Chapter 10

The players that made the first trip abroad in the interest of the National Game may well be styled the Argonauts of Base-ball, and though they brought back with them but little of the golden fleece, the trip being financially a failure, their memory is one that should always be kept green in the hearts of the game's lovers, if for no other reason than because they were the first to show our British cousins what the American athlete could do when it came both to inventing and playing a game of his own.

That they failed to make the game a popular one abroad was no fault of theirs, the fault lying, if anywhere, in the deep-rooted prejudice of the English people against anything that savored of newness and Americanism, and in the love that they had for their own national game of cricket, a game that had been played by them for generations.

I doubt if a better body of men, with the exception of your humble servant, who was too young at the game to have been taken into account, could have been selected at that time to illustrate the beauties of the National game in a foreign clime.

They were ball players, every one of them, and though new stars have risen and set since then, the stars of thirty years ago still live in the memory both of those who accompanied them on the trip and those who but knew of them through the annals of the game as published in the daily press and in the guide books.

Harry Wright, the captain of the Boston Reds, was even then the oldest ball player among the Argonauts, he having played the game for twenty years, being a member of the old Knickerbockers when many of his companions had not as yet attained the dignity of their first pair of pants. He was noted, too, as a cricketer of no mean ability, having succeeded his father as the professional of the famous St. George Club long before he was ever heard of in connection with the National Game. As an exponent of the National Game he first became noted as the captain of the celebrated Red Stocking Club of Cincinnati, a nine that went through the season of 1869, playing games from Maine to California without a single defeat. As captain and manager of a ball team Mr. Wright had few equals, and no superiors, as his subsequent history in connection with the Boston and Philadelphia Clubs will prove. He was a believer in kind words and governed his players more by precept and example than by any set of rules that he laid down for their guidance. As a player at the time of this trip he was still in his prime and could hold his own with any of the younger men in the outfit, while his knowledge of the English game proved almost invaluable to us. Harry Wright died in 1895, and when he passed away I lost a steadfast friend, and the base-ball world a man that was an honor in every way to the profession.

A.G. Spalding was at that time justly regarded as being one of the very best pitchers in the profession, and from the time that he first appeared in a Boston uniform until the time that he left the club and cast his fortunes with the Chicagos he was a great favorite with both press and public. As Harry Chadwick once wrote of him, "In judgment, command of the ball, pluck, endurance, and nerve in his position he had no superior." He could disguise a change of pace in such a manner as to deceive the most expert batsman, while as a scientific hitter himself he had few superiors. He had brains and used them, and this made him a success not only as a ball player but as a business man. As a manufacturer and dealer, Mr. Spalding has acquired a world-wide reputation, and it is safe to say that none glory in his success more than do his old associates on the ball field.

James O'Rourke, or "Jim," as we all called him, was a splendid ball player and especially excelled in playing behind the bat and in the outfield, which position he played for many years. A sure catch, an active fielder, a good thrower, and a fine batsman, O'Rourke was always to be relied upon. Born of Irish parentage, he hailed from the Nutmeg State and was when I last heard of him in business at Bridgeport, Conn., and reported as doing well. He was a quiet, gentlemanly young fellow, blessed with a goodly share of Irish wit, and a rich vocabulary of jawbreaking words.

Ross Barnes, who held down the second bag, was one of the best ball players that ever wore a shoe, and I would like to have nine men just like him right now under my management. He was an all-around man, and I do not know of a single man on the diamond at the present time that I regard as his superior. He was a Rockford product, but after his ball playing days were over he drifted to Chicago and was at the last time I saw him circulating around on the open Board of Trade.

"Harry" Schafer was a good, all-around player, but I have seen men that could play third base a good deal better than he could. Sometimes his work was of a brilliant character, while at others it was but mediocre. He was a native of Pennsylvania and his usually smiling face and unfailing fund of good nature served to make him a general favorite wherever he went.

George Wright, a brother of the lamented Harry, was another splendid all-around ball player, and one that up to the time that he injured his leg had no equal in his position, that of shortstop. He was one of the swiftest and most accurate of throwers, and could pull down a ball that would have gone over the head of almost any other man in the business, bounding into the air for it like a rubber ball. As a cricketer he ranked among the best in the country. Retiring from the ball field, he became a dealer in sporting goods at Boston, Mass., where he still is, and where he is reported to have "struck it rich."

Andrew J. Leonard, a product of the Emerald Isle, was brought up in New Jersey, and excelled as an outfielder, being a splendid judge of high balls, a sure catch, and a swift and accurate long-distance thrower. He was a good batsman and a splendid base runner, and was nearly as good a player on the infield as in the out. He is at present in Newark, N. J., where he is engaged in business and reported as fairly successful.

