We were booked for a stay of two weeks in San Francisco, and that two
weeks proved to be one continual round of pleasure for every member of
the party. The appearance of the city itself was somewhat of a
disappointment to me, and I soon grew somewhat tired of climbing up hill
only to climb down again. The really fine buildings, too, were few and
far between, the majority of them being low wooden structures that
looked like veritable fire-traps. They are built of redwood, however,
and this, according to the natives, is hard to burn. The fact that the
towns had not burned down yet would seem to bear out the truth of their
assertion, though the Baldwin Hotel was built of the same material, and
that went up in flames a little over a year ago in such a hurry that
some of the people who were stopping there thought themselves lucky to
get off with the loss of their wardrobes and baggage, while others who
were not so lucky never got out at all.
The natural surroundings of the city are, however, decidedly handsome,
and I doubt if there is a handsomer sight anywhere than San Francisco
Bay, a bay in which all of the navies of the world could ride at anchor
and still have plenty of room for the merchant vessels to come and go.
The shores of this bay are lined with beautiful little suburban towns
that are within easy reach by boat and sail from San Francisco, and it
is in these towns that a large proportion of the people doing business
in the city reside. The people are most hospitable and at the time of
our visit the base-ball foes and cranks, both in the same category, were
as thick as were the roses, and roses in California greet you at every
turn, not the hot-house roses of the East, that are devoid of all
perfume, but roses that are rich with fragrance and that grow in great
clusters, clambering about the doorways of the rich and poor alike,
drooping over the gateways and making bright the hedges. Flowers were to
be seen everywhere, and their cheapness at the time of our visit was
both the wonder and delight of the ladies.
The day after our arrival, November 4th, dawned bright and beautiful,
but the haggard faces and the sleep-laden eyes of the tourists when they
assembled at a late hour in the Baldwin Hotel rotunda boded ill for a
good exhibition of the art of playing base-ball that we were to give
that day.
My forebodings in this respect proved true. The Haight grounds were
crowded, 10,500 people paying admission to see the game, and great
crowds lined the streets and greeted us with cheers as we drove in
carriages to the scene of action. The practice work on both sides prior
to the opening of the game was of a most encouraging character, but as
for the game itself--well, the least said the better. Tired out with
travel and the late hours of the night before, we were in no condition
to do ourselves justice. We were over-anxious, too, to put up a great
game, and this also told against us. Baldwin who pitched for us had no
control of the ball, and the stone wall infield of the Chicagos, which
included yours truly, was way off and could not field a little bit. The
score, All-American 14 and Chicago 4, tells the story of the game. That
the crowd was disappointed was easy to see. They were good-natured about
it, however, and it is safe to say that they did not feel half so badly
as we did. Our reputation was at stake and theirs was not. That was the
difference.
Two days afterward the All-Americans played the Greenwood and Morans on
the same grounds, and the 3,000 people who had assembled to witness the
game saw the All-Americans get a most disgraceful trouncing at the hands
of the local team, the score at the end of the game standing at 12 to 2.
It was my misfortune to umpire this game, and I have often been accused
since of having given the All-Americans the worst of the decision. It is
always the privilege of the losers to kick at the umpire, however, and I
have even been known to indulge in a gentle remonstrance myself when I
thought the circumstances were justifiable. The truth of the matter is
that it was the old story of late hours and a lack of condition, Crane
being unsteady and the support accorded him not up to the standard,
while the local club played a good game throughout, getting their hits
in where they were needed and playing a really strong game in the field.
Before another crowd of 4,000 people, on November 6th, the All-Americans
played the Pioneers, another local organization, and though Healy
pitched a good game for the visitors they were beaten this time by a
score of 9 to 4. Ward did not take part in the game on this occasion, he
having taken a day off to shoot quail, and the defeat was largely
chargeable to the costly errors divided up among Hanlon, Crane, Manning,
Von Haltren, Wood and Fogarty.
In the meantime I had taken the Chicago team to Stockton, where on the
same grounds as the All-Americans and Pioneers played we stacked up
against the Stockton Club, then one of the strongest organizations in
the Golden State. The 4,000 people assembled at the grounds there saw on
that occasion as pretty a game as they could wish to see, the fielding
on both sides being of the prettiest sort, and the work of the opposing
pitchers, Tener for Chicago and Daly for Stockton, of the most effective
character. At the end of the ninth inning the score was tied at 2 each,
and the darkness coming on we were obliged to let it go at that, the
people of Stockton being well pleased with the exhibition that they had
been treated to by both teams, and especially jubilant over the fact
that their own boys had been able to tie a nine of our calibre. The next
day the Stockton team came down to San Francisco to measure strength
with the All-Americans, Baker and Albright being their battery on this
occasion, as opposed to Crane and Earle. The All-Americans, smarting
under their two defeats at the hands of the local team, simply wiped up
the ground with the Stockton boys on this occasion, pounding Baker all
over the field and running up a score of 16 as against a single for
their opponents. The showing made by the visitors on that occasion
opened the eyes of the Californian ball-players and from that time on
both the Pioneers and the Stocktons fought shy of both the visiting
teams.
