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Title: Fools of Fortune - or Gambling and Gamblers
Author: Quinn, John Philip
Language: English
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[Illustration: _John Philip Quinn_]
FOOLS OF FORTUNE
GAMBLING AND GAMBLERS,
COMPREHENDING
A HISTORY OF THE VICE IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES, AND IN BOTH
HEMISPHERES; AN EXPOSITION OF ITS ALARMING PREVALENCE AND
DESTRUCTIVE EFFECTS; WITH AN UNRESERVED AND EXHAUSTIVE
DISCLOSURE OF SUCH FRAUDS, TRICKS AND DEVICES
AS ARE PRACTICED BY “PROFESSIONAL”
GAMBLERS, “CONFIDENCE MEN”
AND “BUNKO STEERERS.”
BY
JOHN PHILIP QUINN,
WHO MODESTLY, YET WITH SINCERITY, TENDERS TO THE WORLD WHAT
HE HOPES MAY EXTENUATE HIS TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF GAMING
AND SYSTEMATIC DECEPTION OF HIS FELLOW-MEN.
---------------------
WITH INTRODUCTIONS BY HON. CHARLES P. JOHNSON, EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI,
AND REV. JOHN SNYDER, D. D., OF ST. LOUIS, AND CHAPTERS CONTRIBUTED
BY REVS. PROFESSOR DAVID SWING AND
ROBERT MCINTYRE, OF CHICAGO.
CHICAGO:
G. L. HOWE & CO.
1890.
COPYRIGHTED, 1890,
BY JOHN P. QUINN,
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
W. B. CONKEY, ELECTROTYPED BY
BOOK MANUFACTURER, G. M. D. LIBBY,
CHICAGO. CHICAGO.
TO
HON. CHARLES P. JOHNSON,
EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI, AND AUTHOR OF THE ANTI-GAMBLING
LAWS OF THAT STATE;
THE CITIZEN,
WHO RECOGNIZES, AS A BOUNDEN DUTY, LOYALTY TO THE INTERESTS OF
SOCIETY AND THE STATE;
THE STATESMAN,
WHOSE EXPOSITION OF THE EVILS OF GAMBLING RESULTED IN
A LAW WHICH BRANDS THAT VICE AS A FELONY AND
ITS “PROFESSOR” AS A CRIMINAL.
THE LAWYER,
WHOSE FAME IS GROUNDED EQUALLY IN ABILITY AND
INTEGRITY, ARE THESE PAGES RESPECTFULLY
INSCRIBED BY
THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration: WHICH WAY?]
PREFACE.
Of all the vices which have enslaved mankind, none can reckon among its
victims so many as gambling. Not even the baneful habit of drink has
blighted so many lives or desolated so many homes. Its fascination is
insidious and terrible, and its power is all the more to be dreaded in
that it appeals to a latent instinct in nearly every human breast. In
view of these considerations it appears strange that English literature
contains no authentic work specially devoted to this subject; while
there exists literally no exposition of its allurements and its dangers
written from the standpoint of one on the inside.
It is to fill this vacant place in literature that the author offers
this volume to the public. For a quarter of a century he has witnessed
and practiced every variety of gambling known to the professional. From
the shores of the Atlantic to the canons of Colorado, from the frozen
lake of the North, drained by the mighty Mississippi, to the sunken
bayous that skirt its delta, he has journeyed to and fro, plying his
nefarious calling. At times realizing the success of his schemes, at
times a penniless wanderer, he has tasted all the joys of a gambler’s
career and drained to the dregs the wormwood which lurks at the bottom
of the cup of illusive, hollow happiness. No art of the fair gamester is
unknown to him, nor is there any device of the sharper with which he is
unacquainted. With shame and remorse he confesses his fault, and it is
in the hope of measurably atoning for his wrong doing, that the present
volume has been prepared.
On the general question of the evil of gaming, there is no difference of
opinion among reflecting men. The problem is, how to check the alarming
increase of the vice? The pulpit fulminates denunciations of its
sinfulness; the press points out its folly; and the legislators affix
penalties to its practice. Yet gambling houses multiply and flourish,
and the yawning jaws of the “tiger” are daily closing upon fresh
victims. The clergy are powerless to restrain young men from tasting for
themselves the fascination of the green cloth; the public prints serve
but to whet and stimulate curiosity; and the professional gamblers
openly set at defiance laws which have long since become dead letters
upon the statute books.
Where, then, is the remedy? In the opinion of the author, it is ready at
hand. Gaming-hells cannot prosper without new victims; show men that
success is impossible in an unequal contest between inexperience on the
one hand and skill and chicanery on the other, and the ranks of the
victims will soon be thinned through the lack of new recruits.
Curiosity has ever been peculiarly a characteristic of youth since the
day when the arch tempter wrought the downfall of the race through an
appeal to the desire for “knowledge of good and evil.” Young men are
anxious to investigate, to discover, to “find out for themselves.” Give
them a certain knowledge that loss is the inevitable consequence of
entering upon any designated path, and they will hesitate long before
entering upon that path. Satisfy their curiosity as to what is concealed
behind a closed door, and the chief temptation to open that door will be
removed.
Herein consists what the author cannot but believe will make these pages
a powerful agency for good. In them are faithfully portrayed the
vicissitudes of a gambler’s wretched life, while at the same time they
present a full and true disclosure of all the dishonest artifices
employed by professionals to delude and victimize their dupes. It is not
only a thirst for excitement that leads men to gamble, another powerful
incentive is the hope of winning. Convince any man, young or old, that
instead of having a chance of winning he is confronted with a certainty
of loss, and he will place no wager. This is the conviction which must
be brought home to the intelligence and reason of every thoughtful man
who carefully reads the exposition of dishonesty which this book
contains.
No graver responsibility can be conceived than that which rests upon the
shoulders of the parent to whom is intrusted the training of a young
man. Upon the manner in which is fulfilled this sacred trust, depends
not only the economic and moral value of the future citizen, but also
the welfare, for time and eternity, of a priceless human soul. The
gaming resort opens wide its doors, the entrance to which means ruin, of
both body and soul. Of what vital importance is it, therefore; that
around the youth of the Republic every safeguard should be thrown, and
that they should be shielded from temptation by exposing its fatuous
character. “Forewarned is forearmed.”
The volume is not only a recital of personal experience and an
embodiment of the lessons to be derived therefrom. It also presents a
history of gambling from remote antiquity, and a description of the vice
as practiced in every clime. The latter portion of the work is the
result of careful and painstaking research among the best sources of
information available, and is believed to be at once authentic and
complete. It has also been the aim of the author to add to the interest
of Part II by imparting to it, as far as practicable, a local coloring
through incorporating a succinct view of the vice of gaming, as
conducted at the chief American centres of civilization and commerce.
Rev. Professor David Swing, of Chicago, the eminent thinker, has
contributed an interesting chapter on the nature and effects of gaming,
and Rev. Robert McIntyre, of the same city, who has held spell-bound so
many audiences throughout the land, has added one in which he eloquently
and forcibly portrays the moral aspects of this soul-destroying vice.
The author desires to return heartfelt thanks to those who have aided
him in his self-imposed task. He acknowledges his indebtedness for the
words of encouragement which he has received from the many eminent
clergymen and educators who have endorsed his work.
_John Philip Quinn_
CHICAGO, 1890.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
DEDICATION. 5
PREFACE. 7-9
INDEX. 19-25
INTRODUCTION:—BY CHARLES P. JOHNSON. 26-28
” BY REV. JOHN SNYDER, D. D. 29-30
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOHN PHILIP QUINN, 33-64
THE THREE STAGES OF A GAMBLER’S LIFE, 65
-------
=PART I.=
=...._Gambling Historically Considered_....=
-------
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS, FOOD FOR REFLECTION.
Gaming Indefensible—A False Idea of Happiness—Oriental
Knowledge of Ethics—Origin of the Gaming
Instinct—Blackstone’s Definition of Gaming—Gambling and
Commerce Contrasted—The Gambler’s Philosophy—His End—The
Gaming Table an Incentive to Suicide—Gambling Subversive of
Social Order—The Gamester an Ishmaelite—Hereditary Vice—The
Practice Condemned by Legislative Enactment—Jewish and
Egyptian Statutes—How Gaming was Regarded by the Greeks and
Romans—The Code of Justinian—The Common Law and Statutes of
England Compared—The Enactments of American Legislatures
Examined and Compared—The True Theory of Repression 67-73
CHAPTER II.
HEBREWS, PERSIANS, CHINESE AND JAPANESE.
The “Lot” Among the Hebrews—The Putative Sacred Origin
of Gaming—Egyptian Legends—Mercury Gambling With the
Sun—Artaxerxes and Paracletus—An Assassin’s Life at
Stake—Gambling Prohibited by the Mohammedan Code—Gaming
Among the Hindoos—Worship of the Goddess of Wealth—Ancient
Dice Throwing—Antiquity of Loaded Dice—A Game For a Kingdom
and a Wife—A Persian Legend—The Wrath of Duryodhana—The
Vengeance of the Pandavas—Gambling Among the
Chinese—Favorite Frauds Among the Celestials—Chinese
Gambling Implements—The “Poetical” Game—Gaming Prohibited by
Chinese Statutes—Oriental “Hells”—The Tan-Koon, the N’gan,
and the Ho-Koon—Favorite Chinese Games—“Ching
Low”—“Nim”—Women as Gamesters—How “Koo Yan” is
Played—Betting on Enigmas—Frauds—“Striking the White Dove”—A
Substitute For the Lottery—Cards and Dice Prohibited in
Japan 74-86
CHAPTER III.
ANCIENT AND MODERN GREEKS AND ROMANS, TURKEY IN EUROPE, AND ASIA MINOR.
Gaming a Factor in the Fall of Greece—Dicing at
Athens—Gaming an Aid to Despotism—Encouraged by
Alexander—Cocking Mains Among the Greeks—Origin of
Dice—Roman Dice—Value of Throws—Odd Customs—Roman Laws
Regarding Gaming—Infamous Character and Practices of Roman
Gamblers-“Cogged Dice”—Ancient Writers Deplore the
Prevalence of Dicing—Caligula as a Gamester—Claudius and
Nero—Cato’s Infatuation for Play—Corruption of
Children—Fighting Quails—Rome at the End of the Fourth
Century—Skill in Gaming an Introduction to Society—Gambling
a Cause of the Fall of the Empire—The Vice Universally
Prevalent—Gambling Among the Modern Greeks—Tricks of
Sharpers—Shifting the Cut—Methods of Stocking—The
“Bridge”—Fraudulent Dealing—Crimping—Palming—Tricks of
Confederates—The “Roof”—The Cold
Deck—Finettes—Costieres—Marked Cards—The Bug—Pincers as a
Gambling Implement—Strippers—The Chaplet—Degradation of the
Turks and Modern Greeks—Gambling a Source of Poverty and
Squalor—Wagering One’s Liberty as a Stake—Street
Gambling—The “Comboloio”—A Water Jug as a Dice Box—Gambling
Hells in Greece—A Multiplicity of “Joints”—Cheating Not
Regarded as Disgraceful—False Bottoms—Perils of
Travelers—Surprising Cleverness of the Greek
Gamblers—Personal Reminiscences—An Ancient Gaming House—A
Gambling Hell at Corinth 87-94
CHAPTER IV.
GERMANY, RUSSIA, ROUMANIA, BULGARIA AND SERVIA.
