a word 
otherwise, so tender was the sentiment of Auld Lange
Syne, at the same time wanted to player to know
he was no fool, so he said right out: "Why, man, that
is why I am releasing you, just because you had no
errors."

THE GROUND KEEPER AND THE POUNDED BALL.

  Some years ago, in major leagues there were tricks
resorted to that are now obsolete and unworthy of
attention of high-class baseball managers, and they
should not be resorted to even by the smallest of minor
leagues.  The longer a man is in baseball the more
apparent becomes the uselessness of unsportsmanlike
tricks.  Amongst the many requisites of a good ground 
keeper in those days, he had to be skillful in watching
the incoming of a new ball and the outgoing of old 
balls.  In fact, his efficiency in that direction would
overbalance any bad knoll left unleveled in the in and 
out field of a ball ground.  But the ignorance of the
"legedemain" of the old and new ball would be suffi-
cient for his dismissal.  A opunded ball is a story of 
the past.  Some years ago in the East there was a 
new ground keeper that had a confab with one of those 
shoe string pencil managers, who sits on a bench and
when some brainy player of the team turns a quick
witty trick, he will turn to some friend near his bench
and say, "I drilled them in that play yesterday,"
without giving any credit to the player who did some-
thing that this manager was entirely oblivious of.
Well, this ground keeper in this incident had explicit
order to throw in the old and pounded ball at the

*

beginning of the ninth inning if the home club was
ahead.  The home team was ahead at the end of the 
7th and 8th.  The poor ground keeper got his orders 
then to throw in the old ball at the first opportunity.
He was ready for the trick as soon as the ball was fouled
over the fence.  But the visitors in their half of the 
ninth went in and exceeded the home club's score by
two runs.  As they finished their share of the inning
a foul ball went over the stand; but, holy Moses! in 
came the old pounded ball for the home club to bat.
The manager saw it and so did his players, but it could 
not be helped.  The poor ground keeper carried out
his orders literally and to the letter, but he exercised
no judgment.  The dose that was intended for the 
visitors was administered to the home club.  The
visiting pitcher got hold of the ball, and he smiled.
The was so pounded and flabby that it would not 
have been hit out of the diamond even if struck by
an arch of Brooklyn bridge in the hands of Jack the
Giant Killer.  Of course the game was lost.

TUTORS OF THE GAME.

  The army of votaries of the great national game 
of America have no idea of the debt they owe to those 
gentlemen who have spent time, money, and fortune 
teaching the rudiments of the game to the mighty
host of ball players, who in after years are benefitted
by the original brain of those persons of original thought
in developing the game in its team work and disci-
pline.  It is an irony and a travesty on the original 
brain of any man to see unletttered and untutored
people peddle out second hand the genius and thoughts
of superior people to a lot of gullible and credulous

*

friends, who may be provincials on some newspaper,
or otherwise.  And hear those managers giv eout those
stolen thoughts as emanating from their unoriginal
brain.  From Harry Wright down, there have been 
some great tacticians of the game.  Wright was the
first original ball man, that gave the game a sturdy 
appearance and solved the problem of winning by a 
systematic style of batting and fielding, which we term,
now-a-days, team work.  Others have caught his idea,
and have been imitators.  I may lose a few friends by 
speaking frankly on this subject, but I will boldly
state that there are very few original men as baseball
tutors.  I am speaking now of originality of thought
and methods.  Those recognized tutors of the game 
deserve a world of credit from the generous and en-
lightened body of the baseball fraternity.  They take
a raw player and show him his defects and try to have
him overcome them.  An actor has to pay for his
training in any dramatic school, the student his tuition
and the apprentice in any profession his tutor, but
the average ball player imagines that he is obli-
gated to no one, and that he learned everything by
himself, and he will be the last to give anybody credit
for teaching him something about his profession.
On the other hand there are grand exceptions to that
and the exceptions are not of the mediocre class, but
they are noble men, who would do honor to any busi-
ness in life.  There is another thing that is noticeable
for years, it is the prejudice of some captain that
learned all he knows from the bench manager, that
is ever nagging and picking and intriguing against
this bench manager, and stating to thousands that a
bench manager is a useless position of the team.  I

*

have known in my time captains and players who
were the bitterest opponents of the brainy and capable
bench manager, who were themselves afterwards, (when
their baseball skill had flown) the most beseeching,
cringing suppliants for that position, telling every one
that no captain on a ball field can do two things.  Yet
in the entire history of major league ball bench mana-
gers have ever been successful, and the plaing mana-
gers have been the exceptions.  Harry Wright for 
years won championships, Hanlon and Sealey followed,
not to mention the many others.  Anson, Comisky and
Tebeau were the exception, but I noticed that when
the stars that had floated them along had left them,
they stood looking into blank space.  I will say for
Comisky and Tebeau, they were men of some originality.
One excelled more as a player while the other excelled
more as a leader, that is my unbiased analysis of the
three.  A bench manager of any originality and enter-
prise can see more points in the game than the men
that are in action.  First of all he is disinterested, if
he has any backbone; but God help him if he is under
some vain swelled-up magnate who gets stuck on some
player of the team, as in cases I know of--yes, in the
major leagues at that.  Good-day for his power and
discipline.  He will have to subordinate all pride and
honor, and regulate what little he has to say to the 
wishes of this cunning ball player that the magnate
is stuck on.  To the men that will read this article on
the ball playing manager and the bench manager,
will say, "Well, the time has come when one man
has had the nerve to touch this subject."  But that
kind of ball players don't catch such men as Harry
Vanderhous, Sodan or Hart, who know that the men-

*

chanic is not the superintendent, the typesetter the
editor, the student the professor, nor the bricklayer
the architect.

FRANK SELLEE.

  One of the best known men in teh National League
is Frank Sellee.  A polished courteous gentleman who
came into the National League in 1889 without drum or
cymbals and has won five or six pennants since he has
been there.  Frank is a man without any ostentation
and he is now connected with a man who recognizes
ability in any man without being told so.

THE LATE BILLY BARNEY.

  Of the many great lights of the managerial firma-
ment, Billy Barney is one who should never be for-
gotten by a fraternity.  Beginning as a catcher
he devoted most of his lifetime to the national game.
Barney was a catcher of no common ability, handling 
Jim Whitney in his first great pitching in California,
when that pitcher with rifle-shot speed knew no other
way to deceive a batter, than to hurl the ball
over the plate with the speed of a rifle shot.  Barney
managed many clubs in the national league and Amer-
ican association and owned clubs of his own in Balti-
more and other cities.  Barney was a man or more than
ordinary culture and affable in conversation.  He
never failed to make a friend of any one he met, and 
he was never known to go back on any one.  I knew him 
personally, and I for one can tell of his unfailing friend-
ship in a crises where it was tested.  He was an Elk
and a grand Elk and one of the most steadfast that

*

ever roamed the forest, and he would stand for his
fraternity amongst shot and shell, and never flinch 
when his aid was needed.  And should the writer 
ever be asked whose hand would he grasp with the true
warmth of feeling of positive friendship, before the
genial gentleman died he would answer--Billy
Barney's.

W. H. WATKINS.

  One of the brightest and most intellectual men that 
was ever connected with the game, now owner of the 
Indianapolis club, is W. H. Watkins, having managed
and organized so many champion clubs that it would be
almost superfluous to mention them.  The Detroit
League Team, of 1887, not only won the league cham-
pionship, but the world's also from the famous St.
Louis Browns, was under his management.  His clubs 
have carried off first honors in the Western leagues for 
years, he is a great student of the game and many
strategic plays of the game which are used to-day
were of his origin.  He is a man of polished address and 
a man of great executive ability.

JOHNSON C. CHAPMAN

  Mr. Chapman, who retired some years ago from all
activity in baseball was the oldest living baseball man-
agaer and one of the most cultured gentlemen that was
ever connected with the game.  His career began with 
the first great ball club of America, (and he was one of 
its greatest players) the Atlantics of Brooklyn.  Jack
Chapman was always identified with first-class ball
from the National League down.  Many of the great

*

stars of teh country for years learned the rudiments []
the game from the patient and affable Jack.  The []
lantics of Brooklyn of which he was the left fielders will
remains as green in the memories of the early lovers of
the game as that of the American Revolution.

ARTHUR IRWIN.

  Mr. Irwin I have known for fourteen years, he was
one of the best shortstops in his time in the National
League.  In '84 Providence won the champion-
ship of the United States; Mr. Irwin's work at short
field won many a game for them.  He is an honorable
exponent of the national game from any standpoint, his
knowledge of the higher mathematics of the game ranks
with the best.  He is kind and considerate to a player
and will go out of his way to give advice to a struggling
ambitions young man.  Arthur commenced to manage 
clubs back in 1889 and always got the best out of the
material he had.

FRANK BANCROFT.

  Of the many men that I have met in baseball, Frank
Bancroft is one of the most original.  Mr. Bancroft was
one of the most successful of the pioneer manager of
professional baseball.  He is a man of more than or-
dinary intelligence, and his wonderful executive ability
which he has demonstrated--year out and year in with
the Cincinatti club has made him a fixture with that
management.  Frank is a typical "Down Eastern," a
(genuine yank be gosh) and his native wit bubbles up
from the original think tank of his as a clear and spark-
ling spring from his New England home.  To sit and

*

[] with Frank ten minutes, it is that much of sun-
[]ine.  When landmarks like Frank leave the agme it
is one brilliant light extinguished down the corridors of
our baseball life.

JOHN WARD.

  To take a large cluster of diamonds and pick out its
brightest gem, and lay it aside--no comparison could be
drawn that would be as strikingly true as that of John
Ward leaving the game.  He, a man of more than ordinary
ability as a ball player in the fastest class of the world,
the brightest student in the game's highest branch of
mathematics, versed not only in the politics but the
playing of the great sport.  John Ward will always be 
considered by those that have followed the destinies of
the great pastime of America, as one of its greatest ex-
ponenents from any and all standpoints.  Such men as
Ward should always be kept in the game either as an 
honorary member or on an advisory board, because the
personality of Ward's type brings credit to baseball.

MIKE KELLY.

  The genius and individuality of any man will show
itself in any profession or calling--no matter how 
high or humble it is.  Had it not been for civil war
General Grant would have ended his days at Galena,
Ill., as an humble tanner or a small merchant.  Stone-
wall Jackson would have remained in obscurity at Lex-
ington, Va., as an eccentric professor instead of one of
the greatest American generals--if not the greatest--
if it were not for the same strife bewteen the states.
The national game enlisted Mike Kelly in its ranks, and

*

he demonstrated that he was its greatest playing ex-
ponents in its entire history--when it came to the high-
est perfection in its strategy.  While going once from
Dover, England to Calais, France, across the English
Channel a revolving electric light was noticed in mid-
ocean on the French coast.  As we came nearer and 
nearer the light became more brilliant.  As the boat 
was heading into the port of Calais we noticed there 
were other brilliant lights, but they were entirely
eclipsed and absorbed by this tremendous revolving
light on the wharf at Calais, so in the entire baseball
harbor there have been, and are to-day other brilliant
ligghts, but the late Mike Kelly's work and name is that
tremendous revolving light of the entire baseball har-
bor.
  He was the ideal baseball athlete.  About six feet 
tall, and his anatomy was moved by an electric engine,
guided by an eagle brain, that would see a point in the
game and execute it with a lightning move that no one
possessed but the late lamented Kelly.

FRED SMITH.

  One of the most unique figures in the profession for
years was Fred Smith of Chicago.  Some people term
him crazy but Fred is about as crazy as a Jew, or it may
be that Smith's superior intelligence or style of wit may
be too deep for a superficial critic.  Smith is an edu-
cated man endowed with a fair share of literary attain-
ments.  There are some people in teh world that are as
devoid of wit as a flag stone is of vegatation and they
judge saying and mannerism from their own stand-
point.  The bat and owl find a flight of other birds ec-

*

centric, so this analogy could be illustrated from fifty 
different standpoints.  Fred Smith, the pitcher, is a 
bright fellow, but he is witty and should be given credit
for it.  Of the many funny saying that are attributed
to him, none equals, from a technical baseball stand-
point, the remark that he made to the judge in Macon,
George.  In 1892, Smith was doing some fine pitching for
the Macon club, but on one particular occasion, he shut
out some club without a hit or a run.  He felt highly
elated that night, after the game and indulged in more 
than his usual allowance of wine with his fallant south-
ern friends.  On the way home, he tangled up in an
argument with some one, and at the final round of the
melee, the man ran away to avoid being attacked.  Both,
however, were under the influence of southern hospital-
ity.  The man who ran away from Smith ahd a warrant 
out for Fred the next day, so the case came up, the court
house was full of baseball enthusiasts, all friends of 
Fred's, the judge was also a baseball crank, which is 
characteristic of the legal fraternity of Macon.  Smith's
opponent had the first say, as no one saw the fight, and 
how it ended, it of course rested on the veracity of both.
Smith's accuser stated to the judge that the pitcher
threw a brick at him and missed him; at this accusation 
Smith was on his feet like a flash.  The judge told him
to gon on.  "That remark of my accuser clears me.  What
he says, it shows that he is not telling the truth, I will
rest my whole case of being cleared on that point.  Judge,
you and all the men in this room saw me pitch yesterday.
Did I give on man his base on balls?  Di I miss the 
home plate once?"  They all cried out in the court room,
"No."  Smith continues: "Now Judge, such control
have I now days of the ball, or anything else that I 

*

throw, that if that man was hiding behind a tree, and I
should throw a stone or a brick at him, it would curve
and hit him in the back, so when he says that I missed 
him, with the stone or brick, it shows that he is not 
telling the truth.  The whole court house was in a roar
and the judge himself had to laugh on the witty point 
of control.  He then dismissed the case and Fred was
discharged.

POINTS FOR PLAYERS.

  It is better to err in trying to make a play than not to
err in failing to attempt it.
  A player should not be inflated by the applause of an
audience on the day he accomplishes great feats on the
field, for the same people would deride him the very
next for poor work, although he put the same spirit and
energy in his work that as he did on the former day.
  It is better and more noble for a batter to strike out
fearlessly than to show the craven in allowing the um-
pire to call him out, and then to look at the poor official
disdainfully to make it appear to the audience, that he
was wrong.  To cover up his cowardly action in not
hitting at the ball to save the disgrace of a strike out.
  Remember the attempt to always do your best on the
ball field will condone for many an off day you might
have.
  Good hours and sobriety will enable you to remain
long in your profession and enhance your reputation 
among major league managers.  The proverb that
silence is golden and speaks silver, is a truism when
applied to professional baseball.  The player who has
little to say but plays his game will always command
respect and should he not play up to the standard, when

*

he first enters the major league, he will have many a 
player on his team, making excuses for him to the
manager, whereas, if he is one of those fresh young fel-
lows, who wears he cap on the side on his head or wears
it so far back on his pole as to lead people to believe
that there was only one hair on the back of his head
holding it, and with a what-you-say air around the hotel
and dressing rooms, you will find yourself treated the
very reverse from the young man with the opposite
demeanor.

THE TOUR OF THE SOUTH WITH THE ST. LOUIS
COMBINATION.

  In the fall of '83, we toured the south with the St.
Louis combination.  In its ranks was Buck Ewing, 
Tom Mulane, and among the other stars was Hugh
Daily, (one armed), the crack pitcher of the Cleveland
national club.  Among the cities that we visited was,
Pennsecola, Florida.  In the center field the cedar trees
were packed with coons, so thick were they on the trees
that they resembled a flock of blackbirds or crows.  In
looking at our players entering the field, they saw one-
armed Daily, so one big coon says to the other, "Why
dem St. Louis babies thinks so little of our white club,
dat they are putting in one-armed men on dem."  At
that time some one threw a ball to Daily, he picked it
up neatly, which was his custom, as if he had two arms.
So one negro, who became enthusiastic of this act, turn-
eed around and said to the rest of the black people,
"Which of you niggers said dat dat one-armed man
couldn't play."  When Daily came to the bat all the
negroes in the trees watched him, old followers of the
game knew how Hugh could hit with theat one arm of

*

his, and hit hard too.  So Daily drove a liner into the
trees and hit one of the coons on the back, all the rest
of the negroes laughed at this occurence.  But the 
negro that was struck said, "O Lordy, if dat man had 
two hands I would have been killed."

GREAT FEATS OF PITCHING.

  Two of the greatest feats of pitching, (barring Rad-
bourne's unprecedent feat at Providence) came under
my observation in 1883.  One was on the part of Bob
Matthews of the Athletics of Philadelphia, and the
other Tim Keef of the Metropolitans of New York.  It
was nothing for Tim Keef or Bob Matthews to pitch five
or six games in succession, when the exigency of the
case demanded it.  The Browns hit Keef very hard in 
the first of the particular series, making some sixteen
hits.  To my surprise next day, Keef again went up
against the Browns and defeated them letting them
down to six hits.  The next day he was in the box
again and diminished the hits to three but the Browns 
won the game by wonderful base running.  Matthews
in a series of games in St. Louis surpassed the pitching
feat of Keef.  The Browns won the first game from the
athletics with Matthews pitching, making 12 hits of this
little wizzard.  Game little Matthews asked the man-
ager if he could not pitched the entire series against the 
Browns, as he felt chagrinned at the number of hits 
that were made off him that day.  He pitched the next day,
and the next and the next, defeating the famous
Browns three straights games after they had so un-
mercifully hit him in the first.  The hits to my knowl-
edge ran thusly: Seven in the second game, five in the
third game, and two in the fourth.  Now reader he

*

didn't do this with the mechanical work of his arm but
he did it with that mental power that made him a 
pitching marvel for sixteen years.

BATSMEN OF THE PAST AND PRESENT.

  The question has often risen between lovers of the
game whether the batters of the past were equal to the
batters of the present.  The writer has seen them all in
his time beginning with professional baseball down to
the present time.  There are some writers and people
who are so prejudiced in favor of the people of their time
of playing that they will not give credit to men of any 
other period.  Readers of this little pamphlet do not
want to hear of any prejudice I have, but they do
want to know my honest and unbiased judgment on
matter I pretend to write about.
  We will not take the great batters while the under-
hand pitching was in use, because the present genera-
tion will say, that style of pitching was easy.  We will,
however, speak of those giant batsmen, when they
allowed the use of the overhand throw and mystic curve
which is in operation to day, and will compare those 
batsmen with the present.  If the reader should ask me
frankly, that as a body do the batters of the present 
compare with the batsmen of the past.  I say frankly,
"No."  Then why?  "Because that kind of human
timber has stopped growing."  When the reader will
consider that at the distance of 45 feet and 50 feet after-
wards, with pitchers jumping in the box and whirling
the ball over the plate with the velocity of a lightning
express; those men of the past must have been bats-
men to cope with those human cannons, like Jim Whit-

*

ley, Charles Radbourne, Charlie King and others, and yet
no penalty attached to them in way of a donated base
should they strike a batsman.  Today the pitchers are
back sixty feet with one leg anchored on a slab, and
further penalty on the pitcher for hitting a batsman.
And then think of those batters, that had to face those 
human catapaults, who had the liberty of a hop-skip-
and-a-jump, while inside a box.
  The reader can draw his own conclusion who were the
greatest batters, the men of the early '80's or '90's,
when the forms of Lip Pike, Jo Start, Andy Leonard,
Jim O'Neil, Dan Brouthers, Pul Hines, Sam Thomp-
son, Jim White, Jack Rowe, Ricahrdson, Hanlon, Roger
Conner, Charley Bennet, Jim O'Rourke, Gillespie, Dale-
reymple, Gore, Mike Kelly, Ed Williamson, and many
others that memory fails to recall are compared with
the present.  To think of those Herculean batsmen,
who were under fire through the golden era of great
pitchers and compare them with the few Delahanty and
Lajoie that are left.  It would require no orator with
the pursuasive power of Bourke Cochran, to tell you in
what period the great batsmen lived.

MONKEYS ON TREES.

