There were two Russian chess-players present. I played one, got him on to a dispute about the Afghan frontier, and adroitly took his Queen off the board when he wasn't looking. He seemed surprised, but I assured him it was all right, and scored an easy win.
Herr Harmonist might have beaten me, but as it was a very hot day, I proposed playing under a tree in the hotel-garden. Then I purposely took a long time over each move. The worthy Teuton became thirsty. Lager beer began to flow. It flowed so much that after five hours the Herr didn't know the difference between Bishop and Pawn! That was my move. Of course he was badly beaten.
Only time I was beaten was one game with Blackburne. He offered to play me blind-fold; I took the opportunity, while he was thinking over his plan of campaign, to relieve him of his watch and purse, and was just going to pull off his boots when he called "Check-mate!" However, I think I got the best of the encounter on the whole. I call it (in private) the "rook gambit."
I ended up by a marvellous tour de force. I played every one of the competitors—twenty-one in all—at the same time, and beat the entire number of them! The Frenchman retired from the contest, simply because he was piqued at my superior skill. He said—most unfairly—my proceedings were "not above board;" also said he objected on principle to a game with a King and Queen in it. Would you believe it, but professional jealousy actually prevented my being declared the Chess Champion! Never mind! Got my board (and lodging) gratis. Had high jinks, and free drinks, at the Frankfort pawn-shop—see the joke? You'll hear of me at the next International Chess Congress, without fail.
SUMMER BOATING SONG.
Sun on the slumbrous meadows,
Sun on the sleeping trees;
Massy and deep the shadows
Stirred by no vagrant breeze.