Gambling among the Ancient Huns—Ancient German Warriors
as Gamesters—Playing For One’s Liberty—Selling the Loser as
a Slave—Modern Germany—Famous Gambling Resorts—The Gaming
Season—The Games Played—The Growth of Homburg—The Blanc
Brothers—A Venal Prime Minister—The First Roulette Wheel at
Homburg—A Heavy Tax—The First Cure-Hall Built—A Great Gaming
Company—A Gorgeous Resort—“The Temple of Fortune”—Gambling
in the Balkan Peninsula—Gaming Among the Bulgarian and
Servian Peasants—Playing for Bread and Milk—Gamins Gambling
for Candy—Street Gamblers—Peripatetic Fakirs—“Doubles or
Quits”—Gaming Preferred to Manual Labor—A Successful
Gamester—Suicide and Starvation—“Tag Alek” A Hell in
Belgrade—Scenes of Debauchery—The “Shades”—Lightly Clad
Women as Attendants—Female Gamesters—The “Lurley”—Opium
Smoking as an Adjunct to Gambling—A Dangerous
Resort—Licensed Gambling—Large Revenues Enjoyed by
Principalities—Baden Baden—Heavy Expenses and Enormous
Profits—Wiesbaden and Ems—Spa—A President of a Council
Leases His Mansion to a Gaming Company—The attractions at
Wiesbaden—The Cure Hall—A Mixed State of
Society—Blackmailing Courtesans—Beauties of Baden—The
Conversation House—Gorgeous Appointments—Attractive
Promenades—The Gambling Rooms at Baden—Heavy License Fees
and Running Expenses—An Interesting Scene—Playing for High
Stakes—The Cure Hall—Reckless Playing—Infatuated Women—A
Ruined Gamester—A Cosmopolitan Assembly—Venturesome
Spirits—A Woman’s Passion for Play—Characteristics at Ems—A
Noted Croupier—A Checkered Career—Russian Society—Easy
Morals—Aristocratic Debauchees—Gaming in Roumania 95-112
CHAPTER V.
ITALY, MONTE CARLO, FRANCE, SPAIN, MEXICO, CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA.
Gaming in Italy—At Naples, Under the Spaniards—Cardinal
Zapata’s Prohibition—High Stakes and Heavy Losses—Monte
Carlo—The Famous Casino—The Handiwork of Blanc—A Palace
Built at the Expense of Dupes—The Tables and Their
Games—Public Resorts and Private Clubs—French Disgrace—An
Enormous Rental—The Hours of Play—A Meeting Place For
Gamesters of all Nations—Are the Games Fair?—The Limit of
the Stakes—A Trente et Quarante Table described—The Bank’s
Advantage—Famous Gardens and Drives—An Ornate Theater—Free
Musical Entertainments of Rare Merit—Hotels and
Cafés—Depravity of the French Aristocracy—A Royal
Gambler—Historic Reminiscences—Cards and Dice in the
Louvre—Professional Gamblers Hired by a King—Reckless
Prodigality—Fortunes Lost and Won—Efforts to Suppress
Gambling in Paris—Spread of the Vice Among the French
People—The Reign of Louis XIV—Licensed Gaming
Houses—Gambling at the Mansions of Ambassadors—Hospitals
Founded and Supported by Fees Paid for Gambling
Licenses—Women Allowed to Play in Public Houses—Crime,
Misfortune and Scandal—Frequency of Suicides and
Bankruptcy—Fouche’s Enormous Revenue from the Sale of
Licenses—Gamblers as Police Spies—Abolition of the License
System—Gambling by high Officials of the Republic—Frascadi’s
and the _Circle des Etrangers_—Loans Without
Security—Suppers and Balls as Attractions at the
“Hells”—Anecdotes of French Gamblers—A Resort For Noblemen,
Mechanics and Loafers—French Usurers—French Women’s Love For
Play—French Club Houses—Cheating at the Parisian Gambling
Dens—“The Chaplet”—Stocking—A Snuff Box as a Shiner—Cold
Decks—Marked Cards—Celebrated Frenchmen Ruined by
Gambling—Shameful Stakes—The Reign of Napoleon
III—Demoralization Caused by Gambling—Police Surveillance of
Club Houses—Playing for Ready Money Stakes Prohibited—Sad
Experience of a Proprietor of a Club—A Million Lost in Four
Years—Profits of Baccarat Houses—High Sounding Names for
Gaming Hells—French “Steerers”—Dishonest Play the
Rule—Spanish Love For Gaming—Liberality of the Grandees of
Ancient Times—Prodigality of the Duke of Lima—Gambling
Universal and Open—Noblemen Who Live by Gaming—A Spanish
Countess’ Shame—Women Who Conduct “Banks”—Gambling Dens in
Madrid—Gambling a Characteristic Feature of the Latin
Races—Mexico, Central and South America—Dice and
Cards—Popularity of the Lottery—Publicity of Gambling in the
Central and South American Republics—A Mexican
Fandango—Mexican Gaming Booths—Chusa—Gaming the Favorite
Amusement of All Classes 113-137
CHAPTER VI.
ENGLAND.
Gambling at the time of the Crusades—The Reigns of
Richard I and John—Dice Throwing among the
Barons—Restrictions placed upon the Limit of Stakes among
the Crusaders—Gambling During the Reign of Elizabeth and the
Stuarts—Gaming in 1668—Practices of Sharpers—A Game with a
King for the Bells of St. Paul’s—Cromwell’s Efforts to
Suppress Gaming—Prevalence of the Vice Under Charles II—A
Gamester’s Suicide—A Duke Loses £230,000 in a Night—The
Reign of George III—Fox’s Heavy Losses—Faro in the Houses of
the Nobility—Decline of Gaming with Cards and
Dice—Universality of Turf-Betting—Characteristics of English
Gamesters—Gaming at Clubs and Coffee Houses—Vile
Dens—White’s—Brooks’—Crockford’s—Fishmonger’s Hall—The
Berkely Club—St. James’—Melton
Mowbray—Stangers’—Cavendish—Leicester’s—Hertford’s—Description
of a London “Hell” in 1824—A Successful Gambling
House—Palatial Appointments—An Aristocratic Resort—Reckless
Playing—Dean Swift’s Strictures on White’s—Titled
Dupes—Inveterate Gamesters of High Degree—A Fortune Lost at
Hazard—A Novel Betting Book—Strange Subjects for
Wagers—Heartless Bets—Celebrities to be Found at
Brooks’—Almack’s—Heavy Stakes—Pitt as a Gambler—Wilberforce
and Gibbon at Almack’s—The Waiter’s
Club—Dishonesty—Prevalence of Gambling in the Eighteenth
Century—Ruin, Disgrace and Despair—Multiplicity of Gaming
Rooms—The Official Staff of an English Gambling House in
1751—Gaming in Theatrical Green Rooms—Among the Lower
Classes—The “Devil’s Walk”—Dangerous Dens—Dissolute Women as
“Steerers”—“Quadrant” Clubs—London “Hells” in 1844—Gamblers
“Following the Races”—The Eldorado at Doncaster—Unlimited
Play at Warwick—Open Solicitation—A “Groom-porter”—English
and French Hazard—The Proprietor’s Winnings—Vile
Resorts—From Rags to Affluence—Infatuation and Ruin—A “Hell”
Early in the Nineteenth Century—Plundering Drunken and
Belated Players—Odds at Hazard—Provisions Against Police
Raids—Bullying Patrons—Disgusting Scenes—Staking
Apparel—Debauchery Run Riot—Various Grades of Gaming
Houses—Fortunes for the Proprietors and Ruin for the
Dupes—Subsidizing the Police—Force and
Cunning—Steerers—Dishonest Servants—Friend Betraying
Friend—The Nobility in League with Swindlers—Blacklegs at
the Tables of the Aristocracy—Base Stakes—Fashionable Ladies
as Gamesters—A Minister Conducting an Illegal Lottery—The
South Sea Bubble—Lotteries and Their Debasing
Effects—History of Ante-Gaming Legislation in
England—Curious Evidence Given Before the House of
Lords—Prosecutions for Keeping Gaming Tables—A Salesman’s
Confession—Defects in Legal Administration—Gambling English
Statesmen—Chevalier and Mad Ogle—Noted London
Gamblers—Germain—Hughes—“Beau” Nash—“Whig”
Middleton—Bennett—O’Kelly—Dick England—A Noteworthy
Trial—Wilberforce and George Selwyn—Sir Philip
Frances—Anecdotes of “Beau” Brummel 138-182
-------
=PART II.=
=...._Gambling Historically Considered_....=
-------
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
Gambling Spirit in the United States—The Features Which
Characterize It—The Green Cloth and the Stock Exchange—Greed
for Gain and a Spirit of Recklessness—“Margins” and
Stakes—“Profits” and Winnings—Various Forms of Gaming—Bucket
Shops—Policy Playing—The Louisiana Lottery—Aim of Part
II—Gambling in “Hells” and on Fair Grounds—“Banking”
Games—Their Popularity—Percentage of the Proprietors—“Draw”
and “Stud” Poker—“Square” and “Brace” Houses—“Plucking
Pigeons”—Dishonest Devices Employed at “Square” Houses—Tacit
Toleration of Gambling Rooms—Poker a National
Pastime—Gambling at Fashionable Clubs—Play at Semi-Private
Club Rooms—Police Indifference—Itinerant
Gamblers—Inefficiency of Prohibitory Legislation—The Johnson
Law—Gambling and Drunkenness Twin Relics of Barbarism 185-190
CHAPTER II.
FARO GAMBLING AND GAMBLERS.
Origin of Cards—Origin of Faro—Its Antiquity and
Popularity—A Fruitful Source of Misery—Faro Compared to the
Tiger—The Principles of the Game—Playing on a “System”—The
Dealer and the “Looker-Out”—The “Plain” and “Running”
Limit—“Parleeing” a Bet—The Lay-Out—The “Big Square”—The
“Second Square”—The “Pot”—Method of Dealing in
Germany—Invention of Dealing Boxes—“Soda” and “Hock”
Cards—Mum—“Coppering” a Bet—A “Turn”—“Splits”—“Barring” a
Bet—“Calling the Last Turn”—A “Cat Hop”—“String Bets”—“Cue
Cards”—The Chances of the Game—Fraudulent Methods and
Devices—”Side Strippers”—“Rakes”—“Hollows and
Rounds”—“Squares and Rounds”—“Faked” Dealing Boxes—The
“Screw Box”—The “Lever Movement, or End Squeeze”—The “Needle
Movement”—The “Sand-Tell” Box—“Case Keepers”—The “Put-
Back”—The “Hair Copper”—“Snaking” and the Various Methods
Employed—The Card Punch—Marking the Edges—The “Odd”—Playing
With Fifty-Three Cards—The “Double-Odd”—Other Schemes of
Fraud—Incidents—Misadventure of a “Brace” Dealer—“Cappers,”
“Steerers” and “Ropers”—Their Shameless Practices—A
“Steerer’s” Benevolent Act—“Brace” Houses Opened by
“Square”(?) Gamblers—Schemes of Rascally Confederates to
Defraud One Another—“Throwing Off” a Game—A Unique
Establishment—The Great “Hell” at Pueblo—Short Faro—Police
Protection to Gambling—Devices for Defeating an Honest
Raid—Personal Recollections—Deplorable Results of the
Gambling Mania—Sad Fate of Prominent Professional Gamblers—A
“Dip”—Heartlessness of the Blackleg 191-213
CHAPTER III.
POKER AND POKER PLAYING.
Essentially an American Game—Its Great and Growing
Popularity—Dangers of Its Insidious Fascination—Method of
Play—Relative Value of the Hands—Definition of Technical
Terms Employed—Frauds
Practiced—Strippers—Briefs—“Stocking”—The Top Stock—Bottom
Stock—Jog Stock—Palm Stock—False Shuffles—False Cuts—Running
Up Two Hands—Crimping—Cold Decks—Marked Cards—Despicable
Devices—Partnerships—Double Discard—Flushes, Fulls and
Fours—Holding Out—The “Bug”—The Sleeve Hold Out—The Table
Hold Out—The Vest Hold Out—Convexes and Shiners—The “Nail
Prick”—“Second Dealing”—The “Telegraph”—A Sure Hand—Stud
Poker—Incidents and Reminiscences 214-242
CHAPTER IV.
SHORT GAMES.