  Young ball players entering the profession are often
made the butts of jokes by the older ones of the profes-
sion.  While going south with my team some years ago,
two wise old heads commenced on two or three young
fellows of the team who had never been south in their
lives.  They tried to show them some monkeys on trees
while we were passing through George.  The old 
"codgers" had those poor innocents straining their

*

necks through windows, trying to spy the Darwinian 
tribe of our ancestors, which the older heads asserted
were there.  The young lads finally asked me
if it were true that monkeys were in that part of the 
country.  I told them, "No," and that the old fel-
lows were only joking and joshing them.  But I im-
pressed on their mind to keep the joke up and pretend 
that they saw them on the trees.  This they did, so every
five or ten minutes they would rush at jokers number
one and tell them they just saw a baboon with her
young on a big pine tree; they kept this sort of business 
up all day to the annoyance of the original kidders.
One time they would say, that they saw a boa con-
strictor eating a monkey, another it was a flock of par-
rots or ostriches they saw fly up, then again it was a 
gorilla or a tiger, so finally joker number one became
suspicious of joker number two and told them to run
away and not to annoy them.  But the older heads ever
after that never tried to show the young fellows any
tropical birds or animals while passing through George.

"VANDERISMS."

  Of the thousand and one tales that are cited by base-
ball fans about the great Chris, none are more amusing
that his order to the printer at St. Louis, about his 
four-time-winners, the Browns.  His club had won the 
championship four consecutive years, namely: '85, '86, 
'87 and '88.  In '89 the Browns looked like winners
again and that up to the last week of the playing sched-
ule.  If he had won the pennant the fifth time, he []
to tour the country, as the five-time-winners of []
American Assocation, and the litho that was to []

*

struck off should have the illustration of a hand, five
fingers to represent the number of times the champion-
ship was won."  The printer showed Chris the sample 
of the hand of the litho, bearing the inscription, "Five
time winners.  Chris was delighted at the appearance 
of the litho, but says he to the printer:  "We have
not won that other finger yet, could you keep it off
until we see if we can win it?  And if we don't win, 
couldn't you make that hand with four fingers?"
Well, Chris did not win it, and the printer lost a job
on all fingers.
  In the year 1890, big-hearted and good natured 
Jim Kennedy, who has now the control of the high-
class sports in the Madison Square Garden, N. Y.,
had a ball club in Brooklyn, which was a member 
of the American Association.  This club was scheduled
at St. Louis for two games on a fourth of July.  The
Brooklyns won the morning game, and instead of
going into the city for dinner, Jim and Chris set out 
a grand repast for the Brooklyn club under the grand-
stand at old Sportsman's Park.  Being the national
holiday, Jim thought he would give his team a little
more license in the way of jollity and fun than at
any other time.  He allowed them to place a big 
keg of beer, covered with ice, on an elevation on the
table.  This was indeed inviting on a hot fourth
of July day.  Two of the Browns were invited to
partake of the lunch, but the beer was the most they 
indulged in.  In the midst of the reports of fire-
crackers and pistols they kept drinking the beer,
until the gong sounded for the second game.  The
Browns took the field, and after two or three innings
the sun and the beer began to tell on the two Browns.

*

It was so noticeable that the whole incident of the
beer was told to Chris; he became livid with rage,
and walked over to the bench where jovial Jim was
sitting with his team.  After delivering a peroration
of the high standard of the game, he remarked to
Kennedy: "Jim, on account of our old acquaintance
it cuts my heart to my feet, but for the good of the
game you are expelled for life."  Jim says, "All
right, Chris."  And Chris departs notwithstanding
this cold-water, puritanical declaration of Chris'.
Vanderahe's park that afternoon was a veritable
beer garden, with white-aproned waiters hawking
beer.  There was to be a meeting of the Association
at Louisville, and Jim and Chris had to attend.  Those
chums of by-gone days took the same sleeper for
the meeting.  What could be more absolutely ludi-
crous than the meeting of those two men in the
smoking-room of the cars?  Chris, bowed down 
with a heavy heart thinking of the duty he had to 
perform for the Association and the national game--
in expelling his boon companion for life for setting
up a keg of beer under the grandstand, which made
two of his players drunk.  Jolly Jim could hardly
keep from laughing at the pretended sorrow of Chris
as to the duty he was to perform in expelling him for
life on to-morrow's meeting.  After sitting in silence
for a while, Kennedy rung for the porter, he says, 
"What will you have, Chris?"  This was the first
time that Chris spoke.  "What you drink will suit me,
Jim."  It was ordered and brought in.  After empty-
ing the glasses another drink was ordered.  Chris
says to Jim, "It is you that is happy to-night not me."
Jim says, "Why, what is the matter, Chris?"  "You

*

know what is the matter, Jim.  Think what I have
to do to-morrow, to keep the game on an elevation,
and to expel my best friend for life.  Jim, it was
with dripping tears from my heart that I went over
to the bench to-day and told you that you were 
expelled for life."  Chris further remarked, "Oh!
Why could it not be an enemy of mine that I could
rejoice at it?"  But you, Jim, it is like murdering my
own son," bowing his head.   "Jim, to-night I would 
give one thousand dollars if I could change places 
with you."  The bell was rung again and teh porter
was ordered to bring more drinks.  Kennedy, who 
had to smother his laughter, said to Vanderahe, "Have
courage, Chris, be like the Roman father was had
to sentence to death his own son to satisfy justice."
Chris says, "I know nothing about the Roman father,
but, Jim, the game must be kept on an elevation,"
(that is where the keg of beer stood).  After the glasses
met and they drank, Jim says, "You know, Chris, it was
the fourth of July, and there was no elevation in your
eyes under the grandstand but the keg of beer."
All loyal American will take a good time on the 
nation's birthday.  Chris remarked, "Jim, I am as
disloyal as any American, but we must keep up the
elevation of the game."  Another bell was rung,
and the porter had to depart for two more, when 
Chris remarked, "Oh, and why was I born for this
hour, what has the Lord against me, that he should
put me in a position to expel my best friend," and
with this he wiped one of his eyes.  Jim answered
him with the following remark, "Chris, I will take
the sentence and kiss the hand that gave it."  Bell
tapes are heard again, the porter appeared and the

*

order was given.  Chris began: "Jim, with my heart
dripping tears I will have to stand up in that meeting
to-morrow, and pronounce sentence of expulsion 
for life.  You can follow a hundred kinds of business,
but poor Chris will have to leave the meeting with
dripping tears from his eyelids down nothing will
be bright to me again.  Oh! I wish I was a cradle
baby again.  You will leave teh meeting, Jim, with
a joyful heart.  Oh! why was I not dead before I 
lived.  Before I heard of the keg of beer."  During
this dialogue drinks upon drinks were coming.  Kennedy
held his balance well, but good-hearted Chris was
falling under the many drinks, and was falling into 
the arms of Bacchus.  He says, "Jim, if I was killed
this moment I don't think I would live, but, Jim,
we must keep up the elevation of the game.  I am
going to bed with bleeding tears dripping down my
heart.  I can never sleep to-night, thinking of what 
I have to do to my best friend to-morrow.  Oh! why
was I not born before I lived?"  They both started
now for their berths.  Chris was helped along by
the porter, Kennedy navigated himself.  It was the
fourth of July night, when all men of freedom are
happy.  They both got into opposite berths.  Chris
was about to doze away when he called out to Jim:
"Say, Jim, say, Jim."  Kennedy says, "What is it,
Chris?"  Chris says, "I was thinking it all over, Jim,
I will let that expulsion business go.  I will not
expel you.  Now, Jim, I will sleep happy."  Jim
says, "Thank you, Chris, it will save you a lot of pain."
  Tim Hurst, the great umpire, is the author of the
substance of this story.

*

NICK E. YOUNG.

  When the National League, the father of legitimate
baseball, celebrates its first centennial, and the present
generation of votaries and exponents of baseball
are in the spirit land looking down on its prosperity,
Nick Young will be like George Washington, the
first president of the National League of baseball
clubs.  The writer has had the good fortune of knowing
this little modest gentleman for the past twenty
years.  With all my travels and experience of meeting
men in the higher and lower walks of life of both
hemispheres, never did I see the typical democratic
American more exemplified than in the person of
Nick Young.  This tribute might look like a fulsome
eulogy but it is not.  When I state to the baseball
public that an infant could bring his baseball griefs
to the ex-president of the National League and he
would try to redress them.  Any player that ever
wrote Mr. Young--whether on the smallest round of
the ladder of his profession or not, always received
a prompt answer; and that is why I esteem him.
Literary men and all men of worldly experience know
that all great men are approachable no matter what
their professions are.  At ball meetings you would
notice the strut and pompous airs of some minor league
president walking up and down the corridors of 
the hotel, pondering as if he had the weight of a nation
on his head, stepping sometimes on people's toes
so they would be compelled to ask who he was when
some bystander would speak up that he was Jim
Lightbrain of the Insect League, and he has a case
on hand before the national board, where one of his
players is claimed by a major league magnate for

*

shaking hands with him some years ago.  It is equal
to a "reserve" now-a-days.  While on the other hand
you would find genial Nick Young in some corner
of the hotel talking kindly to some friend--encouraging 
him to overcome his baseball trouble.  In the many
years that Mr. Young has been president of the
natioanl board many intricate and complex cases
were presented to him for a decision, but not one,
when all the circumstances were known, did he decide
but according to his honest convictions under the
law governing the case, he threw technicalities aside,
which are shields sometimes for the dishonest, but
he decided on the honest intent of the purpose of
the player or the manager.  Equivocations of players
and subterfuges of magnates bore not weight with
his keen observation of baseball tricks.  And I will
vouch for this and stand by him that he would take
the word of an honest baseball manager that he
knew was on the level, in matters pertaining to base-
ball, quicker than he would a Vanderbilt or an Astor 
who butted into the game for notoriety's sake.  I 
know whereof I speak of this genial gentleman as
I have lived in Washington City and made it my
home fifteen years of my life.
  Mr. Young is a part of every department of the 
game, he was a player, manager, umpire and magnate.
He was at the head of the National League for 27 years.
He weathered all storms with it, whether in the dark
days of the Brotherhood or in the sunshiny days
before or after it.  He was the same approachable 
little gentleman--that generations will not see his
counterpart again.

*

DAN SHANNON.

  In the midst of minor league managers of the past
looms up the rotund form of Dan Shannon of Bridge-
port, Conn.  If Dan ever extended his hand you
know it was prompted by the heart, and not the Jeky
and Hyde order, but was part of an anatomy that
was hale hearty, and well met.  He did not belong
to the order of handshakers and jolliers, who would
one minute speak well to your face and five minutes 
afterward show the counterfeit, and drop the poisonous
acid either by insinuation or word to rot away the
iron band that linked together two friends.
The writer knows Mr. Shannon personally, and knows
his good manly qualities.  While he was in base-
ball he showed he was a man of the highest base-
ball intelligence, and drove many a club to the winning 
post by his keen insight into the true strategy of the
game.  Shannon was no score card manager, putting
down the mechanical errors of the game, but to his
credit he knew what errors the player committed
that could not be set up in cold type, but could be
set in the column of unthinkable plays.

TIM MURNANE.

  Of the many managers I met in the early days of
my baseball career, big-hearted and genial Tim
Murnane is one of them.  The first ripple of revolt
on the placed waters of the National League and
American Association was cause by the Union
Association of 1884, of which Chicago, St. Louis[]
Cincinnati, Altoona, Pa., Washington, Baltimore[]
Philadelphia and Boston were members.  My d[]

*

agreement with Vanderahe in St. Louis, was the cause
of me joining with Lucas.  We organized the famous
St. Louis Maroons, which included Fred Dunlap,
Shaffer, Dake Rowe, Jack Gleason, Billy Taylor,
Lew Dickerson, Perry Werden, Hodnett, Baker
Whitehead and Jack Brennan.  This team won the
championship with ease, but Tim Murnane organized
a young team in Boston that shared the honors with
the Maroons all that season.  The players of the
Boston Unions were Ed Crane, Shaw, Slatery, Tom
McCarthy, Tom O'Brien, Walter Hacket, and Tim
himself.  There were others that I fail to recall
It was a first-class team, and all beginners at that,
but Tim brought out all the playing that was in
them.  Tim, to-day, is one of the greatest baseball
writers in the country, and it is a pleasure to read
the writings of one who has been in the actual con-
flict and strife of the game.

JOHN TROY.

  Of the many players that I have had the good fortune
to have under my management in my baseball career,
none impressed me more with originality, genuine
good humor, clean language in the style coaching,
than the famous "Dasher," John Troy, of New York.
Troy, in his time, played for the New York National
League team, the Metropolitians and other crack
clubs.  He was the equal of Charley Bastian in the
natural way he picked up ground balls.  The good 
nature and witty side of him in a hard-fought contest
was what made me always like him, and a better
little piece of humanity never lived than the "Dasher."

*

I must confess that I thought a great deal of him,
not only as a player, but as a man of principle.  His
style of winning was "catchy," and he was always
jollying some poor pitcher that was going in for his
first game.  The Dash would begin it in the following
conversation to the trembling pitcher:  "Well, my
boy, we will jsut kill the other pitcher to-day, and
that team that is going to play against us could not
hit the city hall if it was pitched to them.  Ted
Sullivan expects us to gather up all kinds of balls,
and never expects much of a pitcher on his first trial.
Now, my son, let them hit the ball, that is what we 
like, if they make fifty hits off you, why, we will go
at the other pitcher and drive him to drink, as we
have done before.  They will have to use four pitchers 
against us to-day and they know it, they are all
afraid of you, as I heard them say so."  After this
jolly that Troy gave the new-comer, he would go
into the game feathers up.  In 1898, the Washington 
League team controlled a minor league team in Troy,
N.Y.--members of the international league.  It was a 
baseball farm, which came into practice afterwards.
I was managing the Washington club, but I had to 
make four or five trips to Troy that season to see how
the farms hands were getting along.  Good-natured
Troy promised me that season that he would abstain 
from any beer drinking, and I on my part, told him
that if he did I would put him back on the regular
National League team, as he ability warranted it.
I don't wish to infer that good "Old Dash" was a 
tippler--far from it--but he did like his beer, like
other good men.
  What little beer Troy drank never interfered with

*

his ball playing, as he always attended faithfully to
his duty, but I must confess that at that period of
my life I was a little narrow and prejudiced against
any players who drank.  John's friendship for me
made him abstain entirely from drinking.  The
humorous incident of Troy and the beer came up at
Troy, N. Y., on one of my trips over to that city.
The good-natured "Dash" complained to me about
his batting being totally weak, since he stopped 
drinking any beer.  The boys corroborated the state-
ment.  Troy would not break his word with me, as
he esteemed me too much, but he was down-hearted
on account of his batting, and I assure the reader
Troy, at that time, was a cracking good batsman.
This one game at Troy, N.Y., was an exciting con-
test and I was urging the boys to win it.  "The Dash"
wanted to be in the thickest of the fray, and distinguish
himself some way in that game.  There were three
men on bases with nobody out, when John looked
at the score card and saw who was coming up.  The
two men ahead of him were rank quitters in a pinch,
and both of us knew it.  They would either strike
out, or allow the umpire to call them out before they
would touch the ball.  There was beer sold under
the grandstand and the old "Dash" knew it.  He 
whispered in my ear and said, "Ted, let me go under
the stand and get a big beer, and I will clear the 
bases for you."  I said, "All right, my boy, go on
quick."  Sure enough, my two "buckos" showed the
"yellow," and struck out.  The audience was greatly
excited, as it was the ninth inning, and the Troy 
club's last turn at the bat.  I looked around for Troy,
and saw him come from under the stand, wiping his

*

lips.  He says to the bat boy, "Give me my bat."  As
he walked by me towards the plate, he says, "the
'Old Dash' is himself again."  He tapped the plate
with his bat, and said to the opposing pitcher, "Come,
my old laddy-buck, you have been getting off pretty
cheap."  One strike was called on the noble John.
The game and gritty Troy remarked to the pitcher,
"That is where I am strong, when one strike is called
on me."  The second ball was met by the "Old Dash,"
full in eye--shoulder high, away it sailed--high and
far away; two fielders gave chase, but it was no
use, the stout hand of Troy, with the stimulus of
that glass of beer, sent the ball speeding against
the center field fence.  It bounded off the boards,
away from the fielders that were chasing it, and the
lion-hearted Troy was skimming around the bases,
with the three men ahead of him, and the game was
won for the city of Troy.
  Readers, I have known of great lawyers who had
to drink before they made a great speech, and I have
known of famous actors who had to do the same,
and after that I never stopped my old friend, John
Troy, from taking a glass of beer when he needed 
one.

FAMOUS DECISION BY AN UMPIRE.

  A famous decision was made by John Gafney,
Washington, D. C., which ever afterwards established
a precedent for sound baseball philosophy.  This 
decision was coincided with by the best judges of
baseball in the United States.  Up to the time
that this decision was made by Gafney, um-
pires made a practice of judging fly balls, while

*

the ball was inside the inclosure--claiming that they
had no jurisdiction over the course of the ball after
it went over the fence.
  The ruling cause no end of fault finding, as many
a high ball changed its course after it left the left
field or right field fence.  Gafney established a 
precedent in a certain Washington game, claiming
that the last seen of the ball, whether it was on fair 
or foul ground, would govern his decision no matter
what course the ball took afterwards.

DAN O'LEARY.

  Dan O'Leary, who retired some years ago from
professional baseball, was the most genial and witty
man connected with the game.  His knowledge of
baseball was above that of the ordinary manager of his
time.  An excellent story is told of him, while he
was managing the Indianapolis Independent team
of '83.  
  Dan's club had defeated all the semi-professional
clubs for miles around.  They seemed to be invin-
cible, but his directors were abitious.  They
wanted to conquer new baseball worlds, and
they aimed high, in their mad baseball pride.
They asked Dan to get a game with the Chi-
Cago League team, when they passed through
Indianpolis.  Wily Dan knew that it was
matching Jeffries against Terry McGovern.  He tried
to ignore the game but the swelled up directors were
inexorable.  The game should be made if Chicago 
had an open date.  Finally the game was arranged.
  The Chicago club came and crushed the hitherto
invincible Indianapolis club by an overwhelming

*

score.  Dan was cast down, but the directors--more
so.  After the game that night, Dan entered the
hotel, where he saw all the directors sitting silently
together with a scowl on their faces.  Genial Dan
could not stand this demeanor of the hitherto glad-
some directors.  He at once exlaimed: "Well,
gentlemen, why so sad to-night?  You desired to see
the classics, and you saw them."
  This story is told by Arthur Irwin.

CHRIS VANDERAHE AND THE LONG TELEGRAM.

  In 1884, when the Union Association was started,
a great many of the American Association and league
teams organized reserve clubs to crush out the new-
comers.  That is,they were to play on their grounds
while the regular team was away.  Chris had one
and at its head was a very high and expensive manager.
Chris sent his team and this extravagant manager
on a spring trip to Indiana and Illinois, before his
team left the city, he told the manager that after
every game he should send him the result of the game,
so he would know the work of his aspiring "reserve
team."  The unsophisticated manager, of course
thought that Chris meant the entire count of the
game, inning by inning.  So after the game on the
first day here comes a telegraph boy into Chris' office.
He carried a large-sized envelope in his hand, with
inclosed telegraph matter, which in its size and bulk,
indicated that it was cable stuff intended for some
Metropolitan newspaper.  The boy said, "This is 
a telegram for you, Mr. Vanderahe, and there is $27
charges on it."  Chris looked at the boy and at the 
bulky envelope, he could hardly restrain himself

*

in the chair, he was so mad.  He blurted out again,
"What, did somebody telegraph me his will across
the ocean?"  The boy says, "No, Mr. Vanderahe, it 
is an account of the ball game, sent by your manager,
from Terre Haute, Ind."  Chris jumped to his feet,
and exclaimed, "Why didn't he telegraph me a history
of his life?"  He took the telegram, paid the boy, and
commenced to read the telegram--sure enough, it
was a defeated account of the game, inning by inning.
Chris at once flew to the telegraph office, and wired
to his manager the following: "For God's sake, don't 
send any more telegrams."  Chris told this story
himself.

