week on the Pacific, and a little more, with many pleasant experiences and a few of the other kind, the ball-tossing tourists reached Honolulu on Sunday morning, November 25th. Our time schedule, as given by the steamship company, had fixed the date for arrival at Honolulu for Saturday morning, the 24th, but the boat had failed to make time, and we found ourselves a day behind, which led to a serious complication.
A game of Base Ball between the great American teams had been announced for Saturday. It was now Sunday. Honolulu had the "lid on." What was to be done?
The American game had at that time, nearly a quarter of a century ago, taken a strong hold of the popular heart at Honolulu. Here was the home of Alexander J. Cartwright, founder of the first Base Ball club ever organized—Father of the famed Knickerbockers. Many Americans were there who had played the game at home, and the natives also were developing some skill at the pastime. The widely-heralded news of our coming, accompanied by the assurance that the game would be presented by its most celebrated and proficient exponents, had created interest among lovers of the sport and had aroused much curiosity on the part of the general public. Everybody wanted to witness the game; but, alas, it was Sunday. We were to leave late that evening; therefore it was Sunday—or never. Petitions came flooding in upon me for a Sunday game. I at once made an investigation, which satisfied me that the missionaries who were looking after the moral welfare of the natives had closed the doors against