Why Called “Short”—Rouge et Noir—The Lay-Out—Method of
Play—The Enormous Preponderance of Chances in the Bank’s
Favor—Schemes of Fraud—Barefaced Robbery—Doubles or
Quits—Turning Up Jack—“Ropers” and “Steerers”—Comparative
Popularity of the Game in America and Europe—Roulette—The
Table and Wheel—How Bets are Made—Heavy Odds Against the
Player—Various “Faked” Wheels Described—The “Double
Centre”—Players at the Mercy of the Proprietors—Keno—How
Played—“Rollers” and “Collectors”—The Percentage Exacted on
Winnings—Fortunes Won With Keno “Globes”—Collusion with
“Cappers”—Rolling Faro—The Wheel Explained—How Played on
Fair Grounds, and How at Gaming Houses—The Natural Odds in
Favor of the “Bank”—How the Wheel is “Faked”—Rival
Gamblers—A Personal Reminiscence—High-Ball Poker—How and
Where Played—The Proprietor’s Percentage—The “Square” and
“Skin” Game—“Cappers” and “Pluggers” 243-255
CHAPTER V.
VARIOUS CARD GAMES.
Seven-Up, or Old Sledge—Principles of the
Game—Fraudulent Methods—Strippers—Briefs—Half Stock—The
Whole Stock—Crimping—Marking the Edges—The High Hand—The
Long Hand—The Short Hand—Holding Out—Marked Cards—Whist—Cold
Decks—A Dupe’s Good Hand—Casino—“Canada Bill” as a Casino
Player—The Use of
“Paper”—Euchre—Strippers—Briefs—Stocking—Crimping—The
“Bug”—Palming—The “High Hand” at Euchre—Cribbage—Various
Schemes of Fraud—How Cards Are Trimmed For Cribbage—The
“Telegraph”—Vingt-un, or Twenty-One—How Played—Devices of
the Professional Blackleg—Confederated Rascals 256-272
CHAPTER VI.
DICE AND THE DICE BOX.
Antiquity of Dice Throwing—The Sport Declining in
Popularity—Hieronymus—The Game Explained—The “Bowl” and
Dice—A Heavy Percentage Against Players—Deception and
Trickery—Substitution of Dice—The “Spring Board”—Fraudulent
Dice—Chuck-a-Luck—An “Old Army Game”—An Inexpensive
Outfit—Method of Betting—How Greenhorns are Cheated—A
Favorite Game for “Ringing In” Loaded Dice—Holding Out the
Cubes—An Artful Device—The Work of a “Side
Partner”—“Craps”—Personal Introduction to the Game—“Come,
Seven or Eleven”—A Rather Expensive Experience—Mode of
Play—Favorite Frauds at “Craps”—Substitution of Unfair
Dice—Cubes Made of Sugar—The Police Foiled—Eight Die Case—A
Gift Enterprise—The Prizes—Why they Cannot be Won—How Dupes
are Defrauded—“Representing”—A Shameful
Deceit—“Cappers”—Poker Dice—“Over and Under Seven”—How
Played—Modes of Cheating—“Top and Bottom”—A Bold Scheme of
Fraud—How Victims are Fleeced—Dice Tops—Grand Hazard—Heavy
Odds Against an Impossible Contingency—The Use of
“Ringers”—“Mustang”—Loaded Dice 273-283
CHAPTER VII.
GAMES AT FAIRS AND CIRCUSES.
How Licenses are Obtained—The Directors’
Disgrace—Personal Experience—Collusion With the
Authorities—Officers of the Law as Blackmailers—The Author’s
Aim—The Needle Wheel—Its Construction—How Operated—The
“Faked Element”—“Cappers” as an
Adjunct—“Representing”—“Corona,” or “Mascot”—“Cappers,”
“Bookkeepers” and “Suckers”—Nursing False Hopes—The “Wheel
of Fortune”—Its Principle—Mode of Betting—“Playing for
Prizes”—The “Six Number Wheel”—Defrauding Greenhorns—A
Manipulator a Victim—The Board of Trade Wheel—The Squeeze
Spindle—How Operated—Disadvantages of “Suckers”—A
Reminiscence—The Discomfiture of a Countryman—Fraudulent
Spindles—A Countryman’s Enforced Demand—Tivoli, or
Bagatelle—The Game Explained—“Representing”—“Cappers”—The
Jenny Wheel—The “Faked” Devices—The Profits of the
Machine—The O’Leary Belt—Its Fraudulent
Winnings—“Cappers”—Risks of the Operator—“Hap-Hazard, or
Bee-Hive”—Box and Balls—An Unfortunate Experience—Miniature
Race Track—Striking Machines—Top and Bottom Boxes—The
Swinging Ball 284-310
CHAPTER VIII.
GOLD BRICK AND BUNKO.
Ingenuity of the Gold Brick Swindlers—Inadequacy of
Newspaper Explanations—The Victim’s Taciturnity—Three
Confederates Necessary—A Small Capital Required—Selection of
a Victim—Shameless Practices of Reputable Citizens—The
“Miner”—The “Rockies”—The “Indian”—“Tom Jones”—Cupidity an
Aid to Deception—“Mr. Jones” as an Amanuensis—The Nugget and
the “Medicine Shop”—“Smoke Water”—A Tempting Bait—The
“Miner” and Mr. Jones Fellow Travelers—The “Trailer”—A
Duplicate Purchase of Acid—A Suspicious “Redskin”—“Sleepy
Water”—Substituted Borings—A “Sucker” Over-reaching
Himself—A Hasty Departure—“Every Bit True”—Dr. Snyder’s
Experience With a Gold Brick Swindler—Bunko—Millions Won
Through the Fraud—Its Methods Explained—The “Chart”—The
“Steerer” and the “Sucker”—Heartless Scoundrels—The “Capper”
and the “Dupe”—The “Send”—The “Trailer”—A Substituted
Package—A “Bunko” Game at Eureka Springs 311-332
CHAPTER IX.
CONFIDENCE GAMES.
Depravity of Confidence Men—Why they Succeed—Their
Dupes—Misplaced Sympathy—Three Card Monte—Bogus Checks—Over
Issue—“Dropping the Pigeon”—The Tobacco Box—Knife—“Padlock”
and “Safe”—“Quarter Under Foot”—The “Shot Gun”—“Give
Away”—“Five Cards”—Top and Bottom Boxes—Foot Racing—The
“Shell Game”—“Dollar Store,” or “Drop Case”—Minor Confidence
Games—The Grandmother Trick—The Soap Game—The Foot
Race—“Flim-Flam” 333-359
CHAPTER X.
GAMBLING STORIES AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
Ruined by a Funeral—“Fly-Loo”—The “Top Stock” Beaten—A
Woodsman Known by His Chips—The “Morning” Principle—A
Friend’s Bad Faith—Influence of Money on Parental
Disapprobation—Timidity of Professional Gamblers—“Old Black
Dan”—Effects of a Sensitive Conscience—How an Old Scout Had
an Ace “Full”—The Failure of a Telegraph Wire—A Queer
Stake—Dan Rice’s Big Poker Game—A Discouraged Speculator—The
Luck of a One-Eyed Man—Bottom Dealing—A Whiff For a Nickel—A
Good Swimmer—A Hungry Trio—A Case of Mistaken Identity—The
Would-Be Confederate Disappointed—Five Equal Hands—A Change
of Demeanor 360-380
CHAPTER XI.
MY WIFE.
Her Family—Parental Opposition to Our Marriage—Our
Elopement—Our Marriage—Her Parents’ Anger—A Pitiful Appeal
to Maternal Love—Our Married Life—Poverty and Affliction—A
Dress for a Burial—Heart Yearnings—A Mother’s Regret—The
Agony of Separation—My Wife’s Death Bed—Mutual
Devotion—Unavailing Regrets—Taken Away From the Sorrow to
Come 381-386
CHAPTER XII.
LOCAL GAMBLING.
Celebrated Gamesters and Gaming Houses—Gambling in the
“Hell” and the Policy Shop, on the Race-Track and the
Exchange—Incidents—Biographical Reminiscences—Historical
Facts—When, Where, and How Far Tolerated by the
Authorities—Public Sentiment—Rise, Progress and Status of
the Vice at Commercial Centres—Chicago—Laxity Versus
Repression—Wentworth’s Famous Raid—Gambling Under Various
Municipal Administrations—“Skin” Gamblers—Notorious
Characters—The Gamblers’ Sad End—Players and their
Characteristics—Present Status of Pool Selling—A Chicago
Dealer’s Catalogue of Gambling Goods—St. Louis—Prevalence of
the Gaming Mania—A Poker Hand as “Collateral” Security at a
Bank—Famous Houses and their Proprietors—“Skin” Games—Sketch
of Ex-Governor Charles P. Johnson—The Gambling Houses of New
York—Street Gamins—The “Bowery”—Elegant Resorts—Low
Dives—Coming Home From the Races—A New York Gambler’s
Catalogue—Gambling at Newport—A Quiet House—San
Francisco—Early Argonauts—Women as Dealers—A Gambler’s
“Nerve”—Legislation—Famous Capitalists and Noted
Gamblers—Mining Stocks—Chinese as Gamblers—Odd Games—The
Chinese Lottery—Mongolian frauds—The California State Fair—A
Perplexing Legal Question—New Orleans—Gambling Among the
Creoles—The License System—Famous Resorts—Streets Named
After Games—New Orleans Under Military Rule—Indirect
License—The “Shakspeare Almshouse”—Keno—Negroes as
Gamesters—The Louisiana Lottery—Policy Playing—The Cotton
Exchange—Milwaukee—“Tom” Wicks—Saratoga—Morrissey’s Club
House—The American Monte Carlo—Efforts to Suppress
Gambling—Cincinnati—“Eph” Holland and Other “Sports”—The
“Queen of Spades”—Cleveland—Municipal Policy—Perfunctory
Raids—Salaries Paid to Employes—Capital Invested—Chinese
Laundrymen—Gambling in Stocks and
Grain—Mobile—Charleston—Curious Advertisements—The
Charleston Club—Policy Playing—Computation Table—Facsimiles
of “Slips”—Charleston Faro Banks—Austin—A Trusted Employe
Disgraced—Negroes Defrauded—Hartford—A Fire in a “Hell”—A
Raid—Policy—Quebec—The “Quebec Whist Club”—A Shameful
Revelation—Kansas City—Buffalo—Early Gambling—Canal
Street—Noted Professionals—Policy Playing—St Paul—The
Gambler’s Luck—Minneapolis—“Brace” Games—Bucket
Shops—Policy—Gambling at Home—Peoria—Indianapolis—The Union
Depot—Springfield, Illinois—A “Pigeon Plucker” at a Private
Club 388-547
-------
=PART III.=
=_Forms of Gambling Tolerated by Public Sentiment—Arraignment of
the Nature and Effects of the Vice._=
-------
CHAPTER I.
THE TURF.
Evils of the Race-Course—Antiquity of Horse-
Racing—Ancient and Modern Times Compared—Racing in
England—Blacklegs on the Track—A “National Sport”—The
American Turf—Colonial Days—Puritans and Cavaliers—Famous
Tracks in New York—The National Association—The American
Association—“Board of Review”—American Trotting
Association—Racing at Sheepshead Bay—A National Vice—Betting
on Races and Lottery Gambling Compared—The Duty of
Congress—The Pool Room—Its Methods—A “Betting Book”—The
“Book Maker’s Odds”—The “Combination Board”—The “Friendly
Tip”—Depreciation of Turf Gambling—Never a Local Affair—Pool
Room Habitues—Features Peculiar to the Track—The Lady
Gambler—The Confidential Stake-holder\—“Skin” Games Outside
the Track—“Dosing” Horses—Ways That are Dark and Tricks that
are Vain—The Jockey—The Handicap Fraud—Officially Protected
Crime—Effects of the Mania—A False Guide 553-576
CHAPTER II.
THE EXCHANGE.
The Exchange of the Ancients—Royal Exchange—New York
Chamber of Commerce—American Boards of Trade—Scope of the
Exchange—“Speculating” and Gambling—“Corners”—The Operator
and the Speculator—An Incident—The “Scalper”—The
“Guerilla”—“Longs” and “Shorts”—“Forcing Quotations”—“Flying
Kites”—“Puts,” “Calls,” and “Straddles”—Fictitious
News—Tempting Bait—A Day’s Session on a Western
Exchange—Regrets versus Stoicism—Interior Arrangement of a
Great Mart—Extraordinary Judicial Powers—A Travesty on
Equity—Bucket Shops—The Exchange as a Factor in
Civilization—The “Clock” 577-606
CHAPTER III.