THE MANAGER AND THE DUMMY SUBSTITUTES.

  Some years ago professional ball players, in some
cases like a night's outing, when a good time pre-
sented itself.  Of late years, however, players of the
major leagues are very easily handled.  As they know
in a year or so the prejudice of the owner of clubs
is very strong against any violation of club discipline,
and it is only a matter of time when such players are
dropped entirely from major leagues.  The particular
case to be cited in this instance, was a breech of 
discipline that was novel and amusing.  The manager,
who handled this club of years ago, was a wily and
wary fellow and up to all the tricks of players, in
getting out or staying out after a stipulated time,
namely, 11:30.  He caught them at all their tricks,
such as taking the keys and putting them in their
pockets, getting up after the manager had made his
rounds to the rooms and going down the fire escape,
etc.  But there is one thing that this manager did

*

do, and that was to look over the transom and see
if the men were in the room, if they failed to answer
him after 11:30, when he knocked.
  The latter scheme, these two players wanted to
foil and outwit, and forever kill the transom
act.  They were invited on this night by some friends
to attend a ball in a certain part of the city.  This
manager was a good fellow, but he was strict on his
men in keeping good hours, while on a trip at least.
Those two men were the best players of the club and
one of them delighted in working up some scheme 
to outwit and kill this transom peeping of the manager.
They hit upon a plan to attend this ball, and that
was to fix up two dummies made of hay, put them
each in the bed, and they knew that would settle
the whole case, when their manager peeped over their
transom.  Well, at nine o'clock they took their 
key and went upstairs and fixed the dummies, naturally
in the bed and left for the ball with the keys in their
pockets.  The manager, after 11:30, commenced to 
make the rounds of the players' rooms and when 
he arrived at our heroes' apartments, he knocked
but no answer came, then he got up on a chair and
looked over the transom, he saw that the beds were
occupied and then left for his own room and retired,
regaling himself with the idea that no wonder he
had a winning team, with such excellent discipline 
in his club.
  Between 12:00 and 1:00 that night there was a 
row at the ball, and the two players of his club were 
assaulted by some jealous fellows, the result was
that those two players cleaned out the whole batch

*

that commenced the trouble with them, and some of
them were left with banged up eyes.  After the fight
they left for their hotel at once, and got in about 1:30
in the morning.  They removed the dummies by
throwing them under the bed, and retired themselves.
Next morning there was a policeman looking for
two men, of this certain ball club that whipped those
fellows at the ball-room.  That policeman had 
their names and he was waiting in the office of the
hotels to arrest them.  The policeman finally called
upon the manager and told him that he had a warrant
for two of his men, and hoped they would go along
peacefully.  Hearing this the manager flew into a 
rage, and said, "What is the matter with you people?
My men were in bed at 11:30 and I saw them with
my own eyes, and yet you say the fight took place
at that time.  Why, it is ridiculous and an outrage."
The policeman answered, "Well, Mr. Manager, you
will have at least six men swearing against you, that
your two players were at that ball at 11:30.  And
they will have undeniable proof in the shape of dis-
figured faces, to show for it.  So have a care and
do not perjure yourself."  The manager finally called 
the players out of the dining-room, and told them
what the officer said, but he would show up the town
for the attempt to disgrace his team.  The two 
players told him never mind, that they would go with
the officer to the station, but the manager must be
along, as there must be some terrible mistake some-
where.  The manager says, excitedly, "Certainly, why,
I saw you in bed and if you are harmed, you bet we
will throw this city out of the league."  The officer
told him he could do as he pleased about the city,

*

but the players would be treated all right, if they
were not the starters of the fight.  The manager
flew up again and says, "How could they be fighting 
and they in bed two miles away?"  When they got
to the station, the judge, who was a regular ball
crank, called in the two players, and a few of their
city friends in the room, and heard what they had
to say.  One of the players told him the whole story,
and also told him what the manager was laboring
under, which caused the judge to laugh.  The players
had friends, who swore that the accusers were entirely
the aggressors, that they provoked and attacked
the two players of the visiting team.  While this
preliminary business of the trial was going on, the
manager was wondering who in the devil were in the
beds, playing the part of the two men.
  Well, the trial ended by the judge giving the players
a reprimand and presented a bill of cost ot the accusers
and assailants.  He then turned to the manager and
told him he was saving him from perjuring himself
by trying to prove an alibi for his two players, and
impressed on the manager's mind that hereafter, he 
should go into the players' rooms instead of looking
over the transoms, and to see and feel what was in 
the beds as some night his whole team may go out
and put in their beds dummies, made of hay or straw.
The wily manager comprehended all, and he smiled
at the trick for his could give credit to any one who
would outwit him, without getting angry.  His players
were released without a fine, and all went back to
the hotel happy.
  But, reader, listen, this one manager never looked

*

over any more transoms, but went right into the
players' rooms and felt of the occupants of the beds,
whether they were straw, hair or flesh.

CUBAN GIANTS.

  The Cuban Giants, a colored ball club that was
stationed at Trenton, N. J., for years was a team
no ordinary ability, in a playing sense, but the flavor
of their whole work was their humorous coaching.
While they were willing to make fun of the white
clubs when they were beating them, still they were
rather sensitive when the white clubs go back at
them.  It was a singular thing that all the clubs
that I ever managed, could beat them easily, whether
my club was a league team or a minor.  And they
thought that I hoodoed them some way.  The final
and amusing incident took place in Trenton, N. J.,
in '97.  I had a small team practricing for the season
to go Atlantic city.  The Cubans looked upon 
this team as sure prey, as they were players that 
they never heard of before.  The Cubans, who had
not been in Trenton for years, were desirous to show 
their old-time friends that they could demolish any
team that would dare take their place in the hearts
of the fans of Trenton.  The club that I had in that 
city that season were really amateurs, but they put
up a great game against the invincible Cubans.  Three
games were arranged with the Giants, and when they
arrived in Trenton they strutted around their old
former haunts, and told all those that were inclined
to bet, that they would burn up that baby team of
Mr. Sullivan's.  There was a lot of betting going on 
and the white people in Trenton backed my team

*

to win.  The coons saw that it was like finding money.
The first game ended 7 to 11 in the favor of my club.
The Giants were disgusted, and so were their friends
who bet their money on their "say so."  They said,
however, that was luck, and they would show Ted
Sullivan next day that he could not pick up unknown 
men to beat them.
  The betters who had lost the day before, doubled
and trebled their bets for the next.  Expecting
to win all back, but the game little Trenton team
went at the coons again and trimmed them by another
score of 7 to 11.  As they were both crap scores,
the second game created a great deal of laughter 
among the audience, and made the Cubans furious.
In the ninth ending there was a man of my team held
on third base instead of sending him home, which
would have made the Trenton score 12, as the Cubans
had 7.  The darkies claimed that I ordered the man
to stay there, so I would disgrace them by taking
to scrap scores on them by 7 to 11.  That night
"coon town" was wild and so were all the Giants, to
think that the famous old time Cubans could be
be beaten twice by a picked-up scrub team by Mistah
Sullivan--and that in their former home.  The third
and final game took place the next day.  The friends
of the Giants had not lost heart as yet and thought
that it was impossible for the picked-up Trenton
team to defeat the old time Cubans three straight
games.  Those that had lost their money on the 
Cubans the two former games, wanted to retrieve
their losses in the last and final game.  The game
started with the Giants taking the lead in the beginning
of the game.  Feeliing that they had the Trenton team

*

beaten, they commenced their old-time coaching[]
making all kinds of fun and shouting to the audience
that they had tossed the other two games away.
The eighth inning began with the Cubans in the lead 
by three runs.  The umpire made a decision that the
Giants objected to.  They flocked around the official 
at the home plate and refused to play unless he changed
his decision.  The home plate was not very far 
from the grand-stand.  While the kicking was 
going on, a southern white man from George
went out and secured a large and juicy watermelon 
from a vender who was stationed at the gate.  He
entered the grandstand just as big Clarence Williams
who had a bushy head and a loud voice) exclaimed
that he would quit the game before he was robbed.
At this junction, the southern gentleman hurled the
big melon high in the air and it landed in the midst
of the Cuban players and broke to pieces.  Terrible
indignation arose, the Giants declared that they were
insulted in their former home and said it was a trick 
of Ted Sullivan's, manager of the Trentons to break
them up.  They were about to quit the game then
and there as the insult was too much and they were
no hoe-down coons, and cotton pickers from the south,
but colored citizens from the states of New York and
New Jersey.  The audience and umpire were con-
vulsed with laughter, but the Giants refused to see 
the jokes and had their bats packed and were about
to leave the grounds, thinking as they were three
runs ahead they would have the prestige of winning
one game anyway, notwithstanding the decision of
the umpire, which was to declare the game against
them by a score of nine to nothing if they refused to 

*
play.  I informed the manager of the Giants that if his
team left the grounds, that they would not get any
receipts of the game.  This put a new phase on the
situation, and the Giants hastened to the field, feeling
the loss of the money.  They were, however, very 
mad, especially the pitcher, who tried to hit two or
three of the Trenton batters with the ball, which
resulted only in filling the bases, this is where the
Giants' trouble began, as the coaching and "kidding"
of the Trentons soon had the Cubans in the air.  They 
went all to pieces, throwing the ball all over the
diamond, the net result of the inning was ten runs
which put the Trentons in the lead by seven scores.
The mad Cubans never rallied after that and were 
beaten by a score of 14 to 6.  The comical coaching 
of Harry Wilson of Baltimore, who was a member
of the Trentons, did the whole thing in the fatal eighth
ending.  He told the high-bred Cubans that there 
were chickens on all the bases, this raillery they could
not stand, but yet if they were in the lead they would
give the same dose to the young Trentons.  As the
dusky warriors were leaving the grounds, one Giant
called out to the rest, "we done got beat, but Ted
Sullivan and the melon was the cause of it."
  Now they had a little trouble with their own color,
whom they induced to bet.  That night in Trenton
there was crape on all the doors  in "coon town."

THE BALL PLAYER AND THE SPARROW.

  An amusing incident took place some years ago
in one of the Western League cities.  A certain right
fielder, that was known for his sleepiness during a
game, was suddenly aroused for his lethargy by

*

the infield calling out to him to "Look out."  All at
once a swallow flew by him which he took for a fly
ball and made after it.  The real ball he did not see,
and the audience became domonstrative, thinking
that he had purposely run away from the batted
ball.  He did not know his mistake until the second
baseman ran out in right field to get the ball and
hurl it home to catch some of the runners, who were
scoring by the gross mistake of this sleepy fielder.  
He was chagrined when he found out his mistake, 
and he came near getting his release, but he promised 
the manager to keep his eyes on the game thereafter.

JOHN ARUNDEL (TUG) AND THE LEMONADE TUB.

  One of the funniest and most ludicrous incidents
that I ever witnessed at a baseball game took place
in Memphis, Tenn., in 1885.
  John Auranel, who was known as "Tug," was a 
catcher of more than average pluck.  John Clarkson
and Tony Milane, in their best days, could not phase
Auranel with their rifle-shot speed.  But if matters
did not go right in the game, Auranel was easily
aroused, but he was a noble fellow to any one he like
and possessed good principles.  He was catching
for my club (the Memphis team), in that year.  On
this particular day there were three men on bases.
John had a passed ball and the ball did not stop until
it caromed off the backstop into the lemonade tub,
which was about fifteen feet to the right of the grand-
stand.  Auranel was after the ball like a hound,
burning with rage on account of the ball taking a 
hurdle into the tub, which was filled with lemonade 
and skins.  Runner after runner was scoring and

*

John made two or three grabs at the ball, but in his
anxiety he missed each time.  It was slippery around
the lemonade stand and in the last grab for the ball
Auranel slipped, and to save himself from falling, he
grabbed the side of the lemonade stand.  The tub
came over on him, lemon skins and all.  Bold "Tug"
was indeed a sight, his uniform wet and lemon skins
all over his hair.  The three men had scored while
John was fishing for the ball, but as mad as the
audience were, they could not but roar at the sight
of the valiant Auranel.  John was a hard loser, and
he said he would not catch any more if the lemonade
stand was not moved to some other part of the grounds.[][]???
To beat Atlanta was their only joy and hope. [][]???
Towards the latter part of '92, both cities had good
teams.  Macon's series in Atlanta was disastrous, but
all Macon and players swore that it was a premeditated
steal and robbery on the part of the umpire to defraud
Macon out of the three games.  The citizens of Macon
that witnessed the games in Atlanta came home boil-
ing with rage.  Atlanta's team followed for the next
three games at Macon.  The same umpire came over,
if I remember right.
  Now comes the ludicrous scene.  A large cannon
was dragged through the streets of Macon, bearing a
placard with the following inscription: "Macon will
win three games sure."  This cannon was dragged by
the hotel were the Atlanta team and umpire were stop-
ping, six or seven times, amidst great cheering on the
part of the crowd.
  Reader, do the think Macon won the games?  I
whisper slowly she did, and that with a good margin in
each game.

*

JIM FOGERTY AND THE SIGNALS TO STEAL.

  The late Jim Fogerty, right fielder of the Philadel-
phia Club, was one of the greatest players in that posi-
tion that ever graced the game.  And one of the bright-
est wits in the whole baseball fraternity.
  Fogerty, like all brainy players, did not like to be
coached and pulled around when on bases like an au-
tomaton.  IF he inteded to steal a base he wanted to 
do it at a time and place when the pitcher and catcher
were wrapped up in some other play, besides watching
him.  He had the art of base stealing down as fine
as the greatest in that art.  This particular day he was
on first, and it was imperative to steal second, as the 
captain thought.  The order for Fogerty to steal was on
the grandstand and "dress parade" order, and the
pitcher and the catcher of the opposing team were
closely watching the fleet-footed Fogerty.  Finally
Jimmy obeyed orders and started to steal and he was
thrown out easily at second.  He was mad indeed.  It 
was a game between Washington and Philadelphia.  
As he passed our bench he said to the captain, of his
team, in that witty way of his: "Why, you tipped me
off too quiet, why didn't you turn on the fire alarm
and ring the courthouse bell, so the whole city and
audience would know that I was to steal?"

THE RACE TO SIGN W.E. HOY (THE MUTE) IN THE FALL
OF '87.

  There was a novel and exciting race to sign W. E.
Hoy, the celebrated mute player, for the National
League in the fall of '87.  I was to manage the Wash-
ington League team for the season of 1888.  While 

*

looking over the players of the northwest, I was more
than impressed with the ability of the intelligent mute.
He had played in Oshkosh, during the summer of 1887,
and after their season closed there was a great demand 
for his services.  Minor leagues had no reserved rules
in those days after their playing season ended.  So the
sharpest baseball managers were liable to get the best
players.  I met Hoy the year previous and he knew
that I was a great admirer of his playing, which he
considered a compliment.  As players of the North-
western League at that time could not be signed  until
October 1st, to make the contract baseballically legal,
Hoy went to his home in Findlay, Ohio, after his sea-
son closed, which was near the end of that September.
All the agents of the League and American Association 
clubs were in St. Paul until the Northwestern season
closed, but afterwards came to Chicago.  Hoy, before
leaving St. Paul for Ohio, gave me his word he would
not sign until he saw me first, which he faithfully kept.
But with the tempting offers of the League managers
in those days for select timber of minor leagues, a 
player would have to be more than common baseball
flesh to resist them, especially if the offer came from a 
great city.  While sitting in the Tremont House, which
was that day the rendezvous of all high-class baseball
men, some one asked guardedly of the others where
Hoy lived?
  I had made up my mind to leave for Findlay, Ohio,
the sign my brave "bucko" next day, and went to the
telegraph office to inform R. C. Hewitt, president of
the Washington club my whereabouts, when, to my 
surprise, my eyes met a thrown-away telegram, on the 
blank of a Western Union, which the sender had cast aside[]

*

as people usually do, when they wish to change the 
wording of some telegram.  The telegram read: "W.
E. Hoy, ball player, Findlay, O.  Will leave to-night
for Findlay.  Don't sign until you see me.  No trouble
about salary.  Signed ------."  I murmured to my-
self that this was indeed luck.  I had just one hour to
catch that train, and to Findlay I betook myself.  But
by all means I must not let the agent of this certain
league club see me.  The best man in the race to sign
this man must win, so I hastened as quickly as possible
to the depot and got into the sleeper.  It was about
nine or ten o'clock.  I retired before the train pulled
out, and soon afterwards I heard the voice of my rival 
asking for berth No. 10.  I, myself had No. 5, some dis-
tance from it.
  Before we arrived at Toledo in the morning I was
up early and hastened out to the other coaches of that
train, so I would not be seen by this baseball hunter.
He chuckled to himself: "I will bag my rabbit before
any one knows it."  As the train pulled into the Toledo 
depot, my jolly rival leaped off and went into the
dining room with a gay and jolly air, thinking what a 
scoop he would have on the whole baseball world.  The 
train did not leave Toledo that day for Findlay until
three or four P.M., so it was my business to keep out
of his way as much as possible until train time.
  Findlay, if I think right, is about eighty or a hundred
miles from Toledo.  Both of us were now to make our
last dash to capture the great mute.  I remained away
from the depot until the train was about to pull out.
At a distance I noticed my rival going towards the
smoker.  I hopped on the last coach and sat in the
rear seat with a paper in my hand looking forward now

*

and then to see if my light-hearted friend was coming
back.
  He regaled himself, however, that afternoon, smok-
ing rich Havana cigars, and in the rolls of smoke that
were wafted from his perfecto he could see Hoy's sig-
nature at the end of a league contract.  As the train
was pulling into Findlay the voices of the hotel runners
were heard, he got off the front end of the train and I 
got off the rear.  While he was in the midst of hotel
runners asking which was the best hotel, I was asking
of a liveryman how far Hoy lived from the city and if
he was at home.  A bargain was struck at once, by
which he would take me to Hoy's home immediately.
He hastened to the stable to hitch his horses for the 
journey, while I watched my rival leaving the depot
for his hotel.  The team was ready to take me to Hoy's 
home, and I hopped into the wagon and rode three
hours along a road that was illuminated by nature's 
torches, the gas wells of Ohio.  As the teamster made
a turn in the road and halted in front of a new two-
story building, a big black dog leaped from the porch 
to warn us from intrusion.  The teamster turned and
said to me: "This is Hoy's home."  As it was about
eleven o'clock at night the whole household was asleep,
but three calls from the voice of the driver called up
Hoy's father, who raised a window and asked what was 
wanted?  I then spoke up and told him who I was and
wanted to see his son.   He invited us to enter the house
while he went upstairs and woke up his boy.  After a
few minutes, down comes William, in his night shirt,
and grabbed me by the hand in an enthusiastic way.
While he could not talk, his actions bid me a thousand
welcomes.  I wrote on the pad what I was there for

*

and asked if he was ready to sign?  He said he 
was.  He said his terms were fourteen hundred dollars,
but as Paul Haines was sold to Indianapolis eight days
before, by the Washington Club, for twenty-eight hun-
dred, and as Hoy was to take his place, I knew 
Washington could be a little generous with this faithful 
mute.  So I took out the league contract from my
pocket and put on it $1,800.  To the credit of Hoy, he
placed his autograph on the contract before looking at
the figures, but when he saw it his eyes glistened with
gratitude, but I told him that he was entitled to that
for keeping his word.  I explained the situation to Mr.
Hewitt, president of the Washington Club, and he fully
approved of my course.  In all my dealings with 
ball-players, which included little stars, big stars, shin-
ing stars, none of them appreciated a kindness like this
selfsame Hoy.  Nor did I deserve any great thanks 
for what I did.  He was a man that was sought after,
and was on the market, and most salable goods at
that.  But I have helped players in my life that were
not known--that nobody cared for; they were as
blank on the baseball market as if they never existed.
In their obscurity they were pulled out of mines, off
drays, and other humble positions.  I pushed them to
the front with no gain for myself, but with a sympa-
thetic heart, and I never in my life heard one of those
people say "Thank you."  But this mute was an oasis 
in that desert of ingrates.
  Well, after my boy was signed and sealed, I hastened
back to the city and went to the hotel, where my sleep-
ing rival was lying on a downy pillow, with a call set
with the clerk to wake him at seven, and with another
call to a liveryman to be at his hote at 7:30.  After

*

eating a lunch at a restaurant that ight, before retir-
ing, I left a call also at the hour of seven.  We both
met each other in the dining-room at breakfast.  He 
raised his hands in holy horror, saying: "Ted, when
did you get in?"  I told him some time in the early 
morning.  He says to me: "What are you here for?"
I propounded the same question to him.  We both
commenced to smile.  I said that gas wells were cheap 
in this part of the country.  He says he didn't think so.
As we both were about the make another remark a liv-
eryman enters and says: "Mr. ------, the team is
ready."  I says to him, "Where art thou going, my
pretty, pretty maid?"  He says:  "To the country, 
lad."  I remarked, "I might save you the livery price,
if you tell me where you are going."  "Well, Ted,"
he says in a prosaic way, "I am going out to sign Hoy,
and even if you would get a livery right now I would
beat you to his home, as my team is already hitched."
I laughed outright and said: "Well" (drawing out
Hoy's contract), "I don't have to go after him now.  I 
have him on this contract," showing him his signature.
This man was a first-class gentleman, and he laughed 
heartily himself; and he was, furthermore, one of those
clever people that give any man credit for outwitting 
him.
  But let me say to the reader, I did not outwit him,
because he could have done the same thing if I had
laid a telegram aside, as he did.  I had the advantage 
all the way through in knowing what he was to do.
The telegram revealed all, and it shows the folly of any
person in writing out a telegram at the telegraph of-
fice and throw[]
[]

*

  We both returned to Chicago that same day and had
many a hearty laugh on the route.  Hoy will vouch for 
this incident himself.