On the afternoon of November 10th we, and by that I mean the Chicago
team, played the Haverlys before 5,000 spectators and defeated them
after a pretty contest by a score of 6 to 1, Baldwin pitching an
excellent game for the Chicagos, and Incell, who was at that time the
idol of the Pacific Coast, a good game for the local team, though his
support was weak.
The following day 6,000 people passed through the gates at the Haight
street grounds to witness the second game between Chicago and
All-American teams, and though this was marred by poor work here and
there, the fielding was of such a brilliant character, especially the
work of Chicago's stone wall, as to work the enthusiasm of the crowd up
to the highest pitch. Tener and Von Haltren did the twirling on this
occasion for Chicago and All-Americans respectively, and both of them
were at their best. The All-Americans showed strongest at the bat,
however, and as a result we were beaten by a score of 9 to 6. During the
next week the team made a flying trip to Los Angeles, where two games
were played, we being white-washed in the first one and beaten by a
score of 7 to 4 in the second. This ended our ball-playing in California,
for though it had been the intention to play a farewell game prior
to our sailing for Australia, a steady rain that set in made this
impossible.
When we were not playing ball we were either sightseeing in the
neighborhood of San Francisco or else being entertained by some of the
numerous friends that we made during our stay in "the glorious climate
of California," the first supper at Marchand's being followed by a host
of others, and dinner parties, banquets and theater parties were so
thickly sandwiched in that it was a matter of wonderment that we were
ever able to run the bases at all.
There was scarcely a single place of interest accessible to the city
that we did not visit, from the Cliff House, which is one of the most
popular resorts that Sari Francisco boasts of, its spacious grounds and
verandas being thronged with people on Sundays and holidays, to the
Chinese quarter, a portion of the city that no visitor to the Golden
State should miss seeing, even if he has to make a journey of one
hundred miles to do so.
The Chinese quarter of San Francisco is a city in itself, and one in
which the contrasts between wealth and poverty is even more marked than
it ever was in the Seven Dials of London.
The stores of the well-to-do Chinese merchants are filled with the
richest of silks, the rarest of teas and the most artistic of
bric-a-brac, the carvings in ivory and fancy lacquer work being especially
noticeable, but close to them in the narrow streets are the abodes of
vice and squalor, and squalor of the sort that reeks in the nostrils and
leaves a bad taste for hours afterward in the mouths of the sight-seer.
At the time of our visit both the opium dens and the gambling houses
were running in full blast, and this in spite of the spasmodic efforts
made by the police to close them. John Chinaman is a natural born
gambler, and to obtain admission to one of his resorts is a more
difficult matter than it would be for an ordinary man to obtain an
audience with the Queen of England. He does his gambling behind walls of
steel plate and behind doors that, banged shut as they are at the
slightest sign of danger, would have to be battered down with sledges or
blown open with dynamite before one could gain admission, and by that
time the inmates would have all escaped and nothing would be left behind
to show the nature of the business carried on.
Crime runs rampant in this section of the town, and when a Chinaman is
murdered, in nine cases out of ten the slayer escapes punishment at the
hands of the law, though he may have it meted out to him in some
horrible form at the hands of the dead man's friends and relatives.
To go through the Chinese quarters by daylight is a sight well worth
seeing, but to go through there with a guide after the night's dark
shadows have fallen, is more than that. It is a revelation. These guides
are licensed by the city, and are under the protection of the police.
They are as well known to the Chinamen as they are to the officers of
the law, and the visitor is always safe in following wherever they may
lead.
The tenement houses in the poorer sections of any great city are a
disgrace to modern civilization, but a Chinese tenement house is as much
worse than any of these as can be imagined. In one section of the
Chinese quarter at San Francisco is a four-story building above ground,
with a double basement below, one being under the other, and with an
open court extending from the lower basement clear to the roof. In this
building, which is jocularly styled by the guides, "The Palace Hotel of
the Chinese quarter," and in which a hundred Americans would find
difficulty in existing, over a thousand Chinamen live, sleep and eat,
all of the cooking being done on a couple of giant ranges in the
basement, which is divided up into shops, opium dens and sleeping
quarters.