NATURE AND EFFECTS OF GAMING.
By Rev. Professor David Swing 607-608
CHAPTER IV.
ARRAIGNMENT OF GAMBLING IN ITS MORAL ASPECTS.
By Rev. Robt. McIntyre 611-640
INDEX.
AGE, THE, 216, 217, 218.
AMERICANS, why predisposed to gaming, 185.
AMES, MAYOR, his policy toward Minneapolis gamblers, 534.
“ANTE,” 217.
AUGUSTUS, as a gamester, 88.
AUSTIN, TEXAS, gambling at, 505 _et seq._;
political influence of gamblers in, 507.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AUTHOR, 33 _et seq._
BACCARAT, as played in Paris clubs, 131.
BADEN BADEN, 101, 104;
a visitor’s description of, 106, 107;
the effective government of Paris, 118;
compared with San Francisco, 441;
with Saratoga, 484.
BAGATELLE, see TIVOLI.
BANKER, at faro, his duties, 193.
“BEARS,” 578, 585.
BEE-HIVE, see HAP-HAZARD.
BELGRADE, a gaming hell in, 98.
BENNETT, RICHARD, 176.
BERKELEY CLUB, 142.
BETTING BOOK, copy of a, 561.
BLANC, MONS., mentioned, 114, 116, 118.
BLIND, THE, 218.
“BLUFFING,” at poker, 216.
BOARD OF EXCHANGE (San Francisco), 448.
BOAS, LILY, 47.
BOGUS CHECKS, 338.
BOOK-MAKERS, 541, 563, 565.
BOTTOM DEALING, 374.
BOTTOM STOCK, THE, 222.
BOX AND BALLS, 305, _et seq._
“BREAKING” PRICES, 585.
BRIDGE, THE, 90.
BRIEFS, among the Greeks, 90;
at poker, 219, 221;
at old sledge, 259;
at euchre, 266;
at cribbage, 268.
BROOKS’, 142, 147, 180.
BROWN, MAYOR, his policy toward gambling in Milwaukee, 480.
BRUMMEL, BEAU, 180 _et seq._
BUCKET SHOPS, in Cincinnati, 490;
in St. Paul, 531;
in Minneapolis, 539;
their origin, 595;
an American institution, 596;
character of their patrons, 597;
compared with the Stock Exchange and the gaming hell, 598;
how business is done at, 598, 599;
frauds practiced by, 600.
“BUCK,” THE, at stud poker, 240.
BUFFALO, Gambling in, 517.
“BUG,” THE, among the Greeks, 91;
at poker, 234;
at euchre, 267;
at cribbage, 268;
at vingt-un, 271.
BULGARIA, gaming in, 97.
“BULLS,” 578.
BUNKO, 326 _et seq._;
cappers at, 326;
how played, 327;
bunko chart, 328;
list of prizes at, 329;
frauds at, 329, 332;
cards sometimes used at, 332.
BUNKO LAND, 424.
BUNKO MEN, in Chicago, 401, 403.
BUTLER, COL., tolerates gambling, 461.
BUTLER, GEN. B. F., his attitude toward gambling in New Orleans, 461.
CALIFORNIA STATE FAIR, gambling at, 452.
CALIGULA, as a gamester, 88.
“CALL,” THE, 216, 218, 585, 586.
CANTON, gambling at, 83.
CAPPERS, at high ball poker, 255;
at the “eight die case,” 279;
at “top and bottom,” 281;
at the needle wheel, 287;
at corona, 288;
at tivoli, 298;
at the O’Leary belt, 302;
at bunko, 326, 328, 329, 331;
at three card monte, 334;
at hap-hazard, 305;
at miniature race track, 308;
at the shell game, 349, 350.
“CAPPING A CHIP,” 218.
CARD PUNCH, THE, 204.
CARDS, surmises as to origin of, 191.
CASINO, 265.
“CAT-HOP,” 195.
CATALOGUE OF GAMBLING TOOLS, 406 _et seq._; 430 _et seq._
CATO, his infatuation for gaming, 89.
CHANCE, worshipped by gamesters instead of God, 618.
CHANCES, at faro, 192;
at rouge-et-noir, 246;
at roulette, 248, 249;
at stud poker, 240.
CHAPLET, THE, 92, 129.
CHARITY HOSPITAL, (N. O.) THE, built from lottery taxes, 473.
CHARLES II, his reign an era of gaming, 139.
CHARLESTON (S. C.), history of gambling in, 497 _et seq._;
stock and club gambling at, 499;
faro gambling in, 503;
lotteries and policy playing at, 500.
CHEVALIER, MONS., 172.
CHICAGO BOARD OF TRADE, 578, 581, 587, 592.
CHICAGO, GAMBLING IN, in early days, 389 _et seq._;
under Wentworth, 390, 397;
under Haines, 393;
a sad story concerning, 395;
under Ramsay and Sherman, 397;
under Rice, 400;
under Medill, 401;
under Colvin, 401, 402;
successful, 404;
salaries paid to employes of houses, 405;
under Heath, 402, 403;
under Harrison, 403;
under Roche, 404.
CHINESE, gambling among, 81;
laws prohibit gaming, 83;
a peculiar game with the, 84.
CHINESE GAMBLING, in San Francisco, 449;
in Cleveland, 493;
in Hartford, 509, 510.
CHUCK-A-LUCK (at dice) how played, 275;
frauds practiced at, 275, 276;
a favorite game with negroes, 468.
CHUCK-A-LUCK, wheel of, see WHEEL OF FORTUNE.
CINCINNATI, gambling in, suppressed in 1886, 487;
in war times, 487;
in bucket shops, 490.
CIRCUSES, games at, 284.
CLAUDIUS as a gamester, 89.
CLEVELAND (O.), GAMBLING IN, policy of municipality toward, 491;
raids upon, 491;
extent of, 492, 493.
CLOCK, THE GAMBLING, See GAMBLING CLOCK.
CLOTHING, staked at the card table, 155.
CLUBS, a cloak for gaming, 142 _et seq._;
see also POKER CLUBS.
“COAL-OIL JOHNNIE,” 410.
COLD DECKS, among the Greeks, 91;
at poker, 229;
at whist, 263, 264.
COLORS, at rouge et noir, 243 _et seq._
COLVIN (MAYOR) H. D., his “wide open” policy, 401, 402.
COMBINATION BOARD, A, 563.
COMBINATION TABLE, A, 501.
COMSTOCK ANTHONY, his efforts to suppress gaming, 485.
CONFIDENCE GAMES, why they succeed, 332.
CONVERSATION HOUSE, at Baden Baden, 104.
CONVEXES, 235.
COPPERING A BET, 194.
“CORNERS” on the Exchange, how originating, 579;
how manipulated, 581.
CORONA, 287.
COTTON EXCHANGE (N. O.) THE, 469.
“COVERING SHORTS,” 585.
COVINGTON (KY.) gambling at, 487.
CRAPS, how played, 277;
frauds practiced at, 277, 278;
a favorite game with negroes, 278, 468, 496, 540;
sugar “cubes” used in playing, 278.
CRIBBAGE, 267;
frauds practiced at, 267, 268;
not a favorite game with gamblers, 269.
CRIMPING, at poker, 228;
at old sledge, 260;
at euchre, 267;
at cribbage, 269.
CROCKFORD’S, 106.
CROWN-HOUSE, an English, 157.
CRUCIFIXION, gamblers unmoved by, 621.
CUE CARDS, 198.
“CUE-KEEPER,” THE, 201.
CURE HALL, at Wiesbaden, 102.
DAKOTA, author runs brace game in, 38.
DAN RICE’S BIG POKER GAME, 372.
DAVIS’S (N. O.) CLUB-HOUSE, 456.
DAY-WATCH, THE, 208.
DEALING BOXES, used at faro, 194;
how constructed, _ib._;
various fraudulent kinds of, 199;
the first used, _ib._;
the screw box, 200;
the “lever” movement, 201;
the needle movement, _ib._;
the “sand tell,” _ib._;
not always in good order, 206.
DEVIL’S WALK, THE, 151.
DICE, LOADED, 276.
DICE-THROWING, among the Hindoos, 75;
among the ancients, 87;
early frauds at, 88;
among the Greeks, 93;
antiquity of, 273;
games of, 273;
in English gaming houses, 154-155;
at San Francisco, 444.
DICE TOPS, high and low, 282.
“DIP,” defined, 212.
DISCARD, at poker, 218.
DISCARD, DOUBLE, see DOUBLE DISCARD.
DISCOURAGED SPECULATOR, A, 373.
DOLLAR STORE, 351.
DOMINOES, the Chinese game of, 451.
DONCASTER RACES, betting at the, 149, 151.
DOUBLE CUTS, 225;
Discard, 232.
“DOUBLES OR QUITS,” see REPRESENTING.
DRAW, THE, at poker, 218.
DREAM-BOOKS, 476.
DROP CASE, 351.
DROPPING THE PIGEON, 341.
EFFECTS OF A SENSITIVE CONSCIENCE, 368.
EIGHT-DIE CASE, 278;
frauds practiced at, 278, 279;
chart used in, 279.
ELDEST HAND, THE, see AGE.
ELIZABETH (of England), gaming during reign of, 139.
EMBEZZLEMENT, induced by gambling, 167, 487, 494, 567, 547.
ENGLAND, “DICK,” 177 _et seq._
ENGLAND, gambling in, 138 _et seq._;
the aristocracy of, as gamesters, 142.
ENGLISH CLUBS, FAMOUS, 142, 145, 146, 147, 148.
EUCHRE, its popularity, 266;
frauds practiced at, 266, 267.
EUROPEAN PRINCIPALITIES, license of gambling by, 186.
EXCHANGE, THE COMMERCIAL, a favorite mode of gaming, 185;
historically considered, 577;
classification of members of, 578;
manipulation of prices in, 587;
inconsistency of a Western, 594 _et seq._;
a day’s session on, 590;
its true mission, 601.
FAIRS, games at, 284 _et seq._
FAIR DIRECTORS, their venality, 284, 285.
FAIRCHILD, GEN. LUCIUS, lesson of a gaming house, 479.
FAILURE OF A TELEGRAPH WIRE, 370.
FALSE CUTS, 225.
FALSE GUIDE, A, 576.
FALSE SHUFFLES, 224, _et seq._
FAN TAN, 451, 493, 510.
FARO, a popular American game, 188;
its antiquity and supposed origin, 191;
Rules of, 192;
the lay-out in, 193;
doctrine of character as applied to, 196;
frauds practiced at, 197 _et seq._;
how cards are marked for, 198;
see also SHORT FARO.
FARO BOXES, see DEALING BOXES.
FARO GAMBLING, in New York, 420;
at San Francisco, 439;
at Austin, 506;
at Minneapolis, 555.
“FILLING,” at poker, 218.
FISHMONGERS’ HALL, 142 _et seq._
FIVE CARDS, 347.
FLATBOATMEN, as gamblers, 455.
FLIM-FLAM, 358.
“FLUSHES, FULLS AND FOURS,” 232.
FLY LOO, 361.
FOOT-RACING, 357.
FORCING QUOTATIONS, 584.
FOUCHE, as Minister of Police, 123.
“FOURS,” at poker, 217.
FOX, CHARLES, as a gambler, 171.
FRANCIS, SIR PHILIP, 180.
FRIENDS, A, BAD FAITH, 364.
FRONTIER POLICE, THE, 518.
FULL HAND, 215.
GAMBLER, THE, three stages in his career, 65;
falsity of his theories, 69.
GAMBLERS, as police spies, 123;
admitted to English society, 158;
their defense as based upon the exchange, 186;
itinerant, 190;
professionals die paupers, 211;
timidity of professional, 366;
spendthrifts by nature, 468;
political influence wielded by, 477, 507;
ashamed of their trade, 607;
unmoved by the crucifixion, 621;
heartlessness of, 621;
an appeal to, 635 _et seq._
GAMBLER’S LUCK, THE, 532.