A DOG WHO WON A GAME OF BALL.

  Not many years ago in the northwest, a certain ball
ground had a dog who was trained to grab a run off
with the ball.  This day, the home club was at the 
bat--in the ninth inning and was making a rally at the
bat.  The club house was at the rear of the grounds,
where the dog was sitting with the ground-keeper.  The
ground-keeper of course, kept track of the game.  As
the last ball was hit towards the center field fence, the
ground-keeper gove the dog the cue to seek the ball.
The dog started for the ball batted and so did the three
fielders.  The dog was there first as the ball bounded
back from the fence.  The dog clutched it in his teeth
and away he pranced around and around with the
fielders after him.  The men who were on the bases
were scoring one after the other.  The audience was
cheering madly and frantically.  The dog was finally 
halted by the ground-keeper, but the game was won
and over.  A mad rush was made by the distant team
for the umpire to make him put the men back on their
bases.  This he could not do, as it was a question how
many of the men would have scored, if the dog had
never touched the ball.  He had no precedent to go
by and hew as in a quandary.  A like instance never came
up in a ball game and under such circumstances.  They
wanted him [] [] [].  As the umpire was one
of those []
[]

*

[] would make his own decision.  He says, "Since you
[] become insulting, I will make my own decision.
I will not call it a block ball or a dead ball.  There
are no rules in this game to cover the interferings of 
a dog.  So I will have to call it a dog ball to-day.  And
you bet his decision went that day at least.  But Mr. 
Dog was watched next day and a special rule made be-
tween the two captains as to what would be done if the
dog took part in the game.

COACHING PARROT.

  Some years ago there was a parrot at Tampa Bay 
Hote, Fla., who must have been brought up on a ball
ground.  This parrot had the expression, "you're out"
down to a nicety.  Some funny, mischievous person
brought him to a ball game one day and set him in
his cage near the grandstand.  As the game started,
the first batter up made first base safe, but a voice
near the umpire, called, "Your out."  The runner
and the team began to kick on the umpire--to the
latter's astonishment.  The umpire declared that he
did not call the runner out; then the parrot's voice
was heard again, and the parrot had to be removed 
amidst general laughter.

CHRIS AND HIS WILD WEST.

  Chris Vanderahe told me the following story about
wild west people:  Some years ago, after the ball 
season was over, Chris became interested in cowboy 
scouts, Indian chiefs and wild steers.  His tours
went as far south as Little Rock, Ark.  Matters
went smoothly until he got to that city, when every-

*

thing went to "smithereens," all on account []
tics of a wild steer.  When the show got to Little []
the marshal came to Chris and told him that if he
made a parade with those denizens of the wild woods,
he would have to pay a license of three hundred
dollars.  Chris told him he would not make a parade,
but he would have to take his Indians and wild
steers to the grounds.  The sheriff told him that he
would consider that a parade.  Vanderahe looked 
with dumb amazement at the sheriff, and he also compre-
hended that it was a case of holdup or "shakedown."
He exclaimed, "Sheriff, how am I to get to the grounds
and hotel without being seen?  Do you think that
I am going to tunnel myself to those places?"  Nothing
more was said on the subject, and Chris went to 
his manager and told him the conditions of the sheriff.
So a novel plan was hit upon to get to the hotel and 
grounds without giving the semblance of a parade.
One by one, cowboys, scouts and Indians left for the
hotel and grounds, leaving a space between each of 
about two thousand feet, all to avoid the appearance 
of a parade.  But that did not keep the small boys
from following, and the crowd was getting larger and 
larger.  The last to leave the depot was the terrible
wild steer and he eventually caused, by his antics, the
disruption of the show and the loss of a large amount
of money to Vanderahe.  The steer was the last to
leave for the show ground.  As it turned into the
street held by a rope, with two cowboys clutching
the end of each, the steer presented a fierce and
wild appearance, jumping and rearing.  The small
boys were in evidence to a large extent, and the antics 
of the steer quite pleased them.  The main street

*

[] Little Rock was packed that day with vehicles of all
[]criptions.  It seemed to be a holiday of some
sort.  The steer was headed that way.  The 
crowd observed that the wild steer was getting wilder
and wilder, but after a plunge or two he
suddenly became docile.  That quiet attitude did
not please the small boys.  When suddenly one
of them pricked the hind quarters of the steer with 
a pointed stick, never was the demeanor of a steer
changed so suddenly.  He made a leap and a plunge--
the ropes were snatched out of the cowboys' hands
as if they were held by an infant, the crowd scattered
and they scattered foot fast.  That packed street
looked down and saw that steer coming and the havoc
it was creating in its route.  If a Kansas cyclone was
gathering in the clouds and the puffs of wind that
precede it was only a skirmish line of the main body
that was to follow it, it could not produce more
consternation and fear than the advance of that
wild steer.  They saw one horse and wagon thrown
into the air from the horns of this terrible steer.  A
mad rush was made to get out of his way.  Women
grabbed their children, men their wives, a pell mell 
was made by the people to get in doors.  Horses
were snapping their halters and running away, the
crashing of wagons was heard by the collision of run-
away teams, farmers were upturned in their wagons
with potatoes, cabbages and turnips thrown on top
of them.  The steer had horses and men on the run.
Doors were slammed and locked.  One milk wagon
was struck by a team and a milk bath given to a 
couple of negro women, who had a watermelon stand.
One heavy negress, who wore a red dress, was tossed

*

thirty feet into the air by this steer in his wild ram[]
when the sister came down from the sky her []
was missing.  To sum it up briefly, when the steer
passed through that street and into the suburbs of
the town there was not a living person to be seen
on that street, nor would they venture forth until
they were assured that the king of the Texas plains
was either captured or killed.  To describe the appear-
ance of this busy, thrifty and business-like street
after the steer had made his exit, you would have 
to think that it was either struck by a Kansas cyclone, 
a Colorado tornado or an Asiatic simoon.  But where,
Oh, where was Chris during this terrible romping of
his steer?  Lo, he was up in the window of the hotel 
with some other guest watching the frightful havoc
his steer was creating.  As soon as order was restored
and the steer captured, the sheriff and constables
came into the hotel, excitedly looking for Chris.
The first thing the sheriff said to Chris, "I want
three hundred dollars for the parade you made, Mr.
Vanderahe."  Chris said, "I did not make any parade.  
My Indians and men went singly to the hotel and
grounds."  The sheriff remonstrated, and said, "makes
no difference, the people saw them, and we call that
a parade in Arkansas."  Chris saw that he was up 
against it paid three hundred dollars.
  Now to the parade of the steer who created all the
damages.  Claimants were coming into the hotel
good and fast to see the man who owned the steer.
The $300 paid for the invisible parade was a mere
bagatelle to what had to pay for the demonstra-
tive and cyclone parade of the wild steer.  The
sheriff stood by to see all damages were paid, but

*

[] while the good nature of Chris kind of softened
[] magnimity of the sheriff and claimants for
damages.  Chris knew the steer played the devil
but not as much as claimed.  First it was a horse
that was disembowled, next it was a wagon that
lost two wheels, next it was a milk wagon that was
capsized and a hundred gallons of milk thrown on
the street.  Following this was the negro wench that
had her beautiful dress washed in milk, and another
one who got a free ride into the air.  And from another
direction came damages from three men who claimed
that their store was destroyed by a load of hay that
was upset and pushed in through their door and spoiled
their soda fountain.  The man who had his load of hay
upset, had his bill for damages, they were coming in on
poor Chris from all directions, until the arrival of
the negro woman, who was tossed into the air and
her dress carried off by the ferocious steer, on his horns.
The wench wanted five dollars for her dress and thirty
dollars for the bruise she sustained by being thrown 
on the top of a watermelon stand.  The watermelon
man was there for the loss of his melons, that was
caused by the fall of the negro woman.  The climax 
was reached at last, when a woman came in from the
suburbs of the town and wanted pay for a brood of
chickens that the steer had stampeded on his wild
run to the country.  At this point Chris looked at the 
sheriff in utter despair, and says, "Sheriff, is the steer
captured?"  The sheriff nodded and said "Yes."  Chris
heaved a sigh of relief and said, "Sheriff, thanks be
to God, if he kept on running I would have damages
from here to St. Louis."  Chris had many refractory
ball players in his time, but they never painted a town

*

in such golden crimson as this wild steer did in that[]
fifteen minutes.  Chris settled all the bills, called all
the Indians and cowboys together and paid them off,
gave them all tickets back to St. Louis, and left for
home that night himself, after sustaining a loss by
the outing of one steer that will ever keep him shy of
all wild west shows.  This story was told to me by
Mr. Vanderahe himself.

CRICKET AT THE KENNINGTON OVAL, LONDON.

  One one of my trips to London, England, I went to the 
Kennington Oval, the famous cricket ground of that
city, to witness a game between the two crack county
clubs of England, namely, Surrey and Lancashire.
It was ona  Monday, and a vast crowd was in attend-
ance.  While the game was in progress I asked the
little Englishman when it would end.  He said to me
blandly, "Well, sir, 'hif' it is a grand match, 'twill not 
be 'hover' until Wednesday, you know."  I looked
at him for a moment, and said, "According to your
idea, sir, the longer the time the better the game."
He said, "Yes, you know.  You see 'hif' Dr. Grace
gets to the wicket he is liable to stay there two days."
Here I interrupted him and told him that I was going
to Paris that night and would be back on Saturday,
and asked him if I would have the good fortune to
see the wind-up of the game.  He laughed and said,
"Bless me 'art, not quite that long, but if you get
back on Thursday, I am sure you will have the pleasure
of seeing it."  As I left I told him I hoped it would be
an extraordinary game, as I would not return again 
until the following year.

*

SCHEMES TO PUT SUBSTITUTES IN THE GAME.

  Before the rule was adopted by which a captain
could substitute one player for another at any stage
of the game that he saw fit, there were many tricks
resorted to (and by hgh-class managers at that) to
get one player out and another in.  This applied in
nearly all cases to the pitchers.  Whereas, if he was 
getting hit, the object was to replace him by another
man.  There were just as many sinners as saints, when
a substitution became necessary, and I was one of
the sinners myself.  A humorous case came under my
management in 1885, when I was manager of the Kan-
sas City club.  We had a pitcher named Veach, who
was clearly out of form on that day, and showed it
from the very first inning.  To get him out by an art-
ful ruse was my desire.  I had no scruples in this
case, as that same club played a trick on me while
I was in their city.  The pitcher, Peek-boo, was by
no means a dummy, a bright a jovial fellow, who
did not require to be hit by a catapault to know what
was wanted.  It was decided that he should receive 
his fictitious injury while running to first base on his 
next turn at the bat.  But his quick wit got him out
of the game sooner.  Among the cargo of singles,
dobules and triples that was shipped to the out fields
by his aid, one shipment grazed his shoestring on the
way to center field.  Nobody saw the ball hit him on
the leg, but he suddenly dropped in the box, and the
falls was indeed natural.  He said he thought that his 
leg was broken, although the ball only slightly touched
his pants.  The visiting team crowded around him 
in great sympathy, lifted him up and carried him care-
fully to the bench and laid him down on the shady

*

[] of the stand and poured water on his head and
rubbed his leg.  Veach played the injured man as
well as John McCollough played Spartacus, the dying
gladiator.  The cry was sent up for a doctor.  This 
was the first time the visiting manager became inter-
ested, as he was getting rather skeptical of the true
injury to Veach, and he thought also I might be get-
ting even for the dead pitcher that he took out of the 
box in his city, claiming that a straw stuck him on
the arm.  But in the mad call for a doctor, I went 
over to the stand and picked one out, who was
one of those old iron-clas fans, who was so anxious for
me to win that he would have proclaimed Veach dead
if I had desired it.  By an exchange of glances he 
knew what was wanted, and after feeling of Veach's 
leg, he proclaimed that the man's leg was badly frac-
tured.  That settled it.  The visiting manager smiled
and went back to his bench.  The game was resumed,
and I sent in a new pitcher.  Those things looked
rather unsportsmanlike in those days, but some mana-
gers were taking a technical advantage of the rule in
the crisis of a game, and there was no use for a saint
to live amongst sinners to win.  The rule works all right
now--and no unsportsmanlike act can be used.

MISCELLANEOUS HUMOR.

  In the early days of professional baseball in Mil-
waukee, there was a very good-natured and witty
German catcher by the name of Schwab.  He was
traveling with some kind of a team whose players
had not been been paid for over two months.  Schwab's 
accent had more of a German flavor than Pabst's beer.

*

While catching one day, the umpire told him that if
he would not keep quiet he would find him.  Schawb
looked at the umpire through his mask like an enraged
lion, and blurted out, "Say, Mr. Empires, it was so
funny yet it makes me smile.  Don't you know that
this club never gets money, we are traveling to show
the people we like the game.  You better go and
find (fine) the manager, that is more than we can do."
And the umpire laughed.

TOM LOFTIS.

  Tom Loftis, the manager of the Washington League
team, stands alone in his individuality, different from
any other man that was ever connected with the game.
The writer has known him for over twenty years, hav-
ing first met him when he was a member of the Peoria
Reds.  I selected Tom to captain the first great cham-
pions of the Northwest, of which the writer was man-
ager, namely, the celebrated Dubuque team of 1879.
His personality has built up for him a profitable business 
in Iowa, and he stands to-day head and shoulders
above any one in professional baseball, in the mag-
netism of his manners.  He is original in everything 
he does or says, and in his manner of handling men
and getting work out of them is different from any
ball man that ever lived.  There can be no cliques,
toughs, dudes, or feather heads, but Tom can get among 
them, and after he has told them all their place, every-
thing is settled.  He never loses his popularity with
his men.  He has remarkable judgment in sizing up
the true value of a man, which the player, on an ac-
quaintance, instantly understands, and is thereby gov-
erned accordingly.  His manner of talking to his men

*

is void of harshness, yet it is like the sugar-coated
pill--it counts just the same, and his men soon know 
it.  Born and bred in St. Louis, he has all the ease and
temperament of the southerner, with none of the par-
simoney and coldness of a class of northerners.
  Tom locks up in an ice chest what he thinks of a 
man, so he will be a person that will ever be devoid
of enemies.  In fact, he is a natural politician, and
if he ever gets thrown in with that Tammany crowd
in New York, he will surely have an office outside of
baseball.

THE COON WHO FORGOT TO THROW A BALL.

  Of the many funny incidents that have come under
my observation, none was more ludicrous or surpassed
in hilarity the scene I witnessed some years ago in 
South Chicago, between the Cuban Giants of New York
and the celebrated Columbia Giants of Chicago.  Those
two colored clubs are deadly rivals, and have been
for years.  The game they play is as fast as some of 
the best minor leagues.
  This game that the writer witnessed was on a Sunday
and the stands and bleachers were packed with real
live coons.  Anyone who has been in Chicago knows
that South Clark and State streets, Chicago, are the
homes of thousands of the colored people.  Nobody
can touch a South Clark or State street coon when it
comes to betting on the Columbia Giants, the Chicago
favorite colored club.  Anyone in the world who is
fond of mirth and funny sayings should go to Chicago
on a Sunday and see a game between those two cele-
brated colored clubs the Columbia and Cuban Giants.
Betting was heavy on this particular afternoon on

*

everything and anything.  The Columbia shortstop
in this particular game was making stops right and
left, no matter to what side of the diamond they were
hit.  And he was worked up beyond his natural speed
by the cheers of the excitable negroes on the bleachers
and stands.  One walnut-colored sister by the name
of Lucy Blue took a roll of money from her stocking
and called out, "All you people who wish to destroy
you money, I have fifty dollars here to scatter on the
Columbia Giants, har me cluck?"  A small coon who 
had come along with the Cuban Giants, rose up and
said, "My distinction is never to bet with a lady.
That is not our New York style, but I wish tothrow
the flashlight of Uncle Sam's coin across this grand-
stand and say, "I carry the goods to bet with any gent.
that Chicago can furnish."  Fifty South State street
coons were on their feet.  The honor of Chicago was
at stake on that eventful game.  All was excitement
in the stand, the game for a moment was forgotten.
It was a contest between New York and Chicago as
to who would bet the most money on this game.  A
swell coon from Sixth avenue, New York, with cuffs
touching the tips of his finger, and a collar rasping his
ear, calls out and says: "People, how much do you 
want to bet?  What do you call betting here in this
Windy City, anyway?"  One little dark coon from
the Polk Street Crap Club calls out: "We call betting
here in Chicago, from $10 to $100."  Here the New 
Yorker let out a big laugh and says, in derision, "Ten
to one hundred!  Let me tell you, my dear sir, and
you people that inhale this lake breeze, that a man in
New York in high betting circles that would offer such
a cheap bet as that to a gentleman of high class stand-

*

ing, on 4th avenue, would never be noticed on the
street again."  After this remark he drew from his
hip pocked a roll, took a $100 bill from it (counterfeit
of course) chewed it up and spit it out in utter dis-
gust, which act excited the coons that surrounded him.
He began: "Now, I tell you people here, you are be-
low my insignificance in betting, because I never an-
noy myself or put my goods on trial unless it is from
$1,000 to $5,000, so you are entirely out of your class
when you talk to a New Yorker on betting.  If it was
said in the sporting papers of that great city that I 
had bet as low as ten dollars here in Chicago, my name
would be stricken from the roll of high betters in the 
Manhattan Crap Club."  Cheering and commotion 
was now heard in the other part of the stand; it was
the arrival of Chicago's greatest better and coon swell,
proprietor of the Dewey Club; he was known as "Money
Hating Bill," and was never known to take water
when it comes to high betting.  He was cheered along
the aisle as he advanced towards the arrogant New
Yorker.  The people in the stand were now on
their feet to see the contest between the world's
two greatest colored betters: Money Hating Bill 
and Sandy Green of New York.  Money Hating Bill
had a flaming red necktie and a large piece of glass
in his shirt bosom, and a large roll of bills in his hand.
He says to the New Yorker: "In the name of my fair 
City of Chicago, I understand that you wish to place
a high bet on the New York Cuban Giants against
Chicago's champion colored club, the Columbia Giants.
Have I mentioned it?"  The New York coon looked
at him with utter contempt, and remarked: "If I re-
member right, sir, I have said it."  Money Hating

