This game made a total of twenty-eight that we had played since leaving San Francisco, of which the All-Americas had won fourteen and the Chicagos eleven, three being a tie, and had it not been for the accident in Paris that deprived us of Williamson's services, I am pretty certain that a majority of the games would have been placed to Chicago's credit.
In the evening we left for Cork over the Southern Railway in three handsomely-appointed coaches decorated with American flags and bearing the inscription "Reserved for the American Base-Ball Party." We arrived at two o'clock the next morning, being at once driven to the Victoria Hotel. The same day we visited Blarney Castle, driving out and back in the jaunting cars for which Ireland is famous, and, though I kissed the blarney stone, I found after my return home that I could not argue my beliefs into an umpire any better than before. That night we left the quaint city of Cork behind and, after a beautiful ride of eleven miles by train, found ourselves standing on the docks at Queenstown, where a tender was in waiting to convey us to the White Star steamer that awaited us in the offing.
[CHAPTER XXXI. "HOME, SWEET HOME."]
Our voyage back to "God's country," by which term of endearment the American traveling abroad often refers to the United States, was by no means a pleasant one, as we encountered heavy weather from the start, the "Adriatic" running into a storm immediately after leaving Queenstown that lasted for two days and two nights, during which time we made but slow progress, and as a result there were a good many vacant seats at the table when mealtimes came. A storm at sea is always an inspiring sight, and it was a pleasure to those of us who were lucky enough to have our sealegs on to watch the big ship bury her nose in the mountainous waves, scattering the spray in great clouds and then rising again as buoyantly as the proverbial cork. The decks were not a pleasant point of vantage, however, even for the most enthusiastic admirer of nature, as a big wave would now and then break over the forward part of the vessel, drenching everything and everybody within reach and making the decks as slippery as a well-waxed ballroom.
I had quit smoking some time before starting on this trip and was therefore deprived of blowing a cloud with which to drive dull care away during the tedious days that followed. Like the rest of the party, too, once started I was impatient to reach home again, and for that reason the slow progress that we made the first few days was not greatly to my liking. The weather moderated at the end of forty-eight hours, and though the waves still wore their night-caps and were too playful to go to bed, they occasioned us but little annoyance and we bowled along over the Atlantic in merry fashion, killing time by spinning yarns, playing poker and taking a turn at the roulette wheel which Fred Carroll had purchased at Nice to remind him of his experience at Monte Carlo.
At a very early hour on Saturday morning, April 6, we were off Fire Island, and sunrise found us opposite quarantine.
Our base-ball friends in New York, who had been looking for us for three days, had been early apprised that the "Adriatic" had arrived off Sandy Hook, and, boarding the little steamer "Starin" and the tug "George Wood," they came down the bay, two hundred strong, to meet us. With the aid of "a leedle Sherman pand," steam whistles and lusty throats they made noise enough to bring us all on deck in a hurry. As the distance between the vessels grew shorter we could distinguish among others the faces of Marcus Meyer, W. W. Kelly, John W. Russel, Digby Bell, DeWolf Hopper, Col. W. T. Coleman and many others, not least among them being my old father, who had come on from Marshalltown to be among the first to welcome myself and my wife back to America, and who, as soon as the "Starin" was made fast, climbed on deck and gave us both a hug that would have done credit to the muscular energy of a grizzly bear, but who was no happier to see us than we were to see him and to learn that all was well with our dear ones. I'm not sure but the next thing that he did was to propose a game of poker to some of the boys, but if he did not it was simply because there was too much excitement going on. That evening we were the guests of Col. McCaull at Palmer's Theater, where De-Wolf Hopper, Digby Bell and other prominent comic opera stars were playing in "The May Queen." The boxes that we occupied that night were handsomely decorated with flags and bunting, while from the proscenium arch hung an emblem of all nations, a gilt eagle and shield, with crossed bats and a pair of catcher's gloves and a catcher's mask.
Every allusion to the trip and to the members of the teams brought out the applause, and by and by the crowd began to call for speeches from Ward and myself, but Ward wouldn't, and I couldn't, and so the comedians on the stage were left to do all of the entertaining.