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Montgomery, Alabama, September 22, 1870
Henry Chadwick reached into his pocket and removed his handkerchief. He wiped his sweaty brow, replaced the handkerchief and knocked on the door of the white frame house.
He was just about to raise his fist to knock again when the door opened. The man who opened it gazed on him with intelligent, twinkling eyes and an uncertain smile.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I am looking for Colonel Hundley."
The man smiled. "Well, I reckon you found him, mister. What can I do for you this fine day?" Hundley stuck out his hand and Chadwick shook it happily.
"Colonel, I am pleased to meet you. My name's Henry Chadwick and I come from New York."
Hundley's eyebrows raised. "Well, I guessed you for a Yankee, and turns out I was right. How'd you manage a pass to get down here. I've heard it's a bit, umm, troublesome to travel between our two nations right now."
Chadwick allowed that this was true and then added, "But I'm not here about the late war, or politics. I am here to talk about base ball."
Hundley stepped back. "Forgive my rudeness, please come in sir."
Chadwick entered Hundley's home. It was rather plain, but extremely tidy. Over the mantle was a portrait of the Colonel in his uniform. The artist had perfectly captured that unnerving look of intelligence in the man's eyes. Chadwick stood before it and admired it. "An excellent likeness."
Hundley looked pleased. "And it was not cheap to commission either, believe me. But, my wife was adamant that we should commemorate my service as it were, so there you have it."
Hundley offered his visitor a chair and sat across from him. "So what about base ball would bring you all the way from New York to speak with me?"
Chadwick looked a bit sheepish. "I write for a publication called Beadle's Dime Base Ball Player. It is published each year in the spring. I am doing research on the game here in the Confederacy. I heard you were a man who enjoys the game."
Hundley nodded. "Now that you mention it, I have heard of you. You're the fellow who came up with all the numbers and such."
Chadwick was nodding in return. "Indeed."
Hundley spread his hands. "Well, we don't have near as many clubs here in the Confederacy as you Yankees have up north, but there are a few serviceable ball players around."
"I've heard tell that you have been known to play on occasion."
"True. I whip the sphere around with the boys at times. I picked it up during the war when I was a... guest, shall we say?... of the Union Army."
Chadwick coughed. "Yes, I had heard that as well. I thought I would stop here on my way to New Orleans to check on the..." he looked at a note he had pulled from his pocket, "Hundley's Rowdies."
Now Hundley laughed. "Well don't that beat all? A Yankee has heard of our little club. Wait til I tell the boys - ol' Felix Tait will never believe it. Now there's a fellow who hates Yankees with a passion. It's a good thing it isn't him you're visiting. You'd be running up the road with a backside full of buckshot, mister."
Chadwick shuddered. "I'll keep that in mind should I ever run into Mr. Tait."
Both men shared a laugh - Hundley's hearty and rich, Chadwick's slightly nervous. Chadwick continued, "So, is it true then? You have your own club?"
Hundley, still laughing, said, "Oh, yes. We have a club. Not sure we'd measure up to the Knickerbockers, or those fellows in Chicago.. did I tell you my wife is from Chicago?... anyway, we do have a club and take on some of the locals around Alabama and Georgia."
Chadwick got a conniving look in his eye. "Have you considered branching out? Maybe playing those clubs in New Orleans?"
"Oh, I don't think we'd make that trip. Who would pay the cost of the train?"
Chadwick leaned forward. "Why not charge admission to the games?"
Hundley sat back and was silent. Obviously Chadwick had put an idea in his mind.
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