*

Bill asked again: "Could I ask again, the highest bet
you wish to make?"  All the dusky belles and coons
in the stand held their breath, for the New Yorker
to state his highest best.  He says: "People of Chi-
cago, prepare yourself for this sudden avalanche in bet-
ting; I am known as the colored Riley Grannan and
Pittsburg Phil of new York.  I generally tear a hun-
dred-dollar bill to pieces to show my utter contempt
for money.  He took from the roll a thousand-
dollar bill and tore it into pieces (another counterfeit, of
course).  He looked the president of the Dewey Club
full in the eye.  "My smalled bet, sir, on this game
is as low as ten thousand and as high as fifty thousand."
Hearing this, Money-Hating Bill fainted and had to be
carried out of the stand.  He was finally revived by
drinking a bottle of South Clark street gin.  The game
was now at its height; it was nip and tuck for awhile.
The Chicago Columbia Giants took the lead in the
seventh inning and were tied again in the eighth by
the Cubans.  The betting was brisk, but Columbia had
the call.  Six colored gamblers that followed the Cu-
bans from New York were betting fast on their favorite
club.  The Columbia shortstop was the hero of the 
day; he had the peak of his cap nearly worn off in
taking it off his head in acknowledging the applause he
was receiving; but the constant tipping of his cap was
finally the cause of his losing the game and also his 
popularity.  One big black sister, the belle of Polk
street, by the name of Tenny Blass, tied a yellow
ribbon to the shortstop's bat after he had made a 
home run in that game.  The climax and fun came in
the ninth inning.  Chicago Columbia Giants took the
field in the ninth inning with one run ahead, the Cu-

*

bans now went in to win the game, their last
turn at the bat.  The New York delegation were still
betting the Chicago crowd to a standstill, even with
the one run ahead, but the Black Pittsburg Phil no
one would go near; he had the Chicago crowd scared
to death.  He sat in the corner smoking a dollar cigar
and lighting it once in a while with a hundred dollar
bill.  The Cubans went at them in the ninth and big
Clarence Williams, the catcher of the Giants, began his
famous coaching, in his original and his only style.  He 
says: "Come, Cubans, there is no hill too high for us to
climb, let us deal out one of old Garrison's finishes."
The first Cuban up hit a ball that looked safe, going
over second, but the Columbia shortstop picked it up
on the run and the batter was out.  One enthusiastic
Chicago coon calls out in the stand: "Why, that short-
stop is a burning bug."  Another calls out: "Why,
he is so warm he burns up the grass."  One of the Cu-
ban coachers calls out to the grandstand: "he may 
be warm, but we are going to cast him into a refrigera-
tor."  As the next Cuban batter came up Williams 
calls out: "Come, Bebee, lay your timber against that
ball."  Bebee did hit the ball safe, which caused a 
great commotion.  The coaching began in earnest.
Cuban enthusiasm was at its height.  The New York
delegation calls out to the Cubans: "Cast dem all into
de refrigerator."  The king of black coaches now be-
gan, "Come, Bebee, don't be married to dat base, get
a divorce from dat bag; look out over dere you will
be stung by dat pitcher sure, don't stop at any station,
if de ball is hit.  But tie up de game.  The balloon is
coming down for the Columbia pitcher and he will
soon go up in the clouds.  That is how we won, the

*

last game we beat them."  Sure enough, the Columbia
pitcher was ascending, for he gave the next man his
base on balls.  Great excitement was now going on in
the stands.  One little chocolate sister says: "Why,
it am perfectly scandalous dat dey allow dat black
coon, Mr. Williams to talk dat way to our gentlemanly
pitcher.  I don't see any balloon in de air."  Another
Cuban coacher says to the pitcher, "he is now in the bas-
ket and he is soaring high."  At this remark the pitcher
hit the Cuban batter and the bases were full.  All was
now confusion in the Columbia infield, and the heav-
iest batter of the Cubans was seen coming up.  Three
on bases, one to tie and two to win and one out, that
was the position of the game in this trying moment.
The coacher called out to the batsman as he took his 
position at the plate, "Come Salamander, there is
plenty of room in the air," the whole Chicago team is
going up in a balloon and de ropes am cut.  Sala-
mander, lay your piece of carved hickory against that 
ball and dey will all be buried."  Salamander met the
ball and it went like a rifle shot on the ground to the
shortstop.  He picked it up miraculously with one
hand.  The applause was so instantaneous with the
stop that he forgot himself and took off his cap to bow
before he threw the ball.  The man on third went home
and tied the score, and the player that hit the ball was
nearing first, while he held the ball in his hand as if in
a trance.  All at once some fellow called out from the
grandstand and says, "Nigger, why don't you throw 
that ball."  Finally he did throw it to first, but the ball
went twenty feet over the baseman's head and the
game was over and lost, all on account of the shortstop
tipping his cap and neglecting to throw the ball at the 
right time.

*

JOE CANTILLION.

  Joe Cantillion, the famous umpire, who this year 
is the enter the managerial field as the pilot of the
Milwaukee American Association club, is one of 
the finest types in baseball.  He is a counterpart
of Tim Hurst in honesty of purpose and fearlessness
in action.  Joe for many years was a player of no
common ability in the minor leagues, having played
for Tom Loftis in the Columbia club.  Cantillion
never takes a bluff, which is characteristic of any
brave and honest man.  Both qualities are akin and
inseparable in the person that possesses them.  The 
possessor may not shine before a craven deceptor,
who would appear to your face with a rainbow smile
and use his stiletto in the background.  Men with the
qualities of Hurst and Cantillion will ever be respected
when the jollier and deceptive fellow is gone and for-
gotten.  I have known the Cantillion family in Wisconsin
for the past twenty years.  His brother Bill, who 
is now superintendent of the Northwestern System
out in Chicago, was a crack center fielder of
the Omaha club in the first Northwestern league.
So Joe's antecedents in a social and intellectual way
are of the highest order in the Badger state.

CHRIS AND THE DEAR UMPIRE.

  Umpires have been exchanging of late years without
any cost to the magnate desiring the change, but
in 1883 Chris had the then king of umpires changed
in the person of John Kelly, and ordered Charles
Daniels, who was then umpiring at Louisville to come
to St. Louis.  One a Saturday's game, Chris thought

*

the peerless John made mistakes against the Browns,
which cost us the game.  On that afternoon Chris 
was surrounded by fans who told him that Kelly 
was sore on him and the club.  Chris, without saying
anything to me, who was the manager of the Browns,
rushed to the telegraph office and sent a dispatch
to Jimmy Williams who was then secretary of the 
American Association, to order Kelly to Louisville 
that night and send Daniels to St. Louis for Sunday's
game.  Williams dispatched both telegrams to make
the change.  Kelly made his train for Louisville all
right but Daniels missed his train, the last for St.
Louis.  Chris was notified of Daniels missing the 
train but that did not disconcert him in those days
of the Browns' prosperity.  He asked the L. & N.
people the price of a special enging and coach from
Louisville to St. Louis.  The answer came back $300.
"All right," says Chris, "bring Daniels on."  Vanderahe
then came over to the baseball headquarters, corner
of 6th and Pine, which he and I owned, and says,
"What do you think, Ted, I ordered Jimmy Williams
to change umpires, Kelly will not be here to-morrow,
he left for Louisville at 8:30 to-night.  Charley
Daniels will be here in the morning from Louisville."
I was struck dumb, and said, "Kelly was all right,
why did you not speak to me about it?"  He began
to realize at once that he had acted impolitic, which
was characteristic of him, but he did not have it in 
his heart to tell me that he was such a fool as to pay
$300 for a special for Daniels.  But in comes the
agent of the L. & N., who said, "Well, Chris, I just
got a telegram from Louisville, your umpire left at
10:40 on a special.  Three hundred dollars is pretty

*

stiff, Chris, for changing umpires."  Chris fell dead,
ashamed with this extravagance and looked sheepish,
but the old boy was equal to it and says, "Ted, we
will get it back at the gate to-morrow, as it will be
a great add, to see an umpire that was brought on
a special train that cost $300 and it shows my power
in the Association."  In those days $300 was a mere
bagatelle in Chris' expenditures, if I remember right,
he had nearly fifteen thousand paid people at Sports-
mans Park on that identical Sunday he changed 
umpires.  Charley Daniels, who now resides in Hart-
ford, Conn., remembers that ride well and he was 
indeed one of the best umpires that ever figured
in the national game.

THE THRIFTY BALL PLAYER.

  It is an accepted fact throughout the country by
some, that ball players, as a class, are improvident
and careless with their earnings--while the rule
is just the reverse.  There is no profession that I 
know of where men hold onto their earnings like
the Knights of the Diamond.  After a ball player
gets into the major league he hustles to bank
after every pay day and deposits his money.  There
are people in other ovcations of life that are more
pretentious who would do well fo follow the example
of the baseball profession.

CHRIS DODGING REPORTERS.

  Good-natured Chris was no exception to the general
world in regard to newspaper notoriety, although many
baseball men maintain that they don't care to see
their name in print, still some of them would not

*

blue pencil the lines of the proofreader if they had
the power.  Chris Vanderahe in trying to keep his
name out of the newspapers was as novel as it was
amusing.  He was like the elephant that was supposed
to get them out of the way of vehicles, he was always backing
into them.  Chris was no exception to the vanity 
of the average man in this respect.  So I will have to
tell one on him in his last efforts to get into the mythical
baseball association that was forming a few years
ago.  There was to be a special meeting of the pro-
moters of that league in the summer of 1899.  Chris
impressed on his friends' minds that of all things he
must not be seen by the wily Chicago reporters, for
Chicago reporters, they would give the whole business
away.  It was claimed by all concerned, that the
most secret way the secrets of the Rainbow league
would be kept, would be the better for all.  All that
Sunday in Chicago, Chris and one of his friends were
on the street looking at different things.  Up to six
o'clock, two hours before the train left for St. Louis,
no reporter was seen, much to Vanderahe's outward
delight yet inwardly he was saying to himself, "Where
are the d--n fools, must I get out a brass band 
or will I have to send them a wireless dispatch to
tell them that I am in town."  While standing in 
front of the Great Northern Hotel, an hour before
train time, Ed Sheridian, sporting editor of the 
Chicago Tribune, was seen coming up the street 
directly towards where Chris and his friends were 
standing.  One of them remarked, "Look out, Chris!
Here comes Sheridan, the reporter of the Tribune."
Chris at once turned towards a window and pre-
tended to be interested in a railroad picture.  Sheridian

*

stopped and saluted one of the men, and was about
to pass on his way, when Chris threw out one of his
legs and tripped him.  Sheridian stopped to see who
the obstructionist was, when to his delight he exclaim-
ed, "Why, Chris, is this you?"  When Vanderahe
exclaimed, "My God, how was I discovered, eh?"

KICKING STEERS.

  Of the many minor league clubs that I have owned
and managed, none were more noted and advertised
than the famous Dallas team of 1895, known as the 
"Texas Steers."  They received this title in Rich-
mond, Va., on their way to Texas.  They were all
Northern players, but their ability in the art of kicking
developed as they journeyed on towards Texas.
It was a wonderfully good team for a minor league,
and their fight for the championship of the Texas
league of that year, where they won 24 straight games,
17 of them away from home, demonstrated it.  When
they struck the invigorating air of Texas their power
in the art of kicking had developed to an unusual
degree, and no umpire had his peace of mind while
they were behind in a game.  No matter what curb
I would put on them they would break away from it.
The only medicine that could be administered to 
cure their fault finding was a good practical joke,
so I hit upon it by arranging an exhibition game
at Abiline, Texas, the home of the cowboys.  Those
steers were a bustling set indeed--and their game
and kickings powers extended to all parts of Texas--
in fact no club could be mentioned to-day in that
grand old state but the Texas Steers, (namely the

*

Dallas club).  Abiline is one of the liveliest little
towns in the Lone Star State, booming at all times
of the year, and inhabited by a class of people that
are surpassed by none for chivalry and hospitality.
When the game was made with the Abiline manager,
it was the talk of the cowboys and ranchmen for
miles and miles around.  The Steers had won the
championship of the Texas league and all wanted
to see them at Abiline.  It was arranged with the
manager of the Abiline team for a practical joke.
My gallant Steers heard all about the town and its
hospitality, with a good knowledge of its stern justice
to any offender.  The king kicker of the team was
the captain, Mike O'Connor.  Mike, for a minor
leaguer, was one of the nerviest and brainiest players
I ever met.  A good fellow in every respect, but a 
devil of a kicker.  On the day of the game the Steers
were met at the depot by the crowd and were received 
with great favor.  The manager and I had a very 
good understanding on the methods of the joke.
When we got to the grounds we saw no fence, but all
at once the manager drew a revolver and fired in 
the air three times.  The report was about dying
into silence when a man was seen galloping like the
wind towards us, on a fleet horse.  He halted near,
took off his hat in that real cavalier style (which
is characteristic of the high-born Texan).  The manager
went through the same formality and says, "Col.
Sullivan and Captain O'Connor, allow me introduce 
you to Cheyenne Pete, the Mayor of Bleeding Gulch.
Pete bowed with a graceful gesture and said, "Col.
Sullivan and Captain O'Connor, this is a meeting 
long desired.  I wish to politely inform you I guard

*

a square mile around this field.  Should you ever 
come to Bleeding Gulch I assure you of a hearty
welcome, and amongst the many other sights of that
City, is a well-stocked cemetary of my own."  We all
bowed.  Cheyenne Pete then drew a revolver from
his belt and fired it in the air, which is the customary
act of politeness to friends of Bleeding Gulch.  O'Con-
nor looked at me in amazement.  Crowds were now
coming in large numbers towards the grounds, on
horseback.  At once we were startled by the report
of a revolver to the left and saw emerge from a cloud 
of smoke, a model horseman riding a jet-black poney.
He was a typical Texas, graceful and tall, with jet-
black hair, in waving curls down his back.  A real
Adonis on horseback.  The manager of the team,
Col. Crawford, discharged a revolver in the air to
show he recognized the stranger.  Who was this 
magnificient personage?  A question that arose in
all our minds.  As he advanced he took off his hat
and with that sweet expression of face, which
is an attribute of a well-bred Texan, he exlaimed,
"Col. Crawford, I am at your service." The Col.
at once turned to us all and said, "Col. Sullivan,
Capt. O'Connor and Texas Steers, allow me to intro-
duce to you, Texas Ned, the ideal of the Panhandle."
The Steers all bowed, but I noticed they were losing
that nervy air which was their chief stock in trade
when they went on a ball ground.  Col. Crawford
said, "Texas Ned, you will collect the money and
guard this entrance."  The cowboy band was now
seen coming up the road, playing lively airs.  People
were pouring into the grounds, dropping their money
into Texas Ned's box as they passed in.  Terrific

*

shooting was now heard in the air and Cheyenne 
Pete was seen galloping over the prairie towards us.
As he drew rein, he alighted and said, "Col. Crawford,
you will pardon this intrusion, but I have just killed
eight men who were trying to steal into the grounds,
what shall I do with their bodies?"  The Steers
now had sunk to heifers and they almost stopped
throwing the ball around.  Col. Crawford answered
Cheyenne Pete thus:  "Pete, let those bodies re-
main where they are as there will be others killed
in different parts of the field, and we want to bury
them all at once."  An immense crowd surrounded 
the field.  It was a grand sight.  It resembled a body
of cavalry in a compact mass, ranged in a semi-
circle around from left to right-field.  The Steers were
cheered every time they would catch a ball while
practising.  They were receiving a royal reception,
notwithstanding that they could not understand
those novel side plays.  The Abiline club now
appeared.  The cowboy band struck up, "A Hot
Time in the Old Town."  A cheering was now set up
which resembled a diminutive Niagara in its noise.
Some great person was seen coming.  Thousands 
of revolvers shot their contents into the air.  It was
to greet this personage, whoever he was.  A gap was
made in this body of horsemen to let this man
pass.  Revolvers were again discharged into the air
as he was seen to emerge through the crowd at center
field.  As he rode across the field on a jet-black 
charger, he received a continual ovation until he
pulled up near the home plate and was met by Col.
Crawford, the manager.  This magnificent-looking
person was girded by burnished and silver-handled

*

revolvers.  The Steers were astonished, but did not
know who he was as yet.  Capt. O'Connor stood
near me.  An exchange of civilities and courtesies 
passed between Col. Crawford and this distinguished
horseman, when at once Col. Crawford turned towards
us, saying, "Col. Sullivan and Capt. O'Connor, allow
me to introduce to you Sure Shot Bill of Texas, a 
son of one of the old Texas Rangers, who fell at the
battle of Alamo.  He is to umpire this game."  Sure
Shot Bill advances and grasps each of our hands in
turn, saying, "Gentlemen, this is an honor that was
not sought for, but it pleases me to officiat in any
game with the Texas Steers as contestants."  Mike
turned and whispered to me, saying, "Ted, if he calls
us all out in one inning to-day, I suppose it has to go."
I answered back in a low tone, "You bet your life it
has."  The Steers at this stage had fallen in spirit 
and size.  The question propounded to me, "Could
Mike, this fierce, fiery kicker of a thousand games,
control himself?"  Reader we will see.  The game
started with Abiline at the bat.  The first man 
up hit a ball and was thrown out, but Sure Shot Bill
said, "Safe."  Immovable Texas!  Capt. O'Connor 
forgot himself and moved in from first base towards
the umpire and said, "Mr. Umpire, did you say safe?"
Sure Shot Bill advanced towards O'Connor, with a 
look of a lion that is about to sieze its prey, yet with
a manner that was soft and refined as if he was in 
a drawing-room, answered in a gentle voice, 
yet commanding in its tone, "Capt. O'Connor,
I wish to pay my compliments to you and the 
Steers" (at the same time picking up a pebble, throwing
it into the air and like a flash draws his revolver and

*

shatters it to pieces).  "If memory serves me right,
Capt., I think I called the runner safe."  Mike
trembled.  Was he equal to the occasion and emergency?
Yes, yet it was a terrible moment.  The Steers' hearts
sank, was their captain equal to the occasion?  He
was!  Mike took off his hat and bowed, saying, "Sure 
Shot Bill I wish to return compliments, to think the
matter right, the man was safe."  All went easy now,
until the ninth inning, when the game ended in a 
novel and exciting climax.  The Steers had finished 
the ninth inning and took the field, two runs ahead.
Abiline went in to take her turn for the last time,
with two to tie and three to win.  With two out 
and two men on bases their best batter hit a high
sky-scraper to the Dallas center fielder.  The ball
soared very high but Ashenback, of that peerless
team, had been making good catches all through the
game and the cowboys knew that he would surely
catch this ball--that would settle Abiline's fate--
as the ball was about the decend from its lofty height,
a tall horseman suddenly darted out from the crowd--
and in a singing voice, called out, "Boys of the Pan-
handle, to the rescue!"  5,000 revolvers emptied
their contents on that descending sphere.  A 
storm of lead struck it as Ashenback was about to 
settle under it.  The ball swayed to and fro until
it was finally lost to view when the smoke of the
revolvers had finally cleared away--pieces of yarn
were seen dropping from the sky.  In the meantime,
Abiline had scored her three (3) runs and won the 
game.  After the contest ended a mad rush over the
field was made by those gallant and chivalrous
spirits of the plains--discharging their revolvers as

*

they rode their fleet-footed steeds through the field
and city.  The Steers stood as if they were petrified,
and were amazed at the whole proceedings, but the
whole jojke was explained to them and they were
the lions of the cowboys and citizens that night in
Abiline, Texas.  The writer has no objection to the 
reader's accepting the shooting of the ball as suppo[]
titious.