GAMBLING, indefensible, 67;
its roots, _ib._;
provocative of suicide, 69;
subversive, of social order, 70;
a prop of despotism, 87;
a cause for the fall of Rome, 89, 90;
in France, 120;
among English lower classes, 150;
at English race courses, 151;
legal aspects of in England, 168;
police protection to, 210;
a cause of suicide, 414, 478;
Heaven’s curse upon, 415;
a cause of embezzlement, 487, 494, 507, 547;
a cause of murder, 528, 546;
its nature and effects, 607, 614;
a source of intellectual loss, 607;
dethrones God, 618;
degrades man, 620;
destroys the soul, 626;
religion the surest preventive against, 626.
GAMBLING HOUSES, list of employes at in England, 149;
a low class of English, 150, 153, _et seq._;
banking games favorites at, 187.
GAMBLING CLOCK, THE, 603.
GAMBLING IMPLEMENTS, catalogue of, 406, 430.
GAMBLING STORIES, 360 _et seq._
GAMES OF CHANCE, growth of the passion for, 607;
danger attending, 613.
GAMESTRESSES, Miss Trollope’s description of, 110;
see also WOMEN.
GARNIER, MONS., mentioned 114.
GENEVA, 101.
GEORGE III (of England), Gambling during the reign of, 141.
GIGS, 476, 540.
GIVE AWAY, 346.
“GOING BETTER,” 215, 216.
“GOING IN,” 215, 231.
GOLD BRICKS, 311 _et seq._;
Rev. Dr. Snyder’s experience with, 318.
GOOD SWIMMER, A, 376.
GRAND HAZARD, 282.
GRAND OPERA HOUSE, Paris, 114.
GRANDMOTHER TRICK, THE, 354.
GREECE, gambling in ancient and modern, 87, _et seq._
GREEKS, a nation of Sharpers, 90;
frauds practiced by, _id._, _et seq._
“GROOM-PORTER,” duties of the, 153.
GUERILLA, THE, 584.
“GUNNING,” STOCKS, 585.
HAINES, MAYOR, his policy toward gambling, 393.
“HAIR-COPPERS,” 202.
HALF STOCK, THE, 259.
HANDICAP FRAUD, THE, 572.
HAP-HAZARD, explained, 303;
how used, 303, 304;
the fake element in, 304.
HARRISON (MAYOR) CARTER H., his policy towards gamblers, 403.
HARTFORD, CONN., history of gambling in, 508 _et seq._;
raids in, 509;
policy playing in, 510.
HARVEY, MISS MAY, 39 _et seq._
HAVANA LOTTERY, THE, 462, 474.
HAZARD, French and Eng. games of, 152.
HEATH, MAYOR, suppresses gambling in Chicago, 402, 403.
HEAVEN, The curse of, rests upon money won at gaming, 21.
HEBREWS, see JEWS.
HENRY VIII, an unscrupulous gamester, 139;
his reign an era of gambling, 140.
HIERONYMUS, method of playing, 273, 274;
odds against players at, 274;
frauds practiced at, 275.
HIGH AND LOW DICE TOPS, see DICE TOPS.
HIGH-BALL POKER, 255.
HIGH-HAND, THE, at old sledge, 260;
at euchre, 267.
HIGH-LOW-JACK, see OLD SLEDGE.
HINDOOS, gambling among the, 75;
a legend, 76 _et seq._
HOCK CARD, THE, 194, 195.
HOLDING-OUT, at poker, 233, 241;
at old sledge, 262;
at euchre, 267;
at cribbage, 268;
at vingt-un, 271.
“HOLLOWS AND ROUNDS,” 197.
HOMBURG, 101, 118.
HORSE-RACING, in England, 554;
in America, 556;
a national vice, 558.
HOURS OF PLAY, at “hells,” 208.
HOW AN OLD SCOUT HELD AN ACE FULL, 369.
HOYLE, his explanation of faro cited, 192;
his doctrine of chances, 196.
HUNGRY TRIO, A, 376.
HUTCHINSON, B. P., 606.
INDIANAPOLIS, gambling in, 545, _et seq._
INFLUENCE OF MONEY ON PARENTAL DISAPPROBATION, 365.
ITALIAN SOCIETY, vices of, 114.
ITALY, gaming in, 113.
JAMES BROTHERS, THE, 36.
JAMES I (of England), gambling during the reign of, 139.
JAPAN, games prevalent in, 86.
JENNY WHEEL, THE, 299;
the table used for, 298.
JEWS, gambling among, 71, 74.
JOCKEY, THE, 571.
JOG STOCK, THE, 223.
JOHN (of England), gaming during reign of, 138.
JOHNSON, EX-GOV. CHAS. P., introduction by, 26;
letter from endorsing author, 59;
sketch of, 417.
JURISDICTON (State and National), conflict of, 454.
KANSAS CITY, (Kas.), gambling at, 514.
KANSAS CITY (Mo.), gambling in, 514.
KENO, how played, 251;
the “globe,” _ib._;
percentage of the game, _ib._;
frauds at, 252;
large winnings by proprietors of, 252;
a favorite game in New Orleans, 467;
popular at Austin, 506.
KENTUCKY STATE LOTTERY, 472, 474.
LAY-OUT, at faro, how arranged, 193, 194.
LEGISLATION AGAINST GAMBLING, 71, 72, 73, 75, 83, 138, 163, 165, 189;
in Louisiana, 457, 461, 462, 463, 464, 477;
in Milwaukee, 481;
in New York, 484;
in Ohio, 491, 492;
in Texas, 508;
in Minneapolis, 39;
absolutely essential, 608.
LEVANT, gambling in the, 92 _et seq._
LICENSE OF GAMBLING, by European principalities, 94, 101, 186.
LICENSE SYSTEM, THE, of gambling, 457, 461, 462, 463, 464.
LIMIT OF BETS, at faro, 193.
LOADED DICE, 283.
LONG HAND, THE, 261.
“LONGS,” 584.
LOOK-OUT, at faro, his functions, 193.
LOTTERY, THE CHINESE, 449.
LOTTERIES, early, in New Orleans, 472, 474;
in Charleston, 500.
LOTTERY TICKETS, their sale in San Francisco, 445.
LOUISIANA, the disgrace of the State, 187.
LOUISIANA LOTTERY, a favorite among San Francisco citizens, 445;
its origin, 462;
evils of, 472, 631;
history of, 472 _et seq._;
dividends paid by, 473;
table of drawings in, _ib._;
disposition of revenues from, _ib._;
its sale of tickets in Cleveland, 493;
its victims in Buffalo, 526;
in Minneapolis, 542;
as patronized at Peoria, 544.
LUCK OF A ONE-EYED MAN, 374.
“LUCKY” BALDWIN as a gambler, 443.
MCGRATH’S (N. O.) CLUB HOUSE, 460.
MADRID, gambling at, 135, 136.
MAGNETIC SPINDLES, 293.
“MAKING GOOD,” 215.
MARKED CARDS, author’s success with, 44;
at poker, 229, 230;
a game with, 241;
in old sledge, 262;
at euchre, 266;
at cribbage, 271.
MARKING THE EDGES, 198, 260.
MARTIN, SAMUEL, a partner of author;
Sundry reminiscences of, 42 _et seq._;
as a marked card player, 241 _et seq._
MASCOT, 287.
MEDILL (MAYOR) JOSEPH, his policy toward gamblers, 401.
MEXICAN MONTE, 506.
MEXICAN NATIONAL LOTTERY, 445.
MEXICO, curious gambling customs in, 136, 137.
MIDDLETON WHIG, 175.
“MILKING THE STREET,” 585.
MILWAUKEE, Gambling in, 479 _et seq._;
under O’Neill, 480;
under Brown, _ib._;
legislation against, 481.
MINIATURE RACE TRACK, 307.
MINING STOCKS, speculation in, 447.
MINNEAPOLIS, Gambling in, 533 _et seq._;
under Rand, 534;
under Ames, 535 _ib._;
under Pillsbury, 554, 557.
MINOR CONFIDENCE GAMES, 353.
MISTAKEN IDENTITY, a case of, 377.
MOBILE, Gambling in, 494 _et seq._
MOHAMMEDAN laws against gaming, 75.
MONACO, suicides at, 69;
gambling at, 116.
MONGOLIANS, see CHINESE.
MONTE CARLO, 114;
the casino of, 116;
house of play at, 117;
character of games, 117;
limit of bets, 118;
season of play at, 119;
compared with Saratoga, 212;
with New Orleans, 462.
MORNING PRINCIPLE, THE, 363.
MORRISSEY’S (JOHN) N. Y. club house, 212;
Saratoga club house, 483;
same compared to Baden Baden, 484.
MOSCOW, 111.
MOUND CITY (Mo.) author’s experience at, 236.
MUNICIPAL AUTHORITIES, Relation of to public gambling, 189, 190.
MURDER, caused by gambling, 528, 546.
MUSTANG, 283.
MUTUAL POOLS, 563, 564.
NAIL PRICK, THE, 237.
NEEDLE WHEEL, THE, 286, 287.
NEGROES, as gamesters, 467, 506, 540.
NERO as a gamester, 88.
NEW ORLEANS, history of gambling in, 455 _et seq._;
effect of civil war upon gambling in, 461;
an American Monte Carlo, 462;
number of gaming houses in, 467;
table showing extent of gambling in, 477.
NEW ORLEANS COTTON EXCHANGE, 469.
NEW YORK, Gambling houses of, 420.
NEWPORT (Ky.), Gambling at, 487.
NEWPORT (R. I.), Gaming at, 437.
NIGHT-WATCH, THE, 208.
O’LEARY BELT, THE, explained, 300;
fake element in, 301;
devices used in connection with, 302;
a favorite with itinerant gamblers, 303.
O’NIELL, MAYOR, his policy toward gambling in Milwaukee, 480.
ODD, THE, 204;
its advantage, 205.
“OLD BAILEY” (England), THE, gamblers at bar of, 155, 159.
“OLD BLACK DAN,” 367.
OLD SLEDGE, how played, 256 _et seq._;
frauds at, 258.
OPEN BOARD OF TRADE, THE, 595.
“ORIGINAL HAND,” THE, 215.
ORIGINAL LOUISIANA LOTTERY, 445.
OVER-ISSUE, 340.
OVER AND UNDER SEVEN, 280.
PADLOCK, THE, 344.
PAIRS, TWO, 217.
PALM STOCK, THE, 224.
PALMING, among the Greeks, 91;
at euchre, 267;
at cribbage, 268.
PARLEEING, the term explained, 193.
PARTNERSHIPS, at poker, 222, 223, 228, 231;
at vingt-un, 271.
PAUPERS, gamblers become, 211.
PEORIA (Ills.), gambling at, 543.
PERSIANS, gaming among, 74.
PILLSBURY, (MAYOR) GEORGE S., attitude toward Minneapolis gamblers,
534, 537.
“PLUGGERS,” at high ball poker, 255;
at San Francisco, 440.
POKER, a so-called national pastime, 189, 214, 507;
its defenders, _ib._;
terms used at, explained, 215, 217;
frauds practiced at, 219 _et seq._;
a favorite game in San Francisco, 442.
POKER CLUBS, 189, 493, 520, 531.
POKER DICE, 280.
POKER HANDS, their relative value, 217;
as collateral for a loan, 411.
POLICE, protection to gambling by the, 210, 427;
in New Orleans, 461, 467;
on the race track, 573.
POLICY-PLAYING, prevalence of in United States, 186;
at San Francisco, 449;
at New Orleans, 468;
in Cleveland, 493;
at Charleston, 500;
in Hartford, 510;
in Buffalo, 524;
in Minneapolis, 539.
POOL ROOMS, at San Francisco, 445;
in St. Paul, 529;
in Minneapolis, 541;
how business done in, 560, 568.
PRIVILEGES, sold on steamboats, 254;
at fairs and circuses, 284.
PRODUCE EXCHANGE (San Francisco), 448.
