A CUBAN BASEBALL GAME
On the following morning the boys spent a good hour poring over the
map of Cuba. It had been decided that they should go to Matanzas and
Cardenas on the coast east of Havana, and they asked the professor why
they could not continue eastward as far as Colon and Santa Clara.
“We can if you wish it,” answered Amos Strong.
“I see there is a railroad runs from Santa Clara to Cienfuegos on the
south coast,” said Mark. “Why not go to that port? We ought to find
some vessel there bound for Santiago.”
Willing to do what the boys desired, within reasonable limits,
Professor Strong put the matter to a vote. Four at once voted in favor
of Mark’s plan. Hockley said neither yes nor no.
“How do you vote, Jacob?” asked the professor, pleasantly.
“What’s the use of my voting?” grumbled the tall youth. “If I voted the
other way it would be four to one.”
“Have you any objection to Mark’s plan?”
“Oh, no, I reckon it’s as good as any. I think the whole of Cuba rather
stale.”
“What did you expect?”
“Oh, I want to see something of life. Do they have bull fights?”
“Not as they did formerly. But the Cubans are beginning to play
baseball,” and there was a twinkle in the professor’s eye as he spoke.
“Humph, I can see that at home.”
“Oh, let’s go and see a game!” cried Darry. “Do you know of any here?”
For reply the professor produced a handbill which had been given him in
the courtyard of the hotel. It stated that a game of ball would take
place that afternoon on a certain public grounds between the Palmas of
Havana and the Roosevelts of Florida.
“Say, but they are high-toned on names,” was Frank’s comment. “The
President of Cuba against the President of the United States.”
“Whoop!” cried Darry, throwing his cap into the air. “Let’s go and root
for Teddy!”
“Let’s!” shouted the others, and even Hockley brightened at the
suggestion.
The professor was quite willing to let them go, feeling that the game
would likely give Hockley something of the excitement he craved. The
matter was soon arranged, and they purchased the best seats available.
When they reached the public grounds they found a crowd assembled, and
the ball players were already at practice on the green field. There
were several hundred Americans present, many in carriages, and among
the carriages they discovered the Valois turnout, with Isabel Valois
and a number of other young people.
“I thought I’d see you here,” declared the young lady. “No Yankee boy
can keep away from a ball game,” and she smiled as she shook hands and
was introduced to those she had not before met.
Mark was anxious to see the American players more closely. As we know,
he had always been a good ball player and had been the captain of the
team at Lakeview Academy, beating Hockley for that position by several
votes, much to the bully’s discomfiture. Now he worked his way through
the crowd close to the American players’ “bench,” in this case an
awning spread to shade a certain spot on the grass to the right of the
home plate.
The ball players were all about Mark’s age, one or two a little older,
and seemed to be a jolly set. But as Mark came nearer so did one of the
team and his face wore a serious expression.
“Ronaldson is no better,” Mark heard him tell the others. “Complains of
terrible cramps.”
“Is he going to try to play?” asked one of the other players.
“Yes, but I don’t know how long he will last.”
“Then you’ll have to use Blackney.”
“I suppose so, but he’s got a sore hand and can’t half catch. We need a
good man on second base. The Palmas are going to do their best to win
this game.”
The talk interested Mark greatly and it aroused the baseball fever in
his veins. He caught the eye of one of the players and beckoned to him.
“Are any of you fellows from New York state?” he asked.
“Yes, Len Gardell is from Rochester,” was the answer.
“I come from New York city,” went on Mark. “I’m an old ball
player--used to be captain of the Lakeview Academy nine of New
Hampshire. We once played a team from Rochester--the Silver Stars. Can
I speak to Mr. Gardell? My name is Mark Robertson.”
“Why, certainly, Mr. Robertson,” said the ball player, and held out his
hand. “My name is Bob Lee. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. We put ourselves
down as from Florida for we have been playing there--at several of the
big hotels.”
And a minute later Mark was introduced to all of the team and made to
feel quite at home.
Having finished their chat with Isabel Valois and her companions, the
others made their way to the stand and found the seats assigned to
them. Soon all of the baseball players were out on the diamond and the
game began with the Cuban team at the bat.