AN ESSAY ON JOHN L. SULLIVAN.

  My first visit to the land of Dixie was in the winter
of 1882.  While in New Orleans, in the early part
of Februrary of that year, the atmosphere of that
hospitable ity was pregnant with prize fight talk.
This was the result of a coming encounter that was
to take place between two great pugilists of the
north, who were to fight a London prize ring battle
for the championship of the world.  I never saw
a prize ring battle before in my life, although the
literature of former great encounters, in England
and America was consumed by me, when a boy.
The novelty and excitement to see the two great
warriors of the roped arena stripped to their waists, 
fighting for first honors of the world's supremacy
in a grand assault of arms thrilled me with joy.
  The day before this great battle all the information
that any one could get, as to its whereabouts--was
to go the depot of the L. & N.R.R. about five in the
morning, as there would be a train of cars there to
take you to the battlefield and that battle field
might only be a mile out side of Crescent City or
it may be this side of the coast of Maine--anyway
you were told to buy a ticket at the station, which

*

would be ten dollars and not to ask any more questions
where this contest would take place--in fact, you
were on a movable battlefield, when the train left
the foot of Canal Street, New Orleans.  It was early
morn and dark yet when the train pulled out of 
the city of New Orleans, with an immense crowd
of people who knew not where the train would stop
to pull off the encounter.
  The principals had left a day or two before, but it
was only a conjecture as to where they were.  On that
early morning train were some notable people from
all sections of the United States.  The theatrical
world was represented by William Crane, the comedian,
the late Nate Sulsbury and nearly all of Haverley's 
minstrels.  It was an orderly crowd, it was a jolly
crowd.  The southern people, who are ever lovers
of fair play, predominated.  The little class of north-
ern sporting element made up the rest.  So that all
the people that went to that great contest were
lovers of decency and fair play.  While the train
was speeding on to this debatable battle ground,
agents came through the train selling badges for
the inner ring at $2 apiece.  The writer purchased 
one of these to be near the ropes.  As the train drew 
near Bay St. Louis, the former battle ground of the 
fiasco between Joe Coburn and Jim Mace, there
were a great many on the train that thought that this
would be the place of the battle.  But no, the train 
momentarily stopped and pulled out.  Many un
complimentary remarks were made about that hip-
podrome, which took place at Bay St. Louis, years 
ago, between Coburn, champion of the Americas
and Mace, champion of England.  They stood in the

*

ring for three hours and hardly hit a blow.  People
were in no mood to see a repetition of that business,
and although respectable in all walks of life--from the
jurist, doctor and merchant, to the squire, gambler
and sport--they would have made it very unpleasant 
for the present principals, if they gave an
exibition of a fightless fight.  But little did they
think that on that day they would see a new-comer
enter the pugilistic arena and inaugurate a policy
of honesty and lofty sentiment, that never went
down until the same gladiator of gladiators sank to his
knees, thoroughly exhausted, in honorable defeat, 
afterwards, in the sawdust of the arena of the Olympia
Club of New Orleans.
  To continue the narrative of the journey of this 
stationless train, that no one knew its destination, 
except engineer and conductor.  Station after station
was passed until about the hour of eleven in that
morning, when the train came to a sudden stop, there
was silence for a moment in that vast train-load of
people.  Then the noise of raising car windows burst
on the air.  The men at this obscure station were
recognized by the officials of the train.  An old
weather beaten sign was seen over the door of the
office, it read, "Mississippi City."  A little station,
75 miles from New Orleans, a place destined to be
known afterwards, in the pugulistic world and become
as famous as that of Waterloo in the military world.
When it was officially announced that this was the 
place of the battle ground, the peoplee left the train
in an orderly manner.  All at once a big darkey came
up to a group of people and said, "Gentlemen, I will 
show you where dat ring is to be pitched, it's down

*

dar near de road, near Barnes Hotel."  He was
right, there was a long string of people already winding
their way to this gulf seaside resort, and hotel, which
was about one mile from the station, on the Gulf
of Mexico.
  Of the many trips of the writer, over that road
afterwards, in which the voice of the trainmen was
heard calling Mississippi City, there was still magic
in that memorable name after that event.  Barnes
Hotel, on the Gulf of Mexico, is a southern summer
resort.  It is a two-story structure, with large, extended 
porches.  The plat of ground around where the hotel
stood was dotted with the ever sweet scented mag-
nolias.  The spectators to this fistic encounter arrived
on the premises of this hotel before a ring-stake was
driven or a rope put up.  There was an attempt
to drive the stakes at first away to the left of the 
hotel, but as the ground was rather hard, the stakes
and ropes were dragged to a piece of ground more
pliable, which was discovered right under the porch
of the hotel, amongst a group of pines and magnolias.
The croquet mallet and ball found on the spot, were
hurled with utter contempt out of the way, as they
were the symbols of an aesthetic taste and unworthy
to be seen on this memorable London prize ring
battle ground.  When the measurement of the dimen-
sions of the ring was taken, the stakes were quickly
driven by the heavy strokes of the mallet in the hands
of brawny men.  The ropes were quickly adjusted 
and quitee a rush was made for places around the ring
side.  Holders of the inner ring badgers were privileged
first, but as good and even better places were found 
on the porches of the hotel, and the limbs of over-

*

looking trees, the inner ring holders threw away
their badges.  I have been to Sunday-school picnics,
which had more hustle and bustle and more disorder
than was grouped around the ring of this outdoor 
London prize ring fight.  Although way back in the
mist of time, the writer remembers well the picture
that this contest, under the porch of Barnes Hotel,
presented.  On one side of the ring could be seen
members of the cotton exchange of New Orleans,
high up on the porch of the hotel prominent judges,
doctors, legislators from north, south, and west.
Sitting on the grass with their hands nearly touching
the ropes, were high-class sporting men from Chicago,
New York, Cincinnati and other cities.  On the other
side of the ring could be noticed the reliable merchants,
discussing dispassionately, the merits of the two men.
On the over looking human-laden branches of the mag-
nolia and pine, were clerks of mercantile houses, who
thought a seat on a tree was better than one on the grass.
This motly variety of human beings, occupying dif-
ferent positions and stations of life were there for
only one purpose, and that was to see a fair and
honest fight, no matter what their feelings were.
They wanted to see the best man win, with no favor
to either contestant.  As the crowd was waiting
for both principles to appear, some heavy and great
betting was going on.  A slight shou was heard,
and it was caused by the appearance of one man who
emerged from a group of pines from the left of the
hotel, he was accompanined by his seconds and trainers, 
as he neared the ring, it was noticed that his step was
light and elastic, he was heavily blanketed, wearing
a slouch cap.  As he got to the ropes he threw his

*

cap from his head, (the custom of the London winner 
rules), into the middle of the ring, he jauntily leaped
the ropes afterwards and was followed by his attend-
ants.  He took his seat in the northwest corner of
the ring.  While there was some cheering at this young
man's appearance, it was nothing compared to the 
reception that met his opponent some ten min-
utes afterwards.  All eyes were no centered on
the countenance of the first arrival.  But they had
no yet seen him strip, they noticed the fire in
his eye; the well set jaw, and the grim resolution
which settled on his marble countenance.
While comments were made on this new comet of
the prize ring, a remendous shout rent the air.  It 
was the appearance of the popular principal of the 
two, (the former principal was not known, while
the latter was).  As he came nearer and nearer to
the ring, the shouting became louder and greater
in his behalf.  He was also accompanied by his
seconds, etc.  He was clad like the former principal,
but he wore a slouch hat, which he threw into the ring
as he neared the ropes.  Betting became lively on
both principals as the men were now in the ring.
Betting was all in favor of the last arrival.  Detective
O'Malley of New Orleans, made five distinctive bets of
$500 each on the late comer.  The selection of a referee
now began, and as both side were bent on fair play,
two were finally chosen.  When they entered the ring,
the disrobing of the two gladiators began; first the man
with the slouch hat on the south side of the ring dis-
robed.  When he finally was divested of all but his
fighting trunks, he presented a model of physical 
humanity, tall, erect, with a white-pink skin, that

*

would rival that of the Jersey lily's!  His face
had the sweetness of expression that would do honor
to an archbishop, yet this very individual had the
courage and daring of a lion, which he demonstrated
in that bar knuckle battle of the London prize ring,
on that Feb. day, 1882.  This man was Paddy Ryan, 
of Troy, New York and his seconds and attendants
were genial Tom Kelley of St. Louis and Bill Harding
of the Police Gazette.  All eyes were now turned on
the disrobing of the young man who sat in grave
reserve under the applause and cheering that was
tendered to his disrobing opponent.  After his spike
shoes were laced, they removed a heavy blanket
that he had over him, the next garment they removed
was a heavy sweater, when divested of this heavy 
knitted apparel, he looked still larger.  He now
stooped to let his attendants pull over his head his
inner shirt, which was the last vestage of incumbrance
of battle.  As the shirt came over his head he straight-
ened himself up from his stooping position, which head
erect and defiant looks.  The sunburst of the new
gladiator of the world startled that crowd.  As each
garment was removed, he looked larger, yet when
divested of all clothing, (barring fighting trunks),
he still seemed to grow in size and an involuntary
murmur of admiration broke from that crowd at 
his appearance.  Appearance and looks are some-
what deceiving, but it did not deceive that vast
assemblage that day at Mississippi City.  Gentle
reader, the writer is not bordering on the hyperbolic 
when he states that the demeanor and the attitude
of this new gladiator to the prize ring as he stood
erect on that historic day, on the Gulf of Mexico,

*

resembled in fancy a model human physical form,
carved out of the finest alabaster marble, placed in
the arena and touched with the spring of life--could
not startle that crowd any more than when this young
man stretched out his arms and looked around, when
the last shirt was pulled over his head.  Or in other
words, he resembled in fancy, Spartacus the fladiator,
as he entered the Colliseum of ancient Rome, so 
symmetrical was he in physical form, without an
ounce of superfluous flesh.  This young man was John
L. Sullivan, at the age of 24.
  The beginning of that bare knuckle fight impressed
itself on my memory that to-day I can recall the fierce
onslaught of that first round.  Where Ryan took the
blows of that lightning and ponderous first of that
young man, with a gameness that was never equalled 
in the prize ring, before or after.  When the courageous 
Ryan came up for the second round, he did not wish
that the ring was larger so he could display the 
modern science of the feet, namely, sprinting, but
no! he again gave battle in the center of the ring, but
again he was carried to his corner by his seconds.
Although outfought and outclassed by this young
Samson, he never once in that nine rounds dropped
tail and ran.  He could not.  He was of the same
race as the man who was delivering the blows.  At the
end of the fight, when the sponge was hurled high in
the air, all the ferocity of the fighter left this con-
quering hero, (which was ever characteristic of this
king of battles).  He ran to Ryan's corner, grasped
both of this game man's hands and said, "never mind,
Paddy," patting him on the back, he then turned,
and with a celerity of foot, he leaped the ropes and

*

hastened to the train, with the rest of the people for
New Orleans.
  Such was the battle of Mississippi City, fought 
under the Barnes Hotel, Feb. 7, 1882.  Eleven years
afterwards, Sept. 7, 1892, a pugulistic carnival was
given in New Orleans, under the auspices of the 
Olympic Club of that city.  This club was comprised 
of an organization of gentlemen who raised the surround-
ings of the prize rings to a standard never attained
before or after.  On the 7 of Sept. of that year, this
unconquerable king of the magic circle was called
on again to defend his title by a young Apollo of
the Pacific coast.  This battle was altogether different
in its rules and surroundings from the one at the 
Mississippi City.  This contest was to be fought 
with gloves, under Marquis of Queensbury rules,
while the former was the old London prize ring. 
There was no "hiding and go seek" as to where this
contest was to take place, it took place in New Orleans,
in a regular chartered club.  The gallery took the 
place of the overlooking porches and tress of Barnes
Hotel, Mississippi City, where people purchased
tickets ten years ago, to sit on a branch of 
a tree.  The writer was there to see if the gladiator 
of Sept. 7, '92, was the same one that he saw in Feb. 
7, '82, or had the dissipation of eleven years deteri-
orated him.
  Of all the many pugilistic contests that I have seen
in seventeen years non impressed me so forceably
as the one I saw that night at New Orleans, 1892.
The audience was so select in its make up that it would
have done honor to the highest lecture of science.  
At the appointed time the gladiators appeared, ac-

*

companied by their seconds and advisors.  The first
leader was a young aspirant for the pugilistic crown
which was worn by the great Sullivan for eleven years.
Tall, lithe, and willowy, with hair cut pompador--a
forced smile, step as elastic and graceful as the ante-
lope that leaps from cliff to cliff, this young man walked
directly across the ring and sat down.  All eyes were
now on the man following him.  He is the idol of the
prize ring.  As he stoops to go through the ropes,
cheer after cheer go up until they shake the rafter
of that mighty building.  He was there to gallantly
defend his title.  He bowed to the right and left, ac-
knowledging the overwhelming greeting.  He is the
personification of confidence and coolness itself--and
why not?  Did he not give battle for eleven years to
men of all climes, and yet not one dared exchange 
blow for blow?  Did not only the limits of the ring
prevent them from being whipped sooner than they
were?  The writer was not far from his corner.  I
looked at him clearly to see if he was the peerless
fighter I saw at Mississippi City eleven years ago.
  Reader, I say without bias or prejudice in his favor,
"No; he was not."  As he looked across the ring at
his opponent with his arms stretched on the ropes
with that ever confidential demeanor, there was not
one part of the physical Sullivan of Mississippi City,
but only the stout heart and that ever positive de-
meanor of victory.  So positive was he of winning
that he remarked to one of his friends (who was anx-
ious to have everything packed to leave as soon as 
possible after the battle), "Never mind, don't you
hurry, we cannot get the check cashed before noon
to-morrow."  Instead of the peerless athlete I saw

*

eleven years before, who leaped the ropes at Mississippi 
City (with a physical construction and strength, that
was only produced by the virtue of ancestry) was an
old man with gray hairs and patched up stomach,
with belts and plasters around it to give some sem-
blance of his former self.  He had extinguished the
fires of life, the steam in the ship of vitality was ex-
hausted long ago, and when he called on it to propel
those mighty arms in his contest that night, it had
passed on with the dissipation of time.  What a trans-
formation of a man in eleven years!  Yet that night
of Sept. 7, 1892, he was but thirty-four years of age,
yet with that handicap of form.  He was on his feet
at the tap of the gong and left his chair for the center
of the ring, which was ever his custom and where he
always did business.  With the old confidence he made
for Corbett, and made him recede before him all through 
the first round.  Although nothing was left in that
former king of fighters but a stout heart, yet for twenty-
one rounds under a shower of blows he was ever the
aggressor and ready to get in the knock-out blow,
should he ever get within hailing distance of his fleet
adversary.  In that eventful twenty-first roun (when
that Spartacus of the prize-ring was battling for the
sceptre he had held so long) nothing was more dramatic
in the whole history of pugilism than when that peer
of all referees, John Duffy, of New Orleans, counted
the fatal ten.  Nature though exhausted, Sullivan ap-
peared like a grand old warship at sea, that had passed
through many a victorious fight, and now, amidst a
constant fusillade of shot and shell, this old human
warship "rocked to and fro," and finally went down 
with colors flying.  The incidents that took place in

*

the arena of the Olympia Club, after John Duffy had
counted out the nineteenth century gladiator, would
baffle description, but I have a good many of them
photographed on my brain, the adherents of Corbett 
were cheering madly while those whose hearts sank
with teh topping over of this hitherto unconquered
king sat grim and silent in their seats.
  A scene now followed which will ever place Sullivan
in lofty sentiment and patriotism as high above the
ordinary pugilist as Washington's monument in the 
District of Columbia is above the oyster sheds along
the Potomac river.  After being helped from the 
sawdust of the arena, and placed in a chair, by his 
seconds, Jack McAullif, Joe Lennon, and Charley
Johnston, when his face was wiped with a sponge by
the faithful McAuliff, he at once realized what had
happened.  Then he said.  "Jack, did that young man
whip me?"  Jack bowed assent.  Reader, his head 
fell for a moment, in that grief and mortification
which comes to all men in the hour of defeat.  Then
the mighty John L. saw the blue of the sky in the rent
of a cloud of that black horizon.  What was it?  It
was not money, for that he never cared for; it was
something higher than money; it was love of country 
and patriotism.  With a noble impulse he leaves the 
chair and starts for the center of the ring.  By a
waive of his hand he calls attention.  His conqueror
is at the other side of the ring, receiving the con-
gratulations of his friends.  Sullivan utters in sub-
lime words which I pen here in substance, "Gentlemen,
I fought once too often; but I am glad it was an Amer-
ican who whipped me."  After gallanty  delivering 
those words, he was seen in another light than on the

*

level of a prize-fighter.  Men who wanted him whipped 
were now leaving the building sore about it.  Those 
patriotic words of his were not rehearsed or premed-
itated or uttered for policy in that dark hour of de-
feat.  They came from a hearty impulse which showed
the quality of the head and the heart of this matchless 
boxer.  Other fighters could not rise to such heights;
it would be the purse and loss of prestige that would
first be thought of.
  John L. Sullivan did not have to carry the American 
flag around his heels, his hips and his ears.  It was
ingrafted in his heart as he sat on his mother's knee.
It is quite amusing to me who have traveled and seen
so much abroad to see those English fighters with
Old Glory around their belly, and then go up in their 
room and throw it aside as a "blooming Yankee rag."
I know what opinion those foreign fighters have of
America, and when they say they are Americans they
are like the A. P. A.'s--Americans for revenue only.
  "When nature makes a great man it generally 
destroys the moulds."  Some modern critics who are
generally prejudiced and have never seen Sullivan in
his greatness, are willing to accept to night of Sept.
7, 1902, as a standard of Sullivan's speed.  To the 
superficial and prejudicial the want of anything,
are willing to take a standard of anyones skill
at any time it suits their prejudice.  The peerless
Mike Kelly, the greatest ball player that ever lived,
if seen in his last days on the diamond at Allentown, 
Pa., some would be willing to accept the work of those
days as a sample of Kell's highest skill, while the days
that he spent with the Chicago club from '80 to '86
would be forgotten and unseen.  A man's greatness

*

must be judged in the time of life when his skill and
ability are at their height.
  They say that there were no fighter in Sullivan's
time.  My answer is that there would be no fighter
to-day in his class if nature could reverse itself and 
rehabilitate that wonderfully constructed man.  Men
come alone in different vocations, branches and sci-
ences of life.  Shakespeare fills a place in dramatic
literature that all attempts by men to match his genius
fall short of his standard.  Napoleon Bonaparte stands
out like an eagle among sparrows, as the most re-
sourceful military chieftian in any portion of the
world's history.  Demosthenes in oratory, Diogenes
in philosophy, were men who had no counterparts in
thought.  There was but one Samson, one Hercules,
and with all of the ideal pugilist attributes there was
but one John L. Sullivan.  He whipped men drunk,
and he whipped men sober, he whipped them shaved 
and unshaved, and when posterity looks back on the
present generation of dress parade, masquerade and
long distance fighters, the ever stalwart figure of Sul-
livan will ever loom up as a giant amongst pigmies.

LONG DISTANCE SPARRING.

  The revelations made in New York, that knocked
the Hoston law out, made me think of writing up a 
suppositious long distance battle between America
and England.  The names I use I hope will in no way 
displease the two principals, as I considered them in
their time the most scientific of the fistic arena.  The
fight will be called the greatest battle of the century,
the acme of science produced by long distance sparring,
the great international battle, between Charles Mitchell
of England and Charles Kid McCoy of America, one 

*

appearing at Madison Square garden, New York, and
the other at the sporting club, London, England.  Ar-
rangements made with Edison for special cable giving
blows on diagram, two referees, one in London another
in New York.  Description of fight, six hours dif-
ference in time, therefore fight called at five P.M.
Fight seen by proxy.

SUPPOSITITIOUS GREAT INTERNATIONAL
LONG-DISTANCE
BATTLE FOR CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD.