PUEBLO (Colorado), An immense gambling house at, 208, 209.
“PUTS,” 585.
PUT-BACK, THE, 202.
QUARTER UNDER FOOT, 345.
QUEBEC, Gambling in, 511.
QUEBEC EXCHANGE, 513.
QUEBEC WHIST CLUB, its character, 512.
QUEER STAKE, A, 371.
QUINN, JOHN PHILIP, autobiography of, 33 _et seq._
QUINN, MRS. MAY HARVEY, courtship and marriage, 41;
her death, 45;
sketch of, 381.
QUINN, MRS. LILY, her letter to author, 60;
author’s reply, 61.
RACE-TRACKS, sale of privileges at, 566, 567;
features peculiar to, 568;
various frauds at, 570, 572.
“RAKES,” 197.
RAKE-OFF, 219.
RUMSEY, MAYOR, his toleration of gambling in Chicago, 397.
RAND, MAYOR, his policy towards Minneapolis gamblers, 534.
REFLECTORS, 235.
RELIGION, the surest preventive against gambling, 626.
“REPRESENTING,” at “Eight Die Case,” 279;
at the needle wheel, 287;
at bunko, 327, 329, 330.
REPRESENTATIVES, CONGRESSIONAL, exponents of average morality, 187.
RICE, MAYOR, his policy toward Chicago gamblers, 400.
RICHARD I, gaming during reign of, 138.
“RINGING-IN,” see “COLD DECKS,” “MARKED CARDS,” “CHUCK-A-LUCK,” “LOADED
DICE.”
ROCHE, (MAYOR) JOHN A., his policy toward gambling, 404.
ROOF, THE, 91.
ROLLING FARO, 252;
the fake element in, 253;
percentage against players at, 253.
ROMAN LAWS AGAINST GAMING, 71.
ROUGE ET NOIR, as played at Monte Carlo, 117, _et seq._;
a popular American game, 188;
the game explained, 243, _et seq._;
odds against players, 242, 245;
different ways of betting at, 244, 245;
frauds practiced at, 245, 246;
steerers employed for, 246.
ROULETTE, as played abroad, 117;
bets at, 119;
a popular American game, 188;
how played, 247;
odds at, 248, 249;
frauds practiced at, 249, 250.
“ROYAL FLUSH,” see SEQUENCE FLUSH.
RUINED BY A FUNERAL, 360.
“RUNNING IN,” 198.
RUNNING UP TWO HANDS, 227.
ST. LOUIS, Gambling in, 408, _et seq._
ST. PAUL, Gambling in, 527.
SACRAMENTO (Cal.) Gambling at, 452.
SADDLES, 476, 540.
SAFE, THE, 344.
“SANDING” THE CARDS, 198.
SAND PAPER, as a means of fraud, 204.
“SAND-TELL BOX,” THE, 198, 201.
SAN FRANCISCO, Gambling at, 438, _et seq._;
compared with Baden Baden, 441;
stock speculation at, 448;
policy playing at, 449.
SARATOGA, compared with Monte Carlo, 212;
gambling in, in early days, 482;
racing at, 483;
club-houses, 483;
openly conducted, 485;
raids upon, 486;
public sentiment, 486.
SCALPER, A, 584.
SECOND DEALING, at poker, 237;
at cribbage, 271.
“SEEING A BET,” 216.
“SEND,” THE, 337.
SEQUENCE, A, 217.
SEQUENCE FLUSH, 217.
“SETTLING-DAY,” 585.
SEVEN UP, see OLD SLEDGE.
SHAKSPEARE (MAYOR) JOSEPH, his plan for indirectly licensing gaming,
464, 469.
SHELL GAME, 348.
SHERMAN, MAYOR, his toleration of gambling in Chicago, 397
SHIFTING THE CUT, 225, 267.
“SHINERS,” 235.
SHORT FARO, 210.
SHORT GAMES, 243, _et seq._
SHORT HAND, THE, 261.
“SHORTS,” 584.
SHOT GUN, THE, 346.
SIGNING UP, at poker, 222;
at whist 263.
“SINGLE PAIR,” A, at poker, 217.
SLEEVE HOLD-OUT, THE, 234.
“SNAKING,” 202, 203.
SOAP GAME, THE, 355.
SOCIETY (N. Y.) FOR THE SUPPRESSION OF VICE, 486.
“SODA” CARD, THE, 194.
SOUTH CAROLINA LOTTERY, 499.
SOUTHERN INDIANA PENITENTIARY, author’s incarceration 55;
his discharge 60.
“SPIELER,” THE, 334, 335.
“SPLITS,” explained, 197.
SPRINGFIELD (Ills.), Gambling at, 548, 549.
“SQUARES AND ROUNDS,” 198.
“SQUEAL,” A, 585.
“SQUEEZE,” A, 585.
SQUEEZE SPINDLE, 291;
faked element in, 292;
sale of a, _ib._;
a magnetic, 293.
STAKE HOLDER, The confidential, 569.
STEERERS, English, 157;
at rouge-et-noir, 246;
at faro, 207, 208;
in St. Louis, 410.
STOCKING, at faro, 197, 198;
at poker, 221, 233;
at euchre, 266;
at cribbage, 268.
STOCK EXCHANGE, Its influence on national morality, 186.
STOCK GAMBLING, its results, 448;
in San Francisco, _ib._;
at New Orleans, 469;
in Cleveland, 493;
at Charleston, 499;
in Quebec, 513;
in St. Paul, 531;
its deplorable effects, 581;
“slang” used in, 584.
STRADDLES, 585, 586.
STRIKING MACHINE, 308.
STRING BETS, 195.
STRIPPERS, among the Greeks, 91;
at faro, 197;
at old sledge, 258;
at euchre, 266;
at cribbage, 268.
STUD-POKER, 219, 239;
San Francisco, 444.
SUICIDE, Gambling leads to, 69, 414, 478;
because of failure of lottery prize, 625.
SURE HAND, A, at poker, 219, 238.
SWINGING BALL, THE, 310.
TABLE HOLD-OUT, THE, 235.
“TAKING A FLYER,” 585.
TELEGRAPH, THE, 237, 269, 271.
THREE CARD MONTE, how-operated, 334, _et seq._;
railway conductors’ share in profits of, 336.
“THREE OF A KIND,” at poker, 217.
“THROWING-OFF” A PARTNER, 209.
TIMIDITY OF PROFESSIONALS, 366.
“TIPPING THE HAND,” 226.
TIPS ON RACES, 566.
TIVOLI, the machine explained, 295;
the chart used in, 296;
how played, 297;
frauds at, 297, 298.
TOBACCO BOX, THE, 343.
TOP AND BOTTOM, at dice, 281.
TOP AND BOTTOM BOXES, 309.
TOP STOCK, THE, 221;
beating the, 362.
TOUTS, 446.
TURNING JACK FROM BOTTOM, 262.
UNITED STATES, Gambling in, 549;
why gambling popular in the, 185;
various modes of gaming practiced in, 185 _et seq._;
policy playing in, 186.
VAN HENNESY, gold brick swindle, 49.
VEST HOLD-OUT, THE, 235.
VINGT-UN, how played, 270;
frauds practiced at, 271.
WASHBURNE, CHIEF OF POLICE, his war on gambling, 399.
WENTWORTH, “LONG JOHN,” his mayoralty of Chicago, 390, 397.
WHEEL OF FORTUNE, 289;
the faked element in, 290.
WHIST, Dean Swift’s opinion of, 149;
not popular with gamblers, 263;
frauds practiced at, 263, 264.
WHITE’S (London), 142, 144, 149, 180.
WIESBADEN, 101, 111.
WILBERFORCE, as a gamester, 180.
“WILD-CAT” STOCKS, 447.
WHOLE STOCK, THE, 260.
WOMEN, as gamesters, 107, 123, 127, 130, 158, 440, 569;
as dealers, 441.
INTRODUCTION.
BY HON. CHAS. P. JOHNSON, EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI.
It is now several years since I first met Mr. John Philip Quinn, the
author of this book. During my contact with him in a professional way, I
became well acquainted with him. During the necessary association of
professional duty, I became convinced that there were many good
qualities in Mr. Quinn, and all that was necessary to make a worthy
citizen of him was to induce him, if possible, to overcome the effects
of early experience and eschew, the indulgence of pernicious habits.
With no indications of inherent badness, he had supinely drifted into
indulgences that blunted his moral perceptions and weakened his will
power. Chief among these was the vice of gambling. As is well known to
all reflecting men, there is no more enervating and morally disastrous
vice than this. It seems to have, when enthralling a man peculiarly
susceptible to its fascinating allurements, a strength and tenacity
surpassing all the other vices to which society is a prey. It
insidiously lures its victim in the track of exciting indulgence, until
every emotion and passion of the soul becomes subject to its control and
mastery. In its final assumption it becomes a most relentless tyrant,
making the will powerless to resist. I found Mr. Quinn completely under
the control of this vice, and recognized the herculean effort he would
be required to make to break from its thralldom. However, I appealed to
him to make the effort, and he finally decided to attempt it.
Circumstances were favorable to the success of the effort, though at the
expense of privation and disgrace. Some time after Mr. Quinn’s
determination to reform, having found it difficult to make a living in
St. Louis, he was induced to accompany a traveling show in a tour
through the Middle States. While stopping at a town in Indiana, he met a
couple of his former associates at one of the hotels. A few days before
this a farmer in that locality had been swindled out of a large sum of
money. These parties were arrested as also was Mr. Quinn, and though he
was only partially identified by the victim, he was taken into custody,
tried, convicted and sent to prison at Jeffersonville, Indiana. He was
so confident of his innocence that he made no preparations for a
defense. He was not aware of the unreasonable prejudice that frequently
exists in the jury box against one charged with a certain kind of
offence, be he ever so innocent. There was no legal evidence warranting
his conviction, but several offences of like character of that charged
against him had been lately committed in that region of the country, and
the community demanded a victim. He was made one. I knew nothing about
it until a week or more after it occurred. His wife called upon me and
related all the facts. I immediately undertook an investigation of the
case, and discovered without the shadow of a doubt that Mr. Quinn was
innocent of the crime of which he had been convicted. I even traced the
guilt home to other parties, and they were arrested and brought to trial
in the same locality where Mr. Quinn was tried, and only escaped by a
disagreeing jury, caused by the former statement of the prosecuting
witness. But the community in which these trials took place were
convinced of the wrong done Mr. Quinn and were anxious to make
reparation. In due time, as soon as the facts in full force and tenor
could be laid before Gov. Gray, of Indiana, he promptly accorded the
justice of a pardon to Mr. Quinn. Of course it was an outrage that
should never have occurred. The sufferings of Mr. Quinn during his
period of incarceration were most unendurable. Aside from the degrading
punishment and consequent disgrace, he suffered from the poignant
reflection that he was innocent and unable to have that justice and
protection given him which is the boast of our system of government. But
notwithstanding his unfortunate condition he seems to have kept a
courageous heart and turned his attention to his surroundings, drew
instruction therefrom, and will give to the world a graphic account of
prison life, which may be of benefit to the philanthropist and the
legislator. A more elaborate and unique work, perhaps, is his book on
the gaming vice, to which it is my desire these words should be
prefixed. It is peculiarly interesting to me, and replete with
information. The subject is considered in a way that leaves little, if
anything to be said, either of instruction or suggestion. This book
should be in the hands of every young man in our land. As a usual thing
injustice of this kind sours the temper of men and discourages them from
striving to accomplish higher and nobler aims in life. In Mr. Quinn’s
case it had the opposite effect. Since his release he has shown by his
work and conduct this fact. He seems stronger to-day in his
determination to carry out his decision of reformation than ever.
Transferring his residence to another sphere, he has already gained the
confidence and esteem of his fellowmen, and is fast broadening his field
of usefulness. He is worthy of encouragement in his work; my sincere
wish is that he will liberally receive it.
[Illustration: Chas. P. Johnson.]
INTRODUCTION.
BY REV. JOHN SNYDER, D. D., CHURCH OF THE MESSIAH, ST. LOUIS, MO.
