It was some days after we left the beautiful city of Florence, with its
wealth of statuary and paintings, before we again donned our uniforms,
the lack of grounds upon which we could play being the reason for our
enforced idleness. The day we left Florence we crossed over the border
and that night found us on French soil, and in the land of the
"parlevooers." The ride from Florence to Nice, which latter city was our
objective point, was one long dream of delight, the road running for
nearly the entire distance along the shores of the Mediterranean and
along the edge of high cliffs, at whose rocky bases waves were breaking
into spray that, catching the gleam of the sunlight, reflected all the
colors of the rainbow. Now and then the train plunged into the darkness
of a tunnel, where all was blackness, but as it emerged again the
sunlight became all the brighter by comparison. As we passed through
Pisa, a few hours out from Florence, we caught excellent view of the
famous leaning tower, with the appearance of which every schoolboy has
been made familiar by the pictures in his geography. At Genoa the train
stopped for luncheon and there Pfeffer's appetite proved to be too much
for him, and as he couldn't speak Italian he lingered so long at the
table as to get left, coming on in the next train a few hours
afterwards, and getting guyed unmercifully regarding his tremendous
capacity for storing away food.
In the course of the afternoon we passed through the the city of Diana
Maria, that four years before had been destroyed by an earthquake, in
which some four hundred people were killed or severely injured. It was a
desolate enough looking place as viewed from the car windows, the broken
walls that seemed ready to tumble at the slightest touch, and the bare
rafters all bearing witness to the terrible shaking up that the city had
received. Leaving Diana Maria we passed through some beautiful mountain
scenery, the little villages that clustered in the valleys looking from
our point of view like a collection of birdhouses. It was nearly dark
when we reached San Remo, where the late Emperor of Germany had lain
during his last illness, and quite so when we left it and entered the
station of Vingt Mille, on the French border, and some twenty miles from
our destination.
Here Crane's monkey was the cause of our getting into trouble, a couple
of Italians, who had taken offense at the free-and-easy ways of Fogarty,
Crane and Carroll, who occupied the same apartment with them, informing
the guard that the New-Yorker had the little animal in his pocket, the
fare for which was immediately demanded and refused.
At Vingt Mille, after the customs authorities had examined our baggage,
and we were about to take the train again, we were stopped and informed
that we would not be allowed to proceed until the monkey's fare had been
paid. It was some time before we ascertained the real cause of our
detention, none of us being able to speak Italian, and when we finally
learned the train had gone on without us. Seventeen francs were paid for
the monk's ride in Crane's pocket, and we thought the episode settled,
but later on the official came back, stating that a mistake had been
made and that the monk's fare was nine francs more, but this Crane
positively refused to pay until we were again surrounded by a cordon of
soldiers, when he "anted up," but most unwillingly. It was an
imposition, doubtless, but they had the might on their side and that
settled the business. After that the gentleman (?) who had acted as
interpreter, doubtless thinking that Americans were "soft marks," put in
a claim of twenty francs for services, but this he did not get, though
he came very close to receiving the toe of a boot in its stead.
After once more getting started we sped past the gambling palaces of
Monte Carlo and Monaco, that loomed up close behind us in the darkness,
and, arriving at Nice, finally secured quarters in the Interlachen
Hotel, the city being crowded with strangers who had come from all parts
of the world to view the "Battle of Flowers," that was to take place on
the morrow. It rained all that night and all the next day, and as a
result the carnival had to be postponed, and the floral decorations
presented a somewhat woe-begone and bedraggled appearance. It had been
our intention to play a game here, but to our astonishment and the
disappointment of several hundred Americans then in Nice, the project
had to be abandoned for the reason that there was not a ground or
anything that even remotely resembled one, within the city limits.
The rain that had caused the postponement of the carnival did not
prevent us from leaving the hotel, however, and the entire party put in
the day visiting the great gambling halls of Monte Carlo, which are
today as famous on this side of the water as they are on the continent,
and where the passion for gambling has ruined more people of both sexes
than all of the other gambling hells of the world combined. A more
beautiful spot than Monte Carlo it would be hard to imagine, the
interior of the great gambling hall being handsomer than that of any
theater or opera house that we had seen, and furnished in the most
gorgeous manner. The work of the landscape gardener can here be seen at
its best, no expense having been spared to make the grounds that
surrounded the building devoted to games of chance the handsomest in the
world. In its great halls one sees every sort and variety of people.