In these shops are some clever artisans in brass and ivory, and the
locks that are turned out by hand by some of these brass-workers, and
made to a great extent on the same principles as the celebrated locks
made in this country by the Yale Company, are marvels of workmanship in
all of their parts, the joints being as neatly filled in as though
turned out by the latest improved machinery, the wonder of it all being
that the principles upon which they were made have been known to the
Chinese for thousands of years, the Yale locks being apparently nothing
but a slight improvement on the original John Chinaman ideas.
In the opium dens one sees nothing but squalor and misery. A visit to
one of them is a visit to them all, and one visit is generally enough to
disgust the seeker after strange sensation, the acrid smell of the smoke
and the noisome stench of the close rooms being almost unbearable.
The Joss Houses, in which are hideous idols before which tapers and
incense are constantly burning, and the Chinese theaters, with their
never-ending performances, are all strange sights in their way, and
sights that are well worth the taking in. The Chinese quarter is a blot
on the fair name of San Francisco, however, and leaving it one wonders
how and why it has ever been allowed to grow into its present huge
proportions. The memories of these after-dark trips still linger with me
even now, like the shadow of some dark dream, and yet I am glad that I
made them, if only for the purpose of seeing how the other half of the
world manages to exist.
In company with Tom Daly, Bob Pettit, Harry Palmer and others of the
party I enjoyed several horseback rides through the residence and
suburban portions of the city, where I found much to wonder at and
admire.
During our stay President Spalding, Captain Ward, Captain Hanlon, Mr.
and Mrs. Ed Williamson, Messrs. McMillan and Palmer, and Mrs. Anson and
myself were handsomely entertained at Oakland by Mr. Waller Wallace, of
the California "Spirit of the Times," a paper now defunct, and the
glimpses of the bay and city that we caught at that time made the day a
most pleasant one, to say nothing of the hospitality that greeted us on
every hand. Messrs. Spalding, Ward, McMillan, Palmer and myself were
also handsomely entertained by the Press Club, and also by the
Merchants' Club of San Francisco, an organization that numbered among
its members at that time many of the leading business men of San
Francisco and vicinity.
The day of our departure for Australia had been finally fixed for
November 18th, and the evening before Spalding, as a recognition of the
kindness with which we had been treated during our stay, gave a farewell
banquet to the members of the California League and the San Francisco
Press Club at the Baldwin Hotel, covers being laid for seventy-five
guests, among them being several men of prominence in the social and
business world of the Pacific Coast. The menu card for that occasion,
which is circular in form and represents a base-ball cover, now lies
before me, the idea originating in the fertile brain of Frank Lincoln.
Under the heading of "score-card," on the inside, is the magic
injunction, "Play Ball," with which the majority of us who sat at the
table were so familiar, and among the courses, "Eastern oysters on the
home run," "Green turtle a la Kangaroo," "Petit pate a la Spalding,"
"Stewed Terrapin, a la Ward," "Frisco Turkey a la Foul," together with
other dishes, all of which had some allusion either to base-ball or to
our contemplated Australian trip.
After we had played ball, the debris cleared away and the cigars
lighted, there followed a succession of impromptu speech-making, the
toasts and those who replied being as follows: "Early Californian
Ball-players," Judge Hunt of the Superior Court; "The National League
Champions, the New York Base-ball Club," ex-Senator James F. Grady, of
New York; "The San Francisco Press," W. N. Hart, of the San Francisco
Press Club; "The Good Ship Alameda," Capt. Henry G. Morse; "A G.
Spalding and the Australian Trip," Samuel F. Short-ride; "The Chicago
Nine," yours truly; "The All-Americans," Capt. John M. Ward; "The
'Base-ball' Cricketers," George Wright. In closing Spalding thanked the
press and the base-ball people of the coast for the magnificent reception
that we had received, and for all the kindness which had been showered
upon us since our arrival, after which we bade farewell to those of our
friends that we should not see again before our departure.
That night all was bustle and confusion about, the hotel. With an ocean
journey of 7,000 miles before us there was much to be done, and it was
again late before we retired to dream of the King of the Cannibal
Islands and the Land of the Kangaroo.
Eleven years have rolled away since that trip to San Francisco was made
and many of the friends that we then met with and that helped to
entertain us so royally have passed over the Great Divide that separate
the known from the unknown, but their memory still lingers with us and
will as long as life shall last.
There was not a minute of the time that was spent on the coast that I
did not enjoy myself. I found the Californians a warm-hearted, genial
and impulsive people, in whose make-up and habits of life there still
live the characteristics of those early pioneers who settled there in:
"The days of old, the days of gold,
The days of '49."
and to whom money came easily and went the same way.