I am intensely interested in Mr. John Philip Quinn’s book on Gambling. I
met Mr. Quinn several years ago in St. Louis. I became convinced that
this book is the fruit of an earnest purpose to set before the young men
of this country the radical evils which so closely cling to the gambling
habit. I was especially pleased with the practical notions which Mr.
Quinn entertained respecting the wisest methods of reaching and
eradicating the evil. While he is himself convinced of the immorality of
gambling, he is conscious that the mere presentation of the moral aspect
of the vice will do little to arrest its growth in American society. For
the social gambler appeals to the theory of the absolute right of the
individual to dispose of his own property as he sees fit. Such a man
says: “Have I not just as much moral right to stake my money on the turn
of a card, as I have to use it in any other form of harmless enjoyment?”
This argument will be effective and even conclusive so long as society
entertains its present loose notions respecting the obligations of
wealth. But Mr. Quinn approaches the matter from another side. He shows
the evil and disreputable associations into which the gambler is
inevitably thrown. He speaks of the reckless use of money which the
gambling habit engenders, and shows how helpless the average business
man really is in the hands of the professional gambler. I claim to be a
man of fair intelligence, and yet I felt intellectually humiliated when
Mr. Quinn demonstrated to me, how easily I might be tricked out of my
money, by the shallow devices to which he says the ordinary gambler
resorts when he cannot rely upon what he calls “luck.” For illustration,
he showed me what appeared to be an ordinary pack of cards, but by the
simplest method in the world these cards had been so changed that he was
able to tell the denomination of every card by glancing at the back. Of
course the social gambler always asserts that he “plays with gentlemen,”
but the easiness of cheating offers a constant temptation on the part of
gentlemen, who are pressed in money matters, to resort to this method of
relieving themselves of their financial embarrassments.
I am convinced, then, that Mr. Quinn’s book will be of the utmost value
among the young people of this country. I am sure that the gambling
habit is doing more to undermine the character of our young men than any
form of vice in which they are likely to fall. The drinking habit has
been measurably controlled. Drunkenness has grown to be disreputable.
But in thousands of respectable, cultivated and virtuous households, in
this land, fathers and mothers are quite unconsciously educating their
boys into that pernicious habit of gambling, which will, if not
arrested, destroy the very roots of commercial life.
[Illustration: John Snyder]
PART I.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOHN PHILIP QUINN.
Early education, family training, and circumstances often apparently
accidental are potent influences in the formation and moulding of
character. Yet not infrequently an event of seemingly little consequence
may overturn the best considered plans for a successful career and alter
the entire tenor of a man’s life. The invisible power “that shapes our
ends,” to-day, lifts one born in a humble station to a pinnacle of fame
and power, while to-morrow, it casts down from his exalted position the
man intoxicated by the fumes of the incense of popular adulation. The
Scottish bard puts this truth in those oft-quoted words:
“The best laid schemes of mice and men,
Gang aft aglee.”
This aphorism may be significantly applied to the lives of thousands. It
is true of my own career. However upright may have been my intentions at
the outset of life, they were early turned aside through the influence
of my surroundings and of a seemingly inborn propensity for gambling.
After a long and eventful experience, I have turned to a better life. My
past has not been without interest to those with whom I have been
brought in contact. It is here reviewed, not in a spirit of braggart
egotism, but with the earnest hope that it may prove a warning to many,
who are now bent upon a similar journey.
Biography is usually a simple and suggestive record, pointing its own
moral, and treating, as a rule, of the scenes and actions of that
everyday life, of which the subject forms a part. An autobiography
should be, of all others, sincere and candid, and its writer should
“Naught extenuate nor aught set down in malice.”
To those who may think that the publication of the life of so obscure an
individual as myself, and one, too, who for so many years has been a
social pariah, can be productive of neither interest nor profit, I would
say, that the eye of the fly is in many respects a more interesting
study than that of the eagle, and the light-house of more service to
humanity than the pyramids. A great artist once painted a wonderful
picture. Of one of the faces in that immortal work, it was said, to him:
“that countenance is ugly and revolting.” Thoughtfully gazing upon it,
the artist replied: “There is more of beauty in every human face than I
can comprehend.” So, in the life of every human being, there is at once
more of tender charity and vicious selfishness than can be portrayed in
words.
If the record of my life shall prove an example to deter even a few of
those who are sporting upon the outer waters of that whirlpool whose
vortex is destruction;—if its recital shall serve to open the eyes of
but one of that vast host who are staking fortune, friendship, family
affection, honor, even life itself, in the vain pursuit of an illusive
phantom, this sketch will not have been written in vain.
I was born on the 19th day of March, 1846, three miles east of Roanoke,
in Randolph County, Mo. My father was a prosperous farmer and stock
raiser. He was a man of sound judgment, indomitable pluck, tried
courage, generous disposition, and staunch integrity, kind and
charitable to his neighbors, and a man whose “word was as good as his
bond.” He was deservedly held in high esteem in the community, which he
represented in the State Legislature during 1861-3. He owned some twenty
slaves at the time of President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. No
sooner had it appeared than he called them together, read the
proclamation aloud, and informed them that they were at liberty to go or
stay. A slave trader named John Robertson, who was present, at once
offered fifteen hundred dollars in gold for four of the men, which my
father promptly refused. The trader then offered each of the former
slaves fifty dollars to go with him, but my father peremptorily declared
that a million dollars could not buy one of them unless he or she
voluntarily chose to return to servitude.
My mother was a “gentlewoman” in what has been, to me, the best sense of
that often-abused term. Faithful to all her duties as a wife and mother,
her tender devotion to her children was the controlling impulse of her
life. Her generous self-sacrifice and her all but unlimited capacity to
forgive, none can know so well as the wayward son, who numbers among his
most bitter regrets to-day the recollection of the years of anxiety and
grief which he brought upon that mother’s head and of the numberless
pangs which he caused that mother’s heart.
The only early educational advantages that I enjoyed were those incident
to an irregular attendance upon an ordinary border State, district
school, presided over by a pedagogue whose scholastic attainments were,
directly, in an inverse ratio to his zeal as a disciplinarian, and who
seemed to think that ideas which could not find a lodgment in the head
might be forced to germinate from the back by dint of persistent
application of the rod. As a boy I was mischievous and wayward; a
ringleader in all “scrapes,” and the terror of the orderly. Indeed, my
reputation as an evil doer was so well established, and my name so
thoroughly synonomous with every species of boyish deviltry, that I was
often compelled to bear the blame of escapades which I had not
conceived, and in which I bore no part.
At the time of which I am speaking, the principal diversions in country
districts in Missouri were horse-racing, card playing and other
amusements to which the element of a wager lent excitement. It was
naturally easy for a restless boy of my temperament and disposition to
contract the habit of gaming for such small sums of money as I could
command, or for other property of trifling value. But the passion of
gambling, above all others, fattens on what it feeds upon, and I soon
began to find my native village too narrow a field for the realization
of my ambition, and the few pennies of my schoolmates too small stakes
to satisfy my desire for acquisition. At the age of fourteen years,
accordingly, I left home without my father’s consent or knowledge, with
a view to enlarging my sphere of operations. I took with me one of his
horses, which might not only serve as a means of transportation, but
also stand me in stead in the unknown world with which I felt myself
well qualified to grapple. My life and habits, even as a child, had been
so erratic, that my absence from home excited no comment; indeed, it
awakened no anxiety, except in the tender breast of my gentle mother.
Upon reaching Kansas, I sold the horse, and entered boldly upon the
execution of my project, to lay the foundation of a colossal fortune,
through the (to me) alluring career of a gambler. Then followed what
might have been expected. Having watched the manipulations of a three-
card monte man, until I had satisfied myself that I could beat him at
his own game, I staked my all and—lost it. My only recourse then was to
apply to my father for relief. He sent me money with which to return
home, and in the same letter informed me of the serious illness of my
sister Laura. Like the prodigal, I returned to find a welcome, but in
time only to receive my sister’s last farewell.
The impression on me created by her death was but fleeting. I soon
recommenced gambling with the boys of the neighborhood, at first playing
poker for pennies, though the “ante” soon increased and the stakes
sometimes amounted to a dollar, which was considered high play for boys
in the country. Of course, I soon learned the slang of professional
gamblers and was otherwise rapidly fitting myself for my subsequent
career of knavery and disgrace.
Among those with whom I associated and played poker at Roanoke in those
days, were Ed. and Dod White, John Pruitt, Whit Tyrell, Tom Walton, Bill
Drinkard, Bob Holley and the Finney boys, all well known in Randolph
County.
About this time occurred an incident which made a lasting impression
upon me and aided in my initiation into the tortuous ways of the
confidence man and cheat. As I was leaving the village one morning for a
squirrel hunt, I fell in with a man who professed to be a billiard
player. He invited me to accompany him to Fayette, where he would—to use
his own expression—“throw a man off to me.” I assented with alacrity,
went with him to Fayette, and was there “thrown off” myself for all that
I was worth. The game was played in Charley King’s saloon and billiard
hall, and the man who played it was Sam Majors, afterward a prominent
lawyer and Member of Congress from Missouri.
I spent that night at Fayette, and on reaching home next morning found
that every spring and well on my father’s farm had been poisoned, and
that the entire family were violently ill from drinking coffee prepared
from the contaminated water. This villianous attempt at wholesale
poisoning resulted in the death of my only remaining sister Roma, the
manner of whose taking away, no less than the sad event itself, cast a
pervading gloom over our little family circle. For a time I was deeply
impressed; solemn thoughts of my past and future crowded upon my brain,
and I resolved to abandon my evil course, and to enter upon a new life.
But I was young; my nature was volatile; I was keenly alive to the
fascination of gambling; and even at that early age the habit had
acquired over me a power not easily broken. My surroundings, moreover,
were not of a nature either to promote reflection or encourage better
impulses. That portion of Missouri was at that time over-run by bush
whackers. Assaults and depredations were the rule, while robberies and
murders were of frequent occurrence. Bands of from ten to twenty armed
men were wont, from time to time, to ride through the streets of
Roanoke, and the clatter of horses’ feet, the firing of guns, and the
yells and oaths of demons in human form, converted a peaceful settlement
into a pandemonium.
Among other notorious characters who visited our village, I well
remember one desperate gang, armed to the teeth and flushed with
pillage, who one night alighted at my father’s grocery store for rest
and recreation. Among that band were the James boys, Bill Anderson, the
Younger brothers, and Tom Hunter. The party was quiet, even
“gentlemanly,” as that designation was then applied, inasmuch as they
departed without killing or robbing anyone. They played poker, and I can
well recall the cupidity awakened in my breast at the sight of the roll
of bills which they staked upon the game. The play ran well up into the
thousands, and never before had I seen such piles of money upon a table.
I was much impressed, nor was I able to divest myself of the idea that
money fairly won at cards was honestly earned. And, indeed, as compared
with the outrageous robbery of unoffending, defenceless citizens, by
marauding bands of armed ruffians which I saw constantly going on about
me, gambling seemed an innocent recreation. Over and again, during those
memorable years of the war, have I seen such gangs of desperadoes
forcibly enter my father’s homestead, and with a pistol leveled at his
head demand his cash. My father was determined, resolute and brave, but
more than once have I seen him forced to purchase his own life and the
lives of his family by partial submission to these threats.
I recall another incident of my early life, which occurred during the
war, and which is worthy of mention only so far as it may serve to
illustrate to what a degree of intensity my passion for gambling had
developed. The battle of Silver Creek, which was a short but spirited
engagement, was fought at night. In the morning I was sent with needed
supplies for the wounded to the Union camp, which was located only three
miles from my father’s store. After distributing the supplies, I opened
a game of poker with a party of soldiers in a store kept by one Jas. T.
Wallace. The appalling sights witnessed in the midst of the dead and
dying were powerless to restrain or curb a passion which was even then
stronger than death.
