The walkin’ matches which have taken such a hold of New York of late years, have brought to the surface a dozen or so of pedestrians, more or less prominent. But the world knows nothin’–and it is well for the world that it don’t–of the hundreds of would-be walkers, or the scores upon scores of men who think ‘emselves the greatest-in-the-world pedestrians.
Yet it has been my unfortunate fate to be forced to know a good deal too much about these would-be pedestrians (on paper), these think-’emselves “champion” walkers, not on the tan-bark, but on their tongues, or “on their brains,” if they have any.
Why, durin’ the last fifteen years I must have received some five hundred letters, each letter from some fellow who could without any doubt beat any pedestrian from Weston to Rowell, if only I’d give him the chance, and give him some money.
For these chaps all have the most splendid legs–accordin’ to ‘emselves–and the most splendid constitutions–accordin’ to their doctors–they never have by any possibility a backer or a dollar, which has made it sad for them and sadder for me.
Some of the epistles I have received from these ambitious, but inpecunious, legists are quite amusin’ in their way; at least they will probably amuse my readers as bein’ to ‘em a novelty, though they have long since ceased to amuse me, havin’ become a bore.
One chap wrote to me that he knew he “could beat the world walkin’,” because he had been in the employ of the District Telegraph Messenger Company, and was considered the quickest and longest walker in its service. “I have had plenty of walkin’ in my time,” this chap wrote to me, and yet he wanted more of it.
Another one writes that he knows he could make a great walker, because he has been a bill collector in a country town. This chap has some humor about him. He says that he has been used to walkin’ “magnificent distances” after very small bills, at a very trifling per centage, and he argues that if he could walk say ten miles after ten dollars, why he might walk a thousand miles for a thousand dollars, and so on. An argument which has more sense in it than some of the statements and arguments the generality of these fellows make.
Here is a letter I received from a chap who was full of what the highfaluten’ writers would call “a sublime self-consciousness.” His letter is short and sweet:
Harry Hill,Esq.–Sir: Permit me to consider myself excused for this intrusion and next to explain the object of it. I address you because I believe you are (as indeed, everybody now is) interested in pedestrianism, and inclined to encourage the practice of it. I am not a professional nor even an amateur pedestrian; but, after careful calculation and consideration, I feel certain that I can beat the best six day feat as yet accomplished. I am ready and willing to give practical proof of this assertion by submitting to a six-day test–public or private. All I want is the opportunity. Can you supply it?
Here is a letter from another modest chap, who, although we were perfect strangers, wanted me to “back” him”
Mr. Harry Hill–Sir: I will undertake to walk 1,000 half miles in as many half hours if you will agree to act as my backer. I have no record, but I have been advised by friends to write you asking you to become my backer. I am confident I can accomplish the above walk myself, and if you consent to be my backer I will be ready at any time to begin, or I will address you personally if you desire it. I will be satisfied with any agreement you make.
Another business-like stranger, with an original idea, coolly offers his services, and lays down his terms in the following verbatim epistle:
Mr. Hill– Sir: If you want to now how much I will come and talk and walk for in your theatre I will come and walk 50 hours for one hundred and fifty dollars on the head of a hogshead, or 75 hours for $200 and expenses, or, I will walk on a 20 fut plank against any man for $200, doing the walking without rest or sleep. If you want to engage me right and let me now, if you will furnish a man to take care of me while walking, or I will fetch a man. This hogshead walking is a novelty to every body, and thousands will go to see it. I am positively shure of it. Please right back by return mail.