Cal C. McVey, the heavy-weight of the team, came like myself from the broad prairies of Iowa, and was built about as I am, on good, broad Western lines. He was a fairly good outfielder, but excelled either as a catcher or baseman. He was conscientious and a hard worker, but his strongest point was his batting, and as a wielder of the ash he had at that time few superiors. He is somewhere in California at the present writing, and has money enough in his pocket to pay for at least a lodging and breakfast, and does not have to worry as to where his dinner is to come from.

Young Kent, the Harvard College man, who took Jim White's place on the trip, was a tall, rangy fellow and a good amateur ball player. He never joined the professional ranks, but since his graduation has written several books, and made himself quite a reputation in literary circles.

John E. Clapp, the regular catcher of the Athletics, was a cool, quiet, plucky fellow, and one of the best catchers at that time the profession could boast of. He hailed originally from New York, I believe, and while in England surprised the cricketers by his fine catching, no ball being too hot for him to handle. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he is now a member of the Ithaca, N. Y., police force, and an honored member of the blue-coat and brass-button brigade.

James Dickson McBride, who was better known the country over as "Dick" McBride, was at that time the most experienced man in his position that the country could boast of, he having been the regular pitcher of the Athletics since 1860. He had speed in a marked degree, plenty of pluck and endurance and a thorough command of the ball. He was a man of brains, who always played to win, and to his hard work and general knowledge of the fine points of the game the Athletics owed much of their success. "Dick" was a good cricketer, too, that being his game prior to his appearance on the diamond. He hailed from the Quaker City, where he still resides, having a good position in the postoffice.

West D. Fisler was a fine, all-around ball player, remarkable for his coolness and nerve. He was a very quiet sort of fellow and one of the last men that you would pick out for a really great player. He could play any position on the team, was thoroughly honest and always played the best he knew how. He is still living in the neighborhood of Philadelphia, and though not rich in this world's goods, has still enough to live on.

Joe Batten was the youngest member of the Athletic team and at that time quite a promising young player. He did not last long with the Athletics, however, and after playing on one or two other league teams he dropped out sight. He was a bricklayer by trade, and the last time I heard of him he was in St. Louis working at his trade.

Ezra B. Sutton then ranked as one of the best third-base players in the country. He was one of the most accurate throwers that I ever saw; a splendid fielder and a good batter, though not a particularly heavy one. When he finally quit the game he settled down in business at Rochester, where he was still living the last I heard of him. A good man was Sutton, and one that would compare very favorably with the best in his line at the present day.

M. H. McGeary was a Pennsylvanian by birth, though not a Dutchman, as his name goes to prove. He was not only an effective and active shortstop but a good change catcher as well, being noted for his handling of sharp fly tips while in the latter position. He was in Philadelphia when last heard from, and doing fairly well.

Albert W. Gedney was the postoffice clerk of the New York State Senate at the time of our trip, and was one of the best of left fielders, being an excellent judge of high balls and a sure catch, especially in taking balls on the run. He is now a prosperous mill owner near New York City and does not have to worry as to where the next meal is coming from.

James McMullen, who played the center field, was an active and effective man in that position. He was also a fairly good left-handed pitcher, and a rattling good batsman, who excelled in fair-foul hitting. McMullen was an all-around good fellow, and when he died in 1881 he left a host of friends to mourn his loss.

J. P. Sensenderfer accompanied the club as, a substitute, as did Timothy Murnane, and both were good, all-around ball players, and are both still in the land of the living and doing more than well, Philadelphia being the abiding place of the former, while the last named is the sporting editor of the "Boston Globe."

I take particular pride in calling the attention of the public to the fact that but one player of all those making the trip went wrong in the after years, that one being George W. Hall, who accompanied the Bostons as a substitute and who in company with A. H. Nichols, James H. Craver and James A. Devlin was expelled by the Louisville Club in 1877 for crooked playing, they having sold out to the gamblers.

That there should have been but one black sheep among so many, in my estimation speaks well for the integrity of ball players as a class and for the Argonauts of 1874 in particular.

That the great majority of these men have also made a success in other lines of business since they retired from the profession is also an argument in favor of teaching the young athletic sports. A successful athlete must be the possessor of courage, pluck and good habits, and these three attributes combined will make a successful business man no matter what that particular line of business may be.

For the companions of that, my first trip across the Atlantic, who are still in the land of the living I have still a warm place in my heart. I have both slept and eaten with them, and if we have disagreed in some particulars it was an honest disagreement. Whenever the information comes to me that some one of them is doing particularly well, I am honestly glad of it, and I have faith enough in human nature to believe that they have the same feeling so far as I am concerned.

For the two that are dead I have naught but kind words and pleasant memories. They were my friends while living, and dead I still cherish their memory.

To me they are not dead, only sleeping.