Lords and Ladies, Princes and Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, gamblers
and courtesans, all find place at the table where the monotonous voices
of the croupiers and the clinking of the little ivory ball are about the
only sounds that break the silence.
The majority of the members of our party tried their luck at the tables,
as does everybody that goes to Monte Carlo, no matter how strongly they
may condemn the practice when at home, and some of us were lucky enough
to carry off some of the bank's money, Mr. Spalding, Mrs. Anson and
myself among the number. There is as much of a fascination in watching
the faces of the players around the tables as there is in following the
chances of the game, and the regular habitues of the place can be
spotted almost at the first glance. One day at Monte Carlo was quite
enough for us and we were glad to get back to Nice and out of the way of
temptation.
The second day after we arrived at Nice the flower festival took place,
and luckily the weather was almost perfect. All the morning for a
distance of some twenty blocks the Avenue des Anglaise, where the battle
of flowers is annually held, the decorators had been busy preparing for
the event, and by afternoon decked in flowers and gaily-colored ribbons,
bunting and flags, the scene that it presented was a brilliant one. By
three o'clock it was crowded with elegant equipages filled with men,
women and flowers, the two former pelting each other with blossoms to
their heart's content, the spectators in the adjacent windows and on the
sidewalks taking part in the mimic war. Conspicuous in the party was the
Prince of Wales and his friends, among which were several of our fair
countrywomen, the whole party distributing their flowers right and left
with reckless-prodigality. The number of handsome women, the splendid
street decorations, and the abundance of flowers that were scattered
about in lavish profusion made a brilliant picture and one that it is
not to be wondered that tourists journey from all parts of the continent
to witness.
The next morning we were off for Paris, stopping over at Lyons for the
night, where there was snow on the ground, the weather being cold and
disagreeable, and it was not until Saturday that we arrived in "La Belle
Paris," the Mecca of all Americans who have money to spend and who
desire to spend it, and the fame of whose magnificent boulevards, parks,
palaces, squares and monuments has not extended half as far as has the
fame of its Latin Quartier, with its gay student life, its masked balls,
with their wild abandon, its theaters made famous by the great Rachael,
Sara Bernhardt and others, and its gardens, where high kickers are in
their glory. All of these were to be seen and all of these we saw, that
is, all of them that we could see in the short week that was allotted to
us, it being a week of late hours and wild dissipation so far as my wife
and myself were concerned, we rarely retiring until long after the hour
of midnight. Our days were spent in driving about the city and its
environs, and in viewing the various places of interest that were to be
seen, from the magnificent galleries filled with the rarest of paintings
and statuary to the dark and gloomy Bastille, while our nights were
devoted to the theater and balls, and at both of these we enjoyed
ourselves thoroughly.
In Paris we met a great many members of the American colony from whom we
received much courtesy and attention, and to whom I should like to have
a chance of returning the many kindnesses that were showered upon us
during the time that we remained in the French capital.
As a business man the Parisian is not a decided success when viewed from
the American standpoint, but as a butterfly in pursuit of pleasure he
cannot be beaten. He is polite and courteous at all times, however, but
is not to be trusted when making a trade, he having learned to look upon
all Americans with money as his natural and legitimate prey, and so is
prepared to take the advantage of you and yours whenever the opportunity
is given him.