Another chap writes to me from the Catskills about some other pedestrian party whom he has fortunately discovered–for me. The letter runs thusly:
Dear Mr. Harry Hill–I write to inform you that I have found and now have the (I believe myself) fastest and best walker in the world. He is a young man picked up out of the street, about twenty-one or twenty-two years, old 5 ft 7 ½ or 8 inches high, and weighs about 160 pounds. I will tell you what he did. He went in a building on a sawdust track, with his old clothes and shoes on, and walked eighty-three miles in fourteen and a half hours, and never left the track once, and was about as fresh when he finished as when he began, and was around next day as lively as though nothing had happened, and had no extra care or training. Now what I want to know is if you will get up a match with Leary or some other professional of some kind, and upon what terms? He (my man) is poor and has not a dollar, neither have I. But if you can arrange things some way so we can all make a good thing I will put him on diet and produce him. I don’t know what kind of match to make (but he is, I think, a laster) and think we might make one like this: the parties to walk seventy-five miles in sixteen consecutive hours each day for 1,000 miles; in sixteen hours for first 500 miles and in 17 hours for next 500 miles. This would make plenty of time for gate money, but the trouble would be if either should miss an hour any day it would spoil the match. Perhaps that could be got around some way, or you could think of some other match. He would make it so hot for O’Leary that even if O’Leary could beat him he could throw the match and never be known, as the party took us in Oneida on the McLaughlin and Homer Lane wrestling match. I was one of those who paid there.
Now write me at once as I tell you, Harry, there is a good thing in him for you, myself and him.
P.S.–He is a Scotchman and is the coming champion walker.
It is evident that the writer of this letter “wasn’t on the square” and thought I wasn’t either. If he couldn’t win the match, he’d “throw” it, and took it for granted that was the usual style of doin’ business, but it isn’t, and it isn’t my way either.
Among other letters of this kind I have one from a man who thinks he is lucky in his brother. He writes me:
My brother is seventeen years and three months old; never had an hour’s training, and yet, yesterday, stepped in the arena and walked his 25 miles in 4 hours 10 minutes, without a puff. A number of gentleman saw his performance yesterday and unhesitatingly pronounce him the boy pedestrian of the world. He does his work handsomely, no shuffling or wobbling, but a good heel and toe walk, with about a 36-inch stride. Send for us and we’ll come and show you what the boy can do. He has the action of a veteran. He is game to the bottom. He is the comin’ “walker of the world.”
What a brother to have!
One chap wrote to me very briefly and directly about himself. He says, simply: “My wishes are to be established as a pedestrian in New York. I am the best walker living but am without means to start myself, and am ready to come to New York at a moment’s notice if you will bring me. I want you to train me and back me, as I am without means to back myself.”
If the writer of this cool epistle had one half the leg power he has of “cheek power” he would be indeed “the best walker livin’.”
Among my volunteer correspondents was a chap who differed from the rest of ‘em in havin’ some little money of his own, or at least a country store, which he was willin’ to stake on his walkin’ abilities. This chap’s letter has some human nature in it, so I give it as I got it:
Mr. Harry Hill–Dear Sir: After reading the great feats of O’Leary and Weston and other pedestrians with particular interest, especially Hughes’s failure to beat O’Leary, I feel as though I would like trying my qualities as a walker, providing you have a place I could walk to test my endurance for a long journey, without letting any of my friends hear of it until after I had walked a few hundred miles; then, if I had the same confidence in myself as I have now, I would be willing to test my qualities against the foremost pedestrian in our country. I have witnessed most all kinds of sport, but have never yet seen these fast men on the track. Now, sir, I have never trained myself as a fast walker, although it seems very natural for me to walk fast without any force put. I have often walked from here to Trenton on the turnpike, which is five miles, in an hour, with ease, and I have walked four miles in forty-five minutes on this pike, in collecting my bills through the country. I often walked twenty miles or more without feeling fatigued, but never tried it on a long journey, although I have the utmost confidence in myself, because I am healthy, always feel well, and weigh 138 pounds. I am used to walking and love it. I feel certain I can walk six miles an hour without a skip on a good walk and keep it up for a long distance, but whether I could keep it up for several or how many hours I don’t know. I have always kept my walkin’ abilities to myself; in fact never thought much about it till lately.
If I was certain I could hold out for a long distance, I would wager half the stock in my store against any of them. I thought, if you had not lost hopes since Hughes’s failure, I would spare time from my business to try it, although I should hate to fail in the attempt, but that is the only way to learn; but I think if you will pay, you can fix it to suit yourself, yours fraternally,
P.S.–You can depend on what I tell you. I never recommend myself to do what I thought I could not do; it would not do to be laughed at.