“It’s funny Mark doesn’t come,” said Darry. “He always thinks so much
of a ball game.”
“He went off to see the players,” answered Frank. He looked toward the
“bench.” “I declare there he is now, talking to one of the substitute
players!”
“Then he’s at home,” laughed Darry. “You won’t get him back here,
unless the umpire drives him from the field.”
When Hockley saw Mark sitting on the “bench” he was green with envy.
“Always getting in,” he muttered to himself. “That’s just the way he
got in on me at the academy! Confound the luck!” And then Hockley
tried to get on the field himself, but was ordered back by one of the
policemen stationed there to keep the crowd in bounds.
The boys had already learned that this game was the last of a series of
three. Each club had already won one game. A prize of a silver cup and
half of the gate money were to go to the winner of the series.
At first glance it did not appear as if the Cuban club could play. They
seemed to toss the ball about in reckless fashion and strike out wildly
when at the bat, yet at the end of the fourth innings the score was a
tie, 3 to 3.
“This game is all right,” was Frank’s comment. “I’ve seen many a worse
one right on the Polo grounds in New York.”
“Oh, the New Yorks can’t play ball anyway,” growled Hockley.
In the next innings both clubs scored two runs, bringing the score up
to another tie. There was a beautiful running catch made by one of the
Cuban fielders and this was roundly applauded by the American as well
as the Cuban spectators.
“Give these Cubans a few more years and they’ll be as crazy for
baseball as we are,” said Darry.
In the first half of the sixth innings the Cubans scored another run.
A “pop” fly had been knocked across the diamond but the second baseman
failed to hold it. As it was a clear muff some in the crowd groaned, at
which the baseman looked more disconcerted than ever.
“Don’t groan or hiss,” said Professor Strong. “Every player is bound to
miss it sometime. That baseman did very well before. And he acts to me
as if he was sick. I’ve seen him holding his stomach several times.”
The Roosevelts now came to the bat with a score of 6 to 5 against them.
The first player up was put out on strikes and the second on a foul
tip. The third batsman had a ball and a strike called and then sent a
long, high fly to center field.
“Hurrah!” yelled the crowd of Americans. “That’s a daisy! Run! Run!”
“It’s a home run. Go it, longlegs, go it!”
“Don’t let them stop you at third! You’ve got lots of time!”
The yelling continued. In the meantime the center fielder was racing
after the ball like mad. He caught it up just as the runner was
leaving third for the home plate and threw it to the catcher with all
his strength. But it fell short of its mark and was captured by the
pitcher, who whirled around and delivered it home just as the runner
slid in amid a cloud of dust and a yelling which could be heard for
half a mile. Then those close by saw the catcher leap for the ball,
capture it in one hand and fall in a heap on top of the man who had
slid in to victory.
“He’s safe!” was the cry, as the crowd saw the umpire keep his hand
down. “Oh, wasn’t that a dandy run!”
“And wasn’t that a dandy hit!”
It was several seconds before the dust cleared away and then it was
seen that something was wrong. The runner had been kicked in the arm by
the catcher and the latter had tumbled and bruised his knee. Both had
to be helped from the field and time was called while the hurts were
attended to by a doctor who happened to be present.
“They say that runner is out of the game,” was the report which went
the round a little later. “And that second baseman has retired too.
He’s suffering from cramps. The catcher is all right.”
“If the Roosevelts lose two men they will be one man short,” said Sam.
“They had only one substitute at the bench.”
“Perhaps the others are somewhere around,” answered Darry.
The catcher came limping up and the game was resumed. But no more runs
were made and the innings came to an end with another tied score, 6 to
6. Then came a long wait.
“I hope they don’t call it off on account of not having another
substitute,” said Frank. And then he continued: “I wonder where Mark
is? He isn’t down at the bench.”
A minute later the American team came from their dressing room, where
they had been in conference, and ran to their various positions on the
field.
As they did so the boys in the stand gave a cry of amazement.
“Well, I never!” came from Darry.
“Is it really Mark?” questioned Sam.
“Of course it is!” shouted Frank, leaping to his feet and swinging his
cap. “It’s Mark, and he’s going to play second base!”