  The great international battle, Charles Mitchell of
England, and Charles (Kid) McCoy of America, one
appearing at the Madison Square Garden, New York,
and the other at the National Sporting Club, London.  
By special arrangements with Edison, two automa-
tons or dummies had electric bells placed inside of
them, and when a blow was struck in London the
dummy in Madison Square struck back.  All blows
delivered in America were seen in London on the dum-
my there as quick as the electric current could carry 
it over the wires.  The match astounded the world,
as the acme of Edison's greatness.  As there was six
hours difference of time between London and New
York, the contest had to commence at Madison Square
Garden at 5 P.M.  On this occasion the garden was 
packed to suffocation.  The learned men of America,
in all departments, were there to witness the novel
contest.  George Siler is called to London, while 
Charles White officiates at the garden.  Humphries
explains to the people at Madison Square the workings
of the electric cable.  He begins by saying to the
audience, after an electric bell was heard, "That

*

Mitchell has entered the ring in London, looking good 
and sanguine of victory."  There was not much cheer-
ing, the audience seemed to be heartilyin McCoy's 
favor.  Cable flashes back that, "Siler is now exam-
ining Mitchell's glove."  People in the garden call
out, "Good for Siler, he knows his business."  A
great shout went up in the garden as McCoy, emerg-
ing from his dressing-room in a long white bath robe,
walked towards the ring.  So long and loud was the 
cheering that McCoy had to bow two or three times.
Humphries touches the electric bell, and it flashes 
back to the club in London McCoy's appearance at
the garden.  There was an immense cheering amongst
the American portion in the Club at London at this
announcement.  The sons of Albian are about to give
the American fair play, even if he is so far away from 
them in New York, that they cannot "cut the ropes."
But such things must not be considered now, as this
contest is to take place at the swell National Sporting 
Club of London.  Both cities are now waiting for the
sound of the gong.  The two cable experts are giving 
the audience the gossip of the ring side.  The gong 
was heard in both clubs instantaneously.  McCoy 
leaps from his chair and advances towards the center
of the ring, to face this dummy which was the proxy
for Mitchell.  Both are now fainting for a lead, which 
can be seen by the actions of the dummy.  The cable
announces that Mitchell has led with his right for
the jaw.  McCoy at once side steps and drives a 
straight left towards Mitchell's stomach.  All was ex-
citement in the garden to hear the effects of this blow.
The electric dummy in the garden is staggering.  Cable
flashes that it had knocked Charley against the ropes.

*

The people in the garden, hearing and seeing this,
went into an uproar.  To follow the diagram on the
dummy, McCoy was now on the aggressive, which
the people of London could see by the actions of their
dummy.  But still the swell sporting club allowed
their patriotism to get the best of their judgment,
and calledout, "Show your British grit, Charley, and
don't let the 'blooming yank' whip you!"  One 
English gentlement in the audience said, "Remember,
gentlemen, you are English, this is not fair to the
young American."  Siler had to smile when the repri-
mand was uttered.  both men were fibbing in a 
clinched position in the southwest corner of the ring,
when the gong sounded in New York and London
instantaneously.  Mitchell, as he went to his corner,
was puffing heavily, but full of fight, yet an older 
man than McCoy.  Mitchell's training brought him
into fine fettle in his great long distance match.  Mc-
Coy went to his corner at Madison Square smiling.
The proud eagle was raised on a pole and was carried 
around the garden.  Swelldom at the London Sport-
ing Club were highly delighted at the fairness of the
contest although the indicator on the dummy showed
more blows for the American.  Wet towels and new 
electric fans, intended to give air to the fighters, were
used rapidly on Mitchell and McCoy.
  Both gongs clashed for the second round, and both
were in the middle of the ring facing the two dummies. 
Mitchell was the first to lead, and landed heavily on 
McCoy's jaw.  It is seen that mcCoy reels and falls 
against the ropes, the garden is in consternation at
this sudden change of the battle, while the London
Sporting Club has gone mad with delight.  English-

*

men hug each other, and a dummy lion is raised in 
the audience.  McCoy is on his knee and White is 
counting.  The old American eagle screamed for him
to rise.  The English audience see by the actions of 
the dummy that McCoy is rising to his feet.  Mitchell
advances to finish him, but McCoy meets him with
a straight left, and then puts "Coup-de-grace" by 
his famous corkscrew punch, and Mitchell falls to the
floor.  All was excitement now in the garden and con-
sternation in London.  Siler is counting, which Hum-
phries announces to the audience in the garden.  When
ten was announced, the garden became a seething 
mass of mad humanity, and they carried McCoy
literally in their arms into his dressing room.
  Such is the result of the famous supposititious in-
ternational long-distance battle.

BAN JOHNSON.

  The question has often been asked throughout the
United States for the past two years:  Is Ban
Johnson a force in himself or is he a part of a combined
force--with himself as a leader--to carry out the 
mature deliberations of his brainy associates.  No one
can gainsay but there has been a lot of good baseball
sense governing the actions of the American League
the past three years.  No league that has ever been 
organized to cope with the National in its entire history
has shown the business and political sense of the
American League.  It is true that for a while they
traded in the errors of the National that gave them
a little prestige, but still their progress was steady.
In the combined brain of Loftus Gomoskey, Sum-

*

mers, Killilel and Johnson, which is the real director?
Does Comiskey and Loftus furnish the baseball sense,
Killilel the legal, Summers the business and Johnson
the political, or does he adopt and absorb all their 
ideas and execute them with the discretion that he is
noted for?  It is an unprecedented thing in baseball,
and in many other things where brain has beaten 
money, in this case it has, but it was different from
the ordinary brain.  Johnson has a remarkable faculty 
of getting to high-class men, and enlisting them finan-
cially in baseball enterprises, which makes it more 
commendable.
  For the last four years I have been thrown into the
atmosphere of the strife of two warring leagues.  I
know them all personally and some of them all my
life time, still I do not pretend to say that I shared
any of their councils,--in fact I am ever reluctant to
intrude myself on any one's affairs.  The advance and
success of the combination that governs the American 
League has aroused the criousity of the baseball
world, as to who is the guiding genius of that peerless
organization.  It started as an acorn in the baseball
forest but as it was a seed of an oak it finally grew
into an oak itself and a big one at that.  Ban Johnson's
case could not be like a certain general who knew nothing about
war but was accidentally made chief commander.
His chief stock in trade was silence.  When a council 
of war was called, he would listen to the plans of his 
ablest lieutenants--never advance any of his own--
until he heard all; then he would pick the plan of 
the general he thought was the brightest, and execute 
it.  It would be unjust and uncharitable to say that

*

Johnson's case is similar to this general.  As the
American League works as a unit--on anything and
everything--it is hard for any one to wedge in and
find out which is the dominant intellect that governs
all.  The five prominent persons in the councils are,
Comiskey, Johnson, Loftus, Killilel and Summers.
Comiskey and Johnson we will pick out of that num-
ber as conspicuously the aggressors of the whole.
One or the other must be the Napoleon of the two.
If Berthier, one of Bonaparte's generals and close
friends, had not made a fatal mistake in the basence 
of his chief, the world would believe that he had fur-
nished Napoleon one-half his tactics; but that mis-
take when left to himself settled Berthier's status as
being any aid to Bonaparte.  Bourienna, his secre-
ary and lifelong friend, was another who was given 
credit for helping the emperor, until he was dismisssed
but Bonaparte went on just the same.  There is no
disguising the fact that Ban Johnson located themon-
eyed men Somers and others.  If he did not do all of
it himself, he was the main man in working it up. 
His handling of umpires for years was a revelation, 
and his stand for them against abusive ball players 
was one of the best things in modern baseball.   This 
I know, and this I observed, but it must be also under-
stood that Johnson could not do all of those things
up to his liking if he were not surrounded and seconded
by the practical and steadfast men of his league.  All
in all, Mr. Johnson has shown himself to be one--if
not the greatest force in modern baseball.  Whether
he is a part of a current himself of the whole cur-
rent or merely a boat that the current pushed on,
time will tell.  Baseball at best is the most misunder-

*

stood of all businesses.  Men are given credit for 
things in baseball that are as guiltless as the Amier
of Afganistan.  It will ever be thus--as the nature
of the game is ninety per cent fanatical.  Johnson is
one of the best equipped men in baseball politics,
and I should not be surprised to see him enlist Rocke-
feller, Goulds, and Vanderbilt yet in the financial end
of the game.

CHAS. COMISKEY.

  One of the most forcible characters to-day in base-
ball, is Chas. Comiskey, owner of the Chicago American 
League Club.  His force is silent and hidden, without
a semblance of spectacular display.  His manner of
listening is a language in itself, but when he replies 
he tears the citadel of fallacy and sophistry to pieces
with convincing logic that is clothed in words of the
most burning sarcasm and wit.  I first met Chas. at 
St. Mary's College, Kan.  It was his Freshman year
and my Senior.  If I remember right, he took more
to the bat than to book, but nevertheless he stands
to-day pretty nearly a finished man of the world. 
He acquired a literary taste after he left college (which
he inherited from his father) which places any man
above the ordinary.  This trait with his constant 
travel of twenty years makes him a formidable man 
to cope with in general information.  His scope of
travel has not been of the provincial order, but in
the largest cities of the United States, which makes
him a cosmopolitan in ideas and tastes.  While the
writer was a star player at St. Mary's, he took Chas.
out of the Freshman team and placed him in the 
Senior--his first promotion, and I dare say his most 

*

cherished one.  After college days I went to Milwau-
kee, my old home, and organized an amateur team,
of which Sir T.J. Shaugnessy, now president of the 
Canadian Pacific Raliway, was president and myself
captain.  I brought Chas. from Chicago, where he
lived, and placed him on third base.  He was the
only professional we had in the club.  If he had played
third base the rest of his life, he would have been the 
peer of Jerry Denny and Ed Williamson, instead of
being the premier first-base-man of the game's his-
tory.  A few years afterwards I went to Dubuque,
Iowa, and took up business.  My love for the game
made me organize a team over there, and that merely
for pleasure and fun.  We needed a professional bat-
tery, and my first thought was of Chas. in Chicago, and
his catcher.  Comiskey was a cyclone, indeed, and
at the distance of 45 feet, which was the rule then,
his long arms used to send balls across the plate that
country clubs around Dubuque were afraid to face.  
Many of the members of those clubs returned home 
with fractured ribs and black shins, from Comiskey's
rifle-shot delivery.  Comiskey's father, who was a 
man of great political influence at that time in Chicago,
became greatly incensed when he heard that his son 
had become a professional baseball player, and the
writer came in for his share of censure for taking Chas.
For a year or two up in Dubuque I had a hard time 
in doging old women who were after me with hot
kettles for making professional ball players out of 
their sons.  But years after that, when their sons
came home and lifted morgages from their homes,
or bought them a farm or two with the money they
made out of professional baseball, then the kettles

*

were heated again to entertain me with a strong cup
of tea.  The year of 1879 appeared, and Dubuque
aimed high.  They threw away their semi-professional
swaddling clothes, and told Ted to go forth and give
them an out and out professional baseball team. The 
result was that we organized the first Northwestern 
League, with Jim McKee of Rockford and the writer
as the real promoters.  The first Northwestern League
was composed of Rockford, Omaha, Dubuque and 
Davenport, Iowa.  In the ranks of that organization
were the future stars of the National League.  Rock-
ford transferred the Milwaukee National League team
to their city.  My dragnet brought to Dubuque Chas.
Radbourne of Bloomington, Ill., (afterwards the kind
of pitchers), Tom Loftus, of St. Louis, Tom Sullivan, 
W. and J. Gleason, Bill Taylor, Alvaratta Reis and 
Lapham of Chicago.  Comiskey was retained as 10th 
man and general substitute.  This team won the
Northwestern League pennant with ease, losing about
ten games in all.  After that year the writer left base-
ball alone and attended strictly to business.  This
famous team became scattered, Radbourne goinig to
Buffalo, N.Y., and the rest to different places.  The
year following, another team was organized in Du-
buque, wiith Tom Loftus as captain and manager.
Comiskey was left out in the cold as being incompe-
tent.  This act nearly broke Chas.' heart, but I told 
him never mind, that he would be playing ball when
the others would be forgotten.  For two years he 
worked for the writer in a mercantile way at Dubuque,
with no chance to get out playing ball, as there were 
no minor leagues in any section of the country at that
time.  I wrote to many of the managers of the big

*

clubs, stating the quality of the big first-base-man
I had up in Dubuque, but as they did not know me
or my protege they never answered.  In the fall of 
1881 Chris Vanderahe, who was organizing a team
in St. Louis to join the new American Association,
sent for Comiskey's terms.  Chas. asked me what he
should ask.  I said, "Seventy-five dollars."  He 
looked at me with astonishment, saying, "What?  I
am getting one hundred and twenty-five dollars here,
and that without playing any ball."  I asked him if
he intended to make baseball his profession.  He said
he did.  Then I stated that the baseball tide had come 
in, and that he should sail his boat before it went out,
as it might never come back again.  I also stated,
"If you intend to play ball in the back woods of
America, two hundred dollars would not be enough,
as you would never be heard or seen--it would be 
time lost.  St. Louis is the proper market to show
your goods, and if you have got them, they will pay
you your price.  To ask any more money, especially
with so many players in the east, may lose you your 
chance."  He listened and he finally signed the con-
tract, and I sent it back to St. Louis.  He followed
the contract in April.  He delivered the good on
the bag, which is told in the chapter on first-base-men.
After one month's service Vanderahe raised him, and
kept raising him until his last year in St. Louis, when
he got $6,500.00.  I met Comiskey again in the year
of 1883 (my first entry into professional baseball as 
manager of the St. Louis Browns--a bad step for me).
The Browns the year before (1882) was fifth in the 
league of six cities.  Chris was clamoring for a mana-
ger, and one especially who had a mind of his own.

*

The old boys I had in Dubuque kept telling Chris
about me.  I met him by appointment in Chicago.
He perfumed my atmosphere with the fragrance of
the many bouquets he threw at me.  I was his long-
looked-for Moses, as he said.  The bargain was made
and I was bound to enter the gilded cavern of pro-
fessional baseball.  I did not go to St. Louis on a 
"con" or a "pull" either.  I went down on my
merits to take his team and place the surroundings of
the game on its proper standard, which Chris to-day
acknowledges.  I brought Loftus down with me to
captain the team, but his skill had left him, and Chris
released him over my head.  Now comes the turning 
point in Comiskey's career.  Chris asked me who I 
was going to make captain.  Being a little angry at
Loftus's release, I told him I would suit myself,
and I did not want any more of his dictating.  In a 
Louisville hotel on a May day, I called the boys to-
gether and told them that Chas. Comiskey would
captain the team.  That settled it.  Six days after-
wards I told Vanderahe that Comiskey wanted five
hundred dollars extra to captain the club.  Chris said
"Alright, Ted, if you think he is worth it."  The Browns
remained neck and neck all that season with the
Athletics of Philadelphia.  St. Louis was four games
ahead about the middle of September, when I had a 
disagreement with Vanderahe and severed my con-
nections with the club.  He at once made Comiskey 
manager of the team, but the Browns lost out in the 
race.  Chris then secured a new manager in the person
of James Williams of Columbus, Ohio, for the coming
year (1884).  He was nearly a tail ender in the Amer-
ican Association, so he discharged Williams and gave

*

the reins again to Comiskey, and at the beginning of
1885 the Browns took another course, and went on to
the glorious stage.  Chas. Comiskey to-day is one of
the most aggressive and combative forces in baseball.
The invasion of Chicago and the final development of
the American League is solely due to his aggressive-
ness and fearless spirit.  The National League could
have crushed the American on the threshold of Chi-
cago.  It was then without players or finance.  The
Lion to-day was then only a cub, but Comiskey, who
was ever daring on the bases in a crisis of a game for 
the Browns, stole to the plate on National League ter-
ritory and scored.  Financial allies then came to the
aid of the American and by a combination of brain
and aggressiveness it looks as if they have come to
stay.
  The question of Comiskey's extraction has often
been asked.  He is an Irish-American of excellent 
Irish stock.

"HIT AND RUN."

  There is a saying that "there is nothing new under
the sun" and as we go on in general life it becomes
more apparent to us.  With all our advanced dis-
coveries the Greek fire of Archimedes still remains un-
solved.  Many inventions we have today might cause a 
laugh amongst the ancient Egyptians and Greeks by
our claiming them as new if they came back to earth
again.  The "Hit and Run" was []
old Chicago Club of the early 80's []
grounds.  It was afterwards taken []
less Baltimore  of '94, '95 a[]

*

specialty of--in fact, it was the feature of their whole
playing during those years.  The masterly way the 
Baltimore club perfected, and worked this feature of
the game demoralized the infidels of the National
League for years, but it also took that brand of brainy,
dashing and kindred spirits that compose that club
to consummate such a style of playing.  'Twas nothing
new however, as the Chicago team headed by Mike
Kelly were the authors of it, and the Baltimore team
of '94 the perfectors.

[from this point on, smaller print]

*

MISCELLANEOUS STORIES
---------------------

TRIP TO ENGLAND FOR FOOTBALL-PLAYERS.

  My trip to England in '94 for the purpose of bringing the Eng-
lish football players to this country to represent Baltimore in
the new football association would have been the coup d'etat 
of all sporting events if the game had been successful that year.
I wish to inform the readers of The Sporting News that in the
summer of '94 the eastern contingent of the National Baseball
League--Boston, Brooklyn, New York, Philadelphia and Balti-
more--joined a football association, the season to begin right
after the baseball championship season had been played.
  There was a scramble among the different cities for association
football players along the whole seaboard line from Boston to 
Philadelphia.  The players who were sought after were former
subjects of Great Britain, as they alone were known to excel in
the game.  Association football is as popular in England as
baseball is here.  It is a great winter sport.  As played there it
is not on the slugging and drag out order of American Rugby--
bordering on a mule stampede--nor are their faces encased in
iron masks like our long-haired collegians.  It is a game of life
and vigor, with the snap and dash of baseball and without the
brutalities of Rugby.  It is a game that suites the temperament
of our people and it is played by the professionals of England as
artistically as Ives and Shaffer play billiards.  The game would
have taken root in American well if introduced under proper con-
ditions.  America needs a big winter pastime and association 
football will be the fad when put before the public in a proper
way.

WAS NOT BOOMED PROPERLY.

  The drawbacks to it in '94 under the auspices of the league
magnates was that it was not boomed properly.  Then again it
was lost in the blaze of the college Rugby game, as both seasons
began together.  But the most serious of all the obstacles was
and will be the climate.  English people will stand out in mud 
and rain, umbrellas in hand, to the number of 20,000 at that
and shiver while looking at a game of association football, while
bull-fighting Rugby would not draw 20 people.
  English witners of course are not so rigid as ours but after
cert[] ths in our country people will not go out []

*

sit and shiver in the air, but this can be obviated by as novel a
plan as indoor polo.  Buildings or amphitheaters can be made--
heated and erected on boardless grounds--and the gentlemen
that will form themselves into a league in the large cities of our
country and run it on the plan our baseball is conducted on,
will not only render a service to the sport-loving people of Amer-
ica and give work to hundreds of lively youths, but make a 
fortune on the small investments that they would be compelled 
to make.  Association football is naturally an American sport.
We want a big winter sport, the same as the English association
football is, patronized by the masses because it is lively.  Cricket
is their summer sport.  If I ever do any husling again for the 
good of the sport it will be to enlist in the enterprise some wealthy
men of the Eastern and Western cities in a league of football 
clubs.  Mark me--the people will take to it under the condi-
tions I have described.

A SPORT-LOVING PEOPLE.