Another correspondent was “a colored band and a brother,” and for cheek and business combined this colored brother’s epistle beats the lot. I would like to give his name. There must be stuff in a stupendously cheeky chap like that, whether he could walk or not, but he marked his letter in capitals at the top “confidential.” The letter reads as follows:
Pedestrianism seems to be all the go at present, yet notwithstanding the many contests that have taken place, and the many challenges we see in the papers, I fail to see one from any colored person. I have the honor to be identified with that race, and furthermore, I have done some pretty fair walking in my day. Now for the object of this letter:
I received a few days ago a challenge from another young colored gentleman (never mind his name at present) who desires to walk me a match of 144 hours, “to go as you please.” He is a good man and will no doubt make a good show on the track. He claims to be able to run ten or twenty miles with ease. Being young and strong he will work hard for the supremacy.
On behalf of myself I will simply state that while I have never walked six consecutive days, I have walked sufficiently well to convince me that, with two or three weeks training, under some good man, I will not only be enabled to vanquish my adversary, but I will beat Hughes’s time, which I confidently believe I can do.
The conditions under which we will undertake the week’s tramp are:
First–That you secure Gilmore’s Garden, or some good Hall–the Garden is preferable, of course. The expenses attending the match you are to bear.
Second–Of the proceeds from the sale of tickets you are to receive one half as your share. The other half to be the prize to go to the person covering the greatest distance, which will be me, of course
Third–The receipts from the bar, if any, will go to you, to further increase your share as compensation for the risk attending the contest.
The above conditions are open to criticism and amendments. I mean business and will sign papers to the above. The match to take place one month (of 30 days) from the date of signing of the papers.
I send you this communication, knowing the lively interest you take in sporting matters, trusting you will be able to see the practicality of it, and will take advantage of this proposition.
Hoping to hear from you soon, I am,——
Of course he “heard from me soon.” He ought to have heard what some of “the boys” said when I read his letter to ‘em. But for quiet, business-like cheek it beats any letter of the same number of words I ever received in all my life. I’ve always felt as if I would like to know the author of that letter. He oughtn’t to have been a “colored man.” His proper place would be the head of a life insurance company, a book canvassing concern, a lightning rod arrangement or a commercial drummer.
I never had the pleasure of meetin’ face to face with any of my correspondents, save one, who after writin’ me some letters and gettin’ no answer, called at my little theatre one night and introduced himself.
The boys had some fun with this fellow. They “chaffed” him–and filled him even fuller than he was of self conceit–gave him an idea that Weston and O’Leary were nowhere along side of him, and made an appointment for him at my place the next mornin’ to show what he could do.
That next mornin’ there were some dozen or so of the sports gathered at the corner of Houston and Crosby streets to see this aspirant for fame–and to see the fun.
The fellow made his appearance on time, lookin’ as important as a Cabinet minister or a constable. Then the boys set him to walkin’ around the block between Houston and Bleecker and Crosby streets and the Bowery, keepin’ him trampin’ round and round till he was nearly ready to drop, quite a crowd of loafers and small boys followin’ his footsteps all the while. Then the boys set him to runnin’, or tryin’ to run; then they set the stray dogs on to him, on the sly; then he got into a row with a old woman he knocked down in his hurry; and finally he came near being arrested by the police as a lunatic. Then the boys took him into my stable and rubbed him down, groomin’ him just as if he was a horse.
Then they made him eat some “mash”–callin’ it some other name–and currycombed him, absolutely currycombed him, pretendin’ that was Weston’s way, and then let him cool off stark naked in the hay. Altogether the boys had all the fun they wanted, and the fellow had all the walkin’ he wanted, and that afternoon he left New York a worn-out but a wiser man; and there was one amateur would be pedestrian the less in this trampin’ world, which was indeed a benefit for all concerned.
[Editor’s note: For a better look at the competition between Weston and O’Leary, and the significance of pedestrianism in the history of sport, see Neatorama’s blog article The Amazing Pedestrian Race. Gilmore’s Garden, formerly Barnum’s Hippodrome, at the corner of E. 26th St. and Madison Ave., was leased and operated by Patrick Gilmore for a couple of years, before being renamed Madison Square Garden in 1879. It was demolished in 1889.]