It was not until the afternoon of March 8th that we were given a chance
to show the Parisians how the National Game of America is played, and
then we put up a fairly good exhibition, both teams being more than
anxious to win, and playing in a most spirited fashion. This game was
played at the Parc Aristotique, situated on the banks of the Seine, just
opposite the Exposition Buildings, and within plain sight of the great
Eiffel Tower, it being walled in by gardens and big city residences. The
game was made memorable by the large number of Americans that were
present and by the distinguished people before whom it was played. Among
these were General Brugere and Captain Chamin, representing President
Carnot of the French Republic, who sent a letter regretting that his
official duties prevented him from seeing the game; Mr. and Mrs. William
Joy, of the American Legation; Miss McLane, daughter of the American
Minister at Paris; Miss Urquhart, a sister of Mrs. James Brown Potter,
the actress; Consul General Rathbone, and a host of others prominent in
diplomatic, social and theatrical circles. It was in the second inning
of the game that the famous "stone wall" infield of the Chicagos was
broken up through an injury received by Ed Williamson, from the effects
of which he never fully recovered. He had taken his base on balls in the
second inning and, was trying to steal second when he tripped and fell,
tearing his knee cap on the sharp sand and gravel of which the playing
surface was composed. He was taken by his wife, who was among the
spectators, to his hotel, and it was thought that a few days of rest
would see him all right again, but such did not prove to be the case, as
he was still confined to his room in London when we sailed for home, and
it was until late in the season of 1889 that he was again able to report
for duty. This necessitated Baldwin's going to first while Ryan took
Williamson's place at short and weakened our team very materially, as
Williamson was always a tower of strength to us. We were very decidedly
off, too, in our batting, and it was not until the sixth inning that a
home run by Ryan and a two-bagger by Pettit, and a passed ball enabled
us to put two men over the plate. These were all the runs we got,
however, and at the end of the second inning, when game was called, the
score stood at 6 to 2 in All-Americas' favor.
How the members of either game were enabled to play as good ball as they
did, not only in Paris but in other cities that we visited after the
inactivity of steamer life, the late hours, and the continual round of
high living that they indulged in, is a mystery, and one that is past my
fathoming, and yet the ball that they put up on many of these occasions
that I have spoken of was ball of the championship kind and the sort
that would have won even in, League company.
At half-past eight o'clock we left Paris for our trip across the English
Channel, taking the long route from Dieppe to New Haven, and if we all
wished ourselves dead and buried a hundred times before reaching the
latter Port we can hardly be blamed, as a worse night for making the
trip could not well have been chosen. It was one o'clock in the morning
when the train from Paris bearing the members of our party arrived at
Dieppe, and the wind at that time was blowing a gale. Down the dock in
the face of this we marched and aboard the little side-wheel steamer
"Normande," where our quarters were much too cramped for comfort. A few
minutes later the lines were cast off and the steamer was tossing about
like a cork on the face of the waters, now up and now down, and
seemingly trying at times to turn a somersault, a feat that luckily for
us she did not succeed in accomplishing, else this story might never
have been written. There was no doing on deck, even had we been capable
of making an effort to do so, which we were not, as we could hear the
large waves that swept over the vessel strike the planking with a heavy
thud that shook the steamer from stem to stern, and then go rushing away
into the scuppers.
Up and down, down and up, all night long, and if we had never prayed to
be set ashore before we did on that occasion, but as helpless as logs we
lay in our staterooms, not much caring whether the next plunge made by
the ship was to be the last or not. I had had slight attacks of
seasickness before, but on this occasion I was good and seasick, and
Mrs. Anson was, if such a thing were possible, even in a worse condition
than I was. At about three in the morning we heard the noise of a heavy
shock followed by the crashing of timbers and the shouts of sailors that
sounded but faintly above the roar of the tempest, and the next morning
discovered that a huge wave had carried away the bridge, the lookout
fortunately managing to escape being carried away with the wreck. The
experience of that awful night is one never to be forgotten, a night
that, according to the captain, was the worst that he had ever witnessed
during his thirty years of experience, and it was with feelings of great
relief that we dropped anchor in the harbor of New Haven the next
morning, where the sun shone brightly and the sea was comparatively
quiet.
We were a pretty seedy-looking lot when we boarded the train for London,
where we debarked at the Victoria Station about half-past nine o'clock,
still looking much the worse for wear and like a collection of invalids
than a party of representative ball players. Getting into carriages we
were at once driven through the city to Holburn, where quarters at the
First Avenue Hotel had been provided, and where we were only too glad to
rest for a time and recover from the awful shaking up that the English
Channel had given us; a shaking up that it took Mrs. Anson some time to
recover from, as it also did the other ladies of the party.
We had expected to play our first game of ball in England on the day of
our arrival, but the game had been called off before we got there
because of the storm, the grounds being flooded. It was a lucky thing
for us that such was the case, as there was not one of the party who
could have hit a balloon after the experience of the night before, or
who could have gone around the bases at a gait that would have been any
faster than a walk.