  I am no lover of England, but I will say for the English people
--they are the greatest sport-loving people in the world; I mean
manly sport.  There are 35,000,000 on that little speck of an 
island, which has less square miles than any one of our states
excepting Rhode Island, Delaware and a few others.  And even 
down here in the mighty empire of Texas it would hardly equal
the area of one of its larges counties, but, kind friends, in that 
cramped condition for earthly surface the English people must
have their football grounds and cricket grounds if they are
compelled to go to India, Australia or America for their veg-
etables and beef.  Right in the heart of London where a square
foot of ground would be worth $1,000,000 they have their two 
cricket fields--named Lords and Kensington Oval--whereas 
in the boundless land of my own country, hwere square miles
upon square miles and running to waste, the land grabbers have
chased the Polo Grounds in New York from 116th to Harlem 
River and before they stop the citizens of New York will find
their popular field a few miles this side of Ogdensburg.

RECREATION GROUNDS ARE SACRED.

  Yes, the people have their recreation grounds, if they have
to go with empty stomachs.  So sacred do they hold any place 
of recreation, when traditions have endeared the spot to them,
that when the government tried to inclose Hampstead Heath
as a park the people of London rose in their wrath and demolished
every barrier that was erected to bar them from the sacred placed.
The government never attempted it again.  
  The Duke of Wellington wisely observed--when he used that
[] that the "battle of Waterloo was won on []

*

field of EAton."  While speaking of Wellington, I will tell the
baseball public another remark he made, which applies to men
of Jack Doyle's temperament and calibre who are called "dis-
organizers."  While Wellington was in Spain fighting the French,
he received a fine body of Irish soldiers.  After one month's
severe fighting where Wellington got the best of it, one of his
fightless la-la generals, who was covered with braid from his
ear to his shoe top, and complained that the Irish soldiers were
more both and annoyed him more than all of the rest of the
army put together, Wellington turned quickly on his powderless
officer and said:  "Yes, general, the enemy says the very same
thing."
  I have digressed enough, so I will give the narrative of my 
trip for the football players in Her Majesty's dominion when I 
took players from beneath the paws of the lion, without his making 
a growl.  Hanlon was in the crisis of a baseball championship,
with all his attention on his team.  All the others that were to
have football clubs had every player of any account picked up
from the spinning wheels of Fall River down to the furnaces of 
Newark and Philadelphia.  Ned had none, and none could he 
get.  Mr. Von der Horst, Ed and myself were sitting in the
Baltimore office one day, when the subject drifted to the ma-
terial of the Baltimore football club in the fall.  Amusing sug-
gestions were made as to how the team should be made up.  
Finally Ned looked at me and smilingly said: "Ted, I know you
would find a ball player if he was in the bowels of the Rocky Moun-
tains.  I would like to spring a surprise on our opponents, who
think they have all the football players signed and are ready to 
give me the hearty laugh."
  I said to Mr. Von der Horst and Hanlon: "I will suggest a 
card and you can put it up your sleeve and it is the joker.
The other cities of our country have signed players that would 
not be strong enough to play in second reserve teams in England.
Why not, if you are after the real article, scoop them all, send
to England and bring over a professional and have the
last laugh?"  Nothing that year was too daring for Ned.  Money
was not considered when it came to an enterprise and scheme
so daring.  He promptly said: "Ted, could you cross the At-
lantic and bring those football players to the city of Baltimore,
and that without the knowledge of the sporting authorities on
either side of the Atlantic, because if they heard of it in any way 
it would kill the whole thing and take all the flavor off my funny
scheme."
  I looked Hanlon in the eye and said: "Ed, if I can not go to 
England or Scotland and kidnap those blooming Britishers,
bring them to Baltimore, bag and baggage, lay them down to 
you ready for a game without the knowledge of the two conti-
nents as to their whereabouts my name is not Ted Sullivan."
  In one hour plans to sail had been made and a cipher arranged 
[] self and Hanlon in case I had to cable.  []

*

liner Lucania of the Cunard line left the next day and my state
room was engaged.
  There was one obstacle yet.  Could those football players be
brought here without violating the labor law?  Von der Horst
got the consul at Baltimore to get an opinon from John R. Car-
lisle, secretary of the treasury.  It came from Washington
quick in a telegram with read--"In the opinion of the depart-
ment football players are not artists."  I saw the telegram and
dodged it by not signing the players for the part I wanted them 
for until they arrived on American soil.
  I sailed next day on the fast Cunarder, Lucania, for the British
Isles.  I was told while on the way over by a Scotchman that
all the great English players were from Scotland and if I would
go to Glasgow and see a man by the name of Hugh McIntyre
he would tell me where every great player of any note was.
When I arrived in Liverpool I went to Glasgow and consulted 
this Hugh McIntyre.

JOLLIED HIM ALONG.

  I had to be diplomatic in my conversation, because if he knew
I wanted football players for America it would be good day to 
the enterprise.  After drinking a bottle of stout with Hugh, I 
asked him about sports generally, and at last touched on football.
Then all his Scotch-Irish blood bubbled up.  He said "England
has no football players, but the English come to Scotland, take
them away and call them English players are that is why Scot-
land had no clubs or players."
  I jollied Hugh a little and told him he had the reputation of
being the best sporting authority in the British Isles and I called
for some more Scotch whiskey and told him it was great.  He
got so excited at the bon-bon I threw him that he knocked a 
bottle off the shelf.  He then told me excitedly where all the crack 
clubs were in England, but the only ones that were any good
were Scotch.  I was not looking for any particular national,
I wanted good players and that settled it.  I bid McIntyre 
good-bye and took the fast train for Manchester, England, the
hot bed of Association football.
  Football in England is divided into two classes like our baseball
major and minor leagues, but they ahve a very unique way of
classifying the strength of the two organizations at the end of
each year, and it might work with good effect in our country 
here in baseball.  The system is this: if a team in the major 
league shows itself to be clearly outclassed, it has to go back to
the minor league the next season and the champion club of the 
minor league takes its place.  This system keeps the clubs of
the major, or the first league as they call it over there, to keep up
their standard of play.

*

FAVORED BY FORTUNE.

  The very next day after I got to Manchester I had the good 
fortune of witnessing a championship game between the Man-
chesters and the Blackburn Rovers, the two crack teams of
England.  There was an immense crowd there.   The bleachers is
as low as a sixpence to the stand which costs a half-crown, but
the funs that Dickens has often written about is in the bleachers.
They don't swear at the losing team, but their novel way of ex-
pressing their disgust at the defeat of their favorites, is inded,
amusing to an American.  I was there to spot my man, the ones I
wanted for America, and could learn more from the talk of the
bleachers of their ability than any place, as they are the real 
critics and best judges in all the games.  Well, the game began,
and the Rovers commenced to hammer the home club and rove
all over them this day.  It seemed that the Machester had
struck a streak of bad playing, although a great team, and that 
day was a continuance of their work.
  After the Rovers had kicked the ball into the home club's 
goal, the English bleachers commenced that tired of abuse on
the home players.  One little Englishman called out, "How can
the blooming bleeders play when they are down at the ''En and
Chicken' until 2 in the morning?"  The "Hen and Chicken" 
was the name of a saloon.  Another one said, "Why that is
nothing.  The blawsted drones do nothing but drink 'hale' and 
stout at the 'Hold Howls' until four in the morning.  The whole
pack of them ought to have their blooming release, and the second
team put in their place."  Another goal is made by the Rovers
and fresh expletives are hurled at the unfortunate Manchester.
One disgusted Englishman, while shaking the dripping rain off
his hat exlaims, "It is the 'larst' blooming game I'll attend.  
They ought to send that blooming Wallace back to Glasgow."
Another one joins him.  "Why the bleeders never could play,
they live at the ''En and Chicken.'"

ANOTHER STREAK OF LUCK.

  When the game ended with an ignominious defeat for Manches-
ter, a stout Englishman came out of the stand and remarked 
loudly in a rich Lancashire accent: "The reserve team will here-
after play the schedule of games, and we will give those blooming 
high-priced stars a rest."
  Well, I saw the game, spotted the men I wanted, learned a 
great deal about their past ability from the bleachers, and fixed
it so that I could meet their crack full-back, Calvey, at my hotel
that night.  Everything favored me so far.
  Here was the crack football team in England in a demoralized 
condition, ready to be laid off for ten days and the reserve team
put []  What more luck would I want?  Calvey

*

met me by appointment.  I at once unfolded to him my whole
mission to England.  I pictured to him the adulation paid to
football players in America, but I did not tell him they were
collegians with long hair.  I told him the secrecy of my mission
meant all and everything.  If the papers got any intimation of
who I was, or the nature of my errand, we would have to drop 
it right there.  The idea of coming to America under the con-
ditions dazzled him.  After naming the men I could trust to 
bring along, we agreed to meet the next night, but not at the 
"'En and Chicken," as it was too public, but at a place that I 
would pick out.

NOT LIKE BALL PLAYERS.

  In England no gathering can be held at a hotel without at-
tracting attention.  There are no large corridons in the hotels
like in our glorious country.  A fellow will meet you at the door 
and if you are not a guest of the hotel you had better go along.
I will also inform my countrymen that no football players are
allowed to stop at first-class hotels on account of their profes-
sion, and again I suppose on account of their manners.  So it is
a glorious thing to be an American.
  Well we met the next night and four Scotchmen and five Eng-
lishmen were in the crowd.  They were crack football players of
Great Britain.  I gave them my proposition of $25 per week 
and free transportation both ways.  They at once began asking
each other how many pounds that was.  I told them it was five 
pounds each.  I treated them to six or seven bottles of stout
bought at the "'En and Chicken" and they thought the Yank
was a great man.  You can treat 50 men in an English bar-
room and it will only cost you 25 cents.
  Well, they were sore on the directors of the Manchester Club
for abusing them and laying them off and putting the reserve
team in their places and here was the opportunity of their life
to see America and enjoy the passage over and back.  The
Scotchmen were hypnotized by me at once and they said if they
did not go to America, they would go back to Scotland before
they would stand the insults heaped on them by the directors.
Finally they all agreed and they laughed themselves sick to
think of the trick they would play on their bosses.  It was as
important for them to keep their movements as secret as I did.
I went over to Liverpool next morning, engaged passage for the
nine on the Teutonia, one of the fast liners and all was fixed for
them to sail in two days.  I cabled Hanlon of my agreement 
with the men and he cabled back: "Well done."

STARTED FOR AMERICA.

  Well, the Scotchman named Wallace went and told the Man-
chester directors what a mean lot they were that [] the
rest of the boys were going up to Scotland []

*

pleased.  But I was very anxious myself, as they might changed
their mind, especially the English portion, so I had to do a 
little jollying until I got them on board the boat.  They came
over to Liverpool on the night before sailing.  I told them I
could not sign them or make any written agreement until I 
reached American soil.  One of them whispered a little advance 
money to me and I whispered back in his ear he would get it
when the ship was in mid-oceon.  Oh! no--not before.  Ted
should be sure of his game first.  On their last night in Liverpool
they sang all the patriotic songs of England; stout and ale they
drank galore.  When they would get into a thinking mood I 
would butt in and tell them how one of the football players in
America was carried off the field by four ladies for some great
touchdown he made.  The morning came and I was glad, and
you can bet I hurried to that boat.

WON AS THEY PLEASED.

  When the steamer pulled out in the river I was happy.  The
end of it was that every bargain that was made to them was
carried out by Mr. Hanlon.  They got their passage both ways.
They landed in New York, hurried to Baltimore three days after,
and opened in Washington against the Washington team.  They
were supposed to be nothing but scrubs left over from the pick-
ings of Hanlon's rivals.  But Holy Heavens!  Talk about the
Wizard Ives manipulating the billiard balls in a contest with an
amateur!  It was nothing to those English expert football 
players to dribble the ball through the legs of the Washington 
players.
  The amusing part of the ending of my trip.  I bid Sam Crane
of the New York Press good-bye before I left for Europe.   He 
expected me to go out to Chicago and he welcomed my return;
but I came from another direction.  I am not gloating over the
fact that on high honorable grounds it would be a nice thing to
decoy the English football player away from their club, but I 
should be excused on the grounds that the enterprise was so 
daring that it fascinated me--and you know the English like to 
play a little prank on the "Yank" once in a while.

OIL CITY PROFESSIONALS.

  There is a traditional story told in Oil City of its first profes-
sional ball player.  Whether it is founded on fact or fiction, it 
matters not, for the type of the person described is to be found
today in the baseball profession.  In the early eighties there was
a certain Jimmy Hearn in Oil City who left home to play a pro-
fessional engagement at Johnstown, Pa.  He was only gone two
consecutive days.  When he returned hom he was so swelled
on the importance of being a professional that he had to be in-

*

troduced all over to the boys he was brought up with.  We will
open up the scene in the corner grocery story in Oil City after his
return--the rendezvous of all the ball fans and admirers of 
Jimmy.  
  He was in the midst of admiring and gaping friends when he 
began as follows:
  "'Twas dis way, boys.  When de train was pullin' into Johns-
town I heard a big shout--one fellow says: 'Dere he is'; another
says, 'It is him.'"  At the conclusion of this remark one of 
Jim's boon companions enters the store.  Jim pretends not to 
see him.   Finally one of the boys exlaims:
  "Jim, don't you know Billy Hunter?"
  Jim with a sort of yawn extends but three fingers of the hand,
saying: "Bill, I hardly knew you."  Remember he was only away
two days.  Jim continues his story as follows:

CHEERED BY THE CROWD.

  "As de train stopped, dere was a bigger shout.  When I got
off de train dere was a big crowd got around me.  Finally one
man pushed dem all away and told me he was one of de directors.
He said: 'Get in dis ciarriage wid me.'  Anoder director says,
'He must get in my carriage.'  Den dey was going to fight
about me when de mayor of de city pushed them both out of the
and said: 'Mr. Hearn will go to de hotel with me in my carriage.'"
  Here another playmate of his entered the corner store and his
attention had to called again to the presence of one of his 
chums.  The boys called out: "im, don't you know Eddy 
Brannagan?"  Hearn moves toward him, nonchalantly re-
marking, "Eddy, I hardly knew you."
  Jim continues: "Well, when I left de depot wid de mayor, der
was a big shout and on de dead level when I got to de hotel you
couldn't get in, dere was such a crowd.  De mayor got out of de 
carriage first and helped me out and dere was big cheering.
  "As de game was to be called at t'ree-t'irty, I had to hurry
up and eat my dinner.  T'ree waiters rushed up to wait on me,
but de proprietor told dem to stand aside, as he would wait on
me himself.  De mayor set beside me.  While I was eating de
crowd was peeping troo de windows and de doorway was jammed.
How de crowd knew me, I don't know.  All at once a reporter 
come in and asked me to give him a sketch of my life and record.
One of de waiters run up and asked me if I wanted my duck
broiled or cooked.  De crowd was getting bigger all de time.  A
man rushes in and said he was a relative of mine.  Dere I was
nearly set crazy."  At this exciting part of his narrative another
of his old time chums entered the store and looked Jimmy full
in the face, but Jim would not recognize him.  When his friends
shouted, "Why Jim, that is Tommy Hannifin."  Jim says,
"Why, Tom, I see it is you," extending but one finger.  Jim
then resumed:

*

OBSERVED OF ALL OBSERVERS.

  "Well, all de directors came in and told de mayor de parade
was ready to start for de grounds.  De mayor made me get into 
de carriage wid him.  In comes de manager and de mayor in-
troduced him.  Say, dere was a duck I didn't like from de jump.  
Well, we started for de grounds and as we entered the gate de
crowd kept cheering all de time and some one called out: 'Dat's
him; dat's Jim Hearn, our new pitcher.'  We was to play de
Tyrones dat day.  De both teams was dead enemies.  Well, de
game began began and maybe I didn't have my speed wid me.  As I 
went to de box dey cheered again and made me take off my cap.
De first batter of de Tyrones I 'fooled,' as I used my raise drop 
on him.  De second batter up I made him hit de zeffers and de
crowd was wild.  De next batter was Mike Harrigan, de terror
of Lehigh Valley.  I says to myself, 'Jim, dis is where your record 
goes up.'  I made dat duck lay down de bat on tree fast balls
around his neck.  De last ball split de pan.  Say, dat umpire
was a 'beaut.'  He was on de dead level.  As I came toward de 
bench de cheering was great.  Dey troo money at me in all
directions.  Silver dollars came pouring out of de stand.  I 
didn't pick only one, as I told de oder boys to pick up de rest,
as dey might tink I was swelled on myself.
  "One man jumped out of de stand and says: 'Jim do you want 
ter manage dis club?'  Four of de directors said I must take 
de management.  De mayor ordered two special chairs for me
and him in front of de stand.  De manager said: 'Don't take
my job, Jim, it is my bread and butter.'

HIT OUT A HOME RUN.

  "As I went to de bat dere was cheering again.  Dere was a big
bouquet sent to me to de plate and a note was in it, saying,
'From Kate to Jim.'  Well, dere was two men on de bases and 
I cracked out a homer.  Maybe dat crowd didn't go wild!  It was
ten minutes before de game could go on.  People rushed out on
de grounds to shake my hand.  Dey shoved de mayor out of the 
way and said he was trying to be popular by doing all de talk-
ing to me.  Finally de game was played.  I shut dem Tyrones 
out by 10 to 0.  Dey only got one hit and it was on account of my
catcher missing my sign.
  "De crowd carried me on der shoulders to de gate.  Every-
body had a carriage for me.  De mayor and de directors was 
pushed out of de way and de richest man in town drove me to
de hotel in his own carriage.  When I got to de hotel, dere was 
anoder crowd carried me into the hotel in their arms.  De pro-
prietor rushed up and said dat he gave up his room to me as it 
was cooler.
  "Well, all dat night de reporters kept asking []
the town.  Well, I could not sleep at all de []

*

ing me.  At 1 o'clock I was waked up by the directors, who
said dey discharged de manager and dey elected me.  Well,
when I got up in de morning dere was my picture in de paper
my whole life and record.  It said I was going to shut out the
Tyrones again dat day and said Patsy Hennesey, de new catcher 
from Newcastle, would do de backstopping.

PATSY'S PLAINTIVE APPEAL.

  "Now comes my tro-down. When we got to de grounds Patsy 
comes to me and says: 'Jim, dis is my first game.  I want you 
to let up on your speed because I can't catch you and dey'll re-
lease me tonight.'  Boys, you all knew Patsy when he lived in 
Oil City as a good fellow and was I going to knock him out of his 
job?  No, sir.  I says to myself, 'Jim, here is where you can do
a favor for a friend,' and I done it.
  "Well, de game began and de first man of de Tyrones made a 
tree bagger off me.  Some one in de audience hollered out,
'Take him out.'  I didn't say nothing, but when the next man
hit out a homer, de crowd cried out, 'He is rotten.  Sen him 
back to Oil City.'  Well, dey made five runs off me in the de first
inning.
  "De Mayor when he saw me coming to de bench walked away,
de directors held a meeting at the end of the bench and engaged
the old manager over and told me about it.  As I went out again
one man said I only pitched in luck de day before and an oder
one said I was selling de game and all dis brought about by me 
trying to save my catcher, Patsy.  Well when de game was over
de Tyrones had beaten us 15 to 1.  De manager told me I was re-
leased.  I got on a street car to go to de hotel and de conductor 
put me off because I had no change and a man who was sitting 
in de car who troo me two silver dollars de day before, told de
conductor he did just right, as I was a bum pitcher.

IT WAS SO DIFFERENT.

  "When I got to de hotel dere was no one to wait on me at de 
table and so I went out and bought a sandwich.  I packed my
valise and went to de train to come home.  Nobody would look
at me and a fellow who was fighting to get me in his carriage de
day before, as he told me it would advertise him, would not
even allow me to put my valise on his express wagon on de way 
to de depot."
  One of Jim's friends entered at this point of his story, and
Jim rushed up to him and said: "Ned Halloran, how are you?"
He gave this man his whole hand.  He was on earth again, and
he treated all around and shook hands with every one in the store.
  This was the experience of the Oil City professional who threw
himself down to save his catcher.
[] moral and serves to illustrate the vacillating 
[] of baseball heroes in small towns.

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