At the close of the war I felt myself a man and qualified to engage in
business. So at the age of twenty, I went to Keytsville, in Chariton
Co., Mo., and started a hardware store. I found myself unable, however,
to forego the amusement of gaming, nor could I reconcile myself to the
abandonment of my hopes of winning a fortune at the card table; I
therefore combined gambling with business (sadly to the detriment of the
latter), I divided my time between my own store and Dan Kellogg’s saloon
and gambling resort. Among my associates there were such well-known
gamblers as Bill and Tom Binford, Rives Williams, Jube Hurt, French
Blakey, besides many others. I remained at Keytsville for a year, but
failing to make any money by either legitimate or illegitimate methods,
I closed out my business and returned to Roanoke.
Here, in my native village, my next venture was to start a tonsorial and
bathing establishment. I had one bath-tub and one assistant. As I knew
nothing about shaving (except at cards), and one of the rules of the
shop was that when a customer was cut he need pay nothing, I was glad to
confine my operations to transient callers, relegating regular patrons
to the tender mercies of my assistant. As might have been expected, no
profits materialized, and after the business had dragged its miserable
length along for some twelve months, I spontaneously and cheerfully
abandoned it.
My next business move was the formation of a partnership with one James
Bird, familiarly known as “Slim Jim.” The firm was to manufacture and
sell piano dulcimers, for which, at that time, there was a great and
constantly increasing demand throughout that entire section. I was the
senior partner, and furnished the capital; Jim was the practical man and
had the experience; we united the two and the result may be very briefly
told. To facilitate delivery of the goods, I purchased a carriage,
horses and harness. I then went to St. Louis to buy materials to be used
in the manufacture of the instruments. Upon my return, I found that
“Slim” (it should have been “Slick”) Jim had been to Sedalia, Mo., where
he had sold out the horses, carriage, etc., pocketed the proceeds, and
had secured a tolerably fair start on his way to California. I trust
that I may not be regarded as unduly revengeful if I frankly admit that
when, thirteen years later, my _quondam_ partner was arrested by
Detective Henry Hutling while playing three card monte along the line of
the Chicago and Alton Railroad, I hastened to the scene of his
misfortune, and relentlessly made him disgorge by way of settlement,
seventy-five dollars in money, a gold watch and chain and a diamond pin.
In the year 1868, in company with my uncle Tom, my brothers Sidney and
Robert and a man by the name of Keen Viley, I went as far west as the
southern portion of Dakota. For several months we located ourselves at
Benton City, on the North Platte River. Here the mayor of the “city,”
one A. B. Miller, in conjunction with a man named Charles Storms,
conducted what is known in gamblers’ parlance as a “brace” faro game;
that is to say, players could win nothing except at the option of the
proprietor, and the latter lost only such trifling sums as might serve
as an allurement to continued and heavier play. In this establishment I
held the position of “case-keeper;” in other words, I kept the record of
the game. This was my first regular employment in a gambling house. Life
in the territory at that period was primitive in its comforts, but
decidedly exciting in its uncertainty. Our party slept in a canvas tent,
lined with slabs to about the height of three feet as a protection
against the stray bullets, which came, with unpleasant frequency, from
whence no one knew and went none could tell whither. During the progress
of the fusilade, no sleeper in any tent ever thought of raising his head
from his pillow, and the wisdom of lying perfectly still was abundantly
demonstrated by the many bullet holes in the upper part of the canvas.
From Dakota I again gravitated to Roanoke, where I once more embarked in
business, this time in the custom shoe trade. Being utterly ignorant of
that, or any other business, I employed a shoe-maker who, after the
manner of his kind, made it a point of honor to fill himself with
whiskey every time he lasted a pair of boots. Naturally the business
languished, and I soon sought a more congenial pursuit.
Going to Columbia, Mo., I opened a saloon; not from any desire to
indulge my appetite in this direction, inasmuch as I can truthfully say
that I never drank any intoxicating liquor in my life. My chief aim was
to conduct a gaming establishment, for which the sale of liquor might
serve as a blind. While at Columbia I used to gamble—chiefly at faro or
poker—with the Hume’s boys, of whom there were six or seven with Dr. Ed.
Compton, Sam Reader, James I. Brewitt, the Jacobs boys, Arthur
Charleston, Jesse Forshay, Alex Bradford, Billy Booth, and many others
who have since attained local prominence.
Like other young men, I was not unsusceptible to feminine charms, nor,
wicked as I was, was I incapable of appreciating true womanly worth. I
first felt the afflatus of the “divine passion” when I met Miss Fannie
White, a fair maiden of Roanoke. For a time it seemed to me as though
the sun shone only through her eyes. I prosecuted my suit with all the
ardor of a first attachment, but the young lady’s parents promptly and
forcibly interposed. My reputation was notoriously bad and a marriage
between their daughter and myself was, they said, not to be thought of.
Thus the affair was nipped in the bud. For a time I felt the blow
keenly, and bitterly realized the disgraceful position which I occupied
as a suitor rejected for such a cause. Time, however, and a sort of
sullen resentment came to my aid. I succeeded in tearing from my heart
the hopes which I had formed, as an idol is wrenched from its pedestal,
and entered upon the vice of gaming with redoubled vigor.
But a few years later I formed an attachment for a beautiful and
captivating lady, the accomplished daughter of Dr. Wm. C. and Mrs. L. A.
Harvey, who enjoyed a position of social pre-eminence in the community.
Little May Harvey was a girl suited to fill the ideal conception of a
far better man than I. Of attractive form and feature, she was modest,
truthful, and a universal favorite with her acquaintances. That I should
presume to lift my eyes to such a girl was enough to excite the
apprehension of her parents, who at once became most bitter and
unyielding opponents. But, fortunately or unfortunately, I had a
powerful advocate in May’s own heart. In affairs of the heart young
people are not always disposed to brook parental interference. They are
apt to regard themselves as best qualified to judge of what will be for
their own happiness, and to constitute themselves the sole arbiters of
their own destiny. My affection for May was deep and true, and, which is
a no less vital point, it was thoroughly reciprocated. An engagement to
May followed as a matter of course; and, also as a matter of course,
there followed an insistent demand on the part of Dr. and Mrs. Harvey
that the engagement be suddenly and finally broken off. A most plausible
excuse was found in my arrest on an utterly false charge for highway
robbery.
The facts connected with this episode in my life may prove not
uninteresting to the reader. A farmer by the name of Jesse B. Hudson,
living about five miles east of Roanoke, had been robbed of a large sum
of money by bush whackers. One of the robbers rode a horse belonging to
John Emery, which he had taken from a hitching post in the town while
Emery was on a spree. The horse was accidentally shot. Owing partly to
the existence of a neighborhood feud, and partly to my bad reputation, I
was arrested as a participant in the crime, and taken to Huntsville for
trial. There I gave bonds in the sum of $3,000 for my appearance when
wanted, two reputable farmers—W. H. Lockridge and Geo. Aulthouse—signing
my bond. Among the men suspected of the crime were such notorious
outlaws as the James boys, Quantrell, Anderson, Hunter, Clingman, Lyons,
and others, yet I was the only one arrested. At different times before,
while I was living at home, the bush whackers had aroused me at night
and ordered me to supply them with liquor from my father’s store. This
fact may have given rise to a suspicion that I was a member of the gang,
and may have led to my arrest. Be that as it may, my innocence was
easily established at the trial, and the jury promptly rendered a
verdict of acquittal.
May’s fidelity was unshaken by my arrest, and my vindication was hailed
by her with triumph. Shortly afterwards she was sent as a pupil to the
Convent of the Visitation at St. Louis, and peremptorily forbidden by
her parents to hold any communication with me. Similar instructions were
given to the Mother Superior and her assistants. The sisters faithfully
obeyed Dr. Harvey’s behest. Under these circumstances I had recourse to
strategem. I had followed her to St. Louis, where I had engaged in
gambling with many well-known sporting men of that city. Calling at the
convent I asked for an interview which was refused by the Mother
Superior. I had told the latter that I was from Roanoke, Miss Harvey’s
home. I had expected a refusal and was not unprepared. Producing a
package, I handed it to the convent Cerberus, and brazenly informed that
suspicious individual that I had been commissioned by the young lady’s
parents to convey it to her. The package contained a volume of
Longfellow’s poems and a pair of kid gloves. In one of the fingers of
the gloves was a neatly folded note, written on tissue paper, calling
attention to the fact that a letter was pasted between two of the book’s
pages. The scheme was well laid, as I thought, but failed to work. The
bundle was opened and examined by the Superior; its contents sent to
Mrs. Harvey, and the letter burned. My efforts to hold an interview with
my inamorata upon the streets proved equally fruitless, it not being
permitted to her to take her “daily walks abroad” unless accompanied by
a watchful attendant. Despairing of seeing her alone, I started with a
small party on a gambling tour to the far west, visiting Colorado and
Wyoming. The trip was uneventful, and I returned to Roanoke to find that
May had been at home and had been sent to school at Columbia, Missouri.
Thither I followed her, only to be again denied an interview. Returning
home, I forwarded to her as present from her mother, a box of fruit. A
portion of the core of one of the apples had been extracted, and its
place deftly filled by a letter written on extremely thin paper. No
suspicion was aroused by the receipt of the fruit, which was handed to
Miss Harvey. She examined every apple in the expectation of finding a
letter from me but failed to discover the right one. While sharing the
fruit with her schoolmates, one of them, in biting an apple, was
surprised to find a pin in her mouth; the mystery was solved, and the
letter reached its destination.
In due time I received an answer, full of love and encouragement,
showing that neither absence nor intimidation could conquer her faithful
spirit. To be near her I went to Columbia, where I opened a saloon and
resumed gambling. Every Sunday I was made supremely happy by seeing her.
About this time she received a letter from her mother severely
reprimanding her for encouraging my attentions. Smarting under this
rebuke she impulsively returned all my letters and presents, among which
was the engagement ring. This blow fairly overwhelmed me. To accomplish
what had now become the chief aim of my existence, any and all means
seemed to me justifiable. Accordingly, on the following Sunday evening I
attended the church at which I knew she would be present. At a favorable
moment I sank to the floor in a simulated swoon, and was carried to the
hotel by four men, whither was summoned a physician, who made me four
visits. Probably he suspected the sham, but he kept his own counsel. The
ruse had the effect desired. May’s sympathy was aroused, a
reconciliation followed, my presents and letters were again accepted,
and the engagement ring once more found a place upon her finger.
To hope for the consent of her parents to our union was, we both knew,
to expect the impossible. We therefore laid our plans for an elopement.
About nine o’clock on the evening of an August day in 1870 we met at the
appointed place of rendezvous. I was accompanied by a friend, Frank
Payne, who was to act as witness and best man. May mounted behind me one
of my father’s best saddle horses, and our little party set forth in
quest of some clergyman or justice of the peace to tie the nuptial knot.
After meeting with sundry rebuffs, and riding all night, we reached
Renick, a small town in Randolph county, about eighteen miles from
Roanoke. Here we found an accommodating magistrate in the person of
Esquire Butler. After Payne had sworn that Miss Harvey was eighteen
years old on August 24th, and therefore of lawful age, the magistrate
consented to perform the ceremony. That evening we returned to the home
of my father, who was living alone, my mother having died on Oct 12,
1865.
Great was the sensation which our marriage created in our little
village, and greater the indignation of my bride’s parents. Dr. Harvey
promptly caused the arrest of Frank Payne for false swearing, and of
Esquire Butler for solemnizing the marriage. The prosecution of Payne
was soon dropped, but the magistrate did not escape so easily, being
sentenced to pay a fine of $300 and to be imprisoned in the county jail
for three months. Both these penalties, however, were soon afterward
remitted.
For two years we lived at Roanoke, my wife’s parents refusing to
recognize us even on the streets. At the end of that time we removed to
Moberly, Missouri, where I lived by gaming, finding all avenues of
respectable employment closed against me.
Among those with whom I gambled during this period were Joe Woods, Si.
Beatty, Levi Perkins, James F. Wallace, Bill Robertson, Pat Carmody,
Perry McDaniels, John Guy, Bill Williams, Dave White, and Judge Worden.
While at Moberly I formed the acquaintance of one Sam Martin, a jovial,
good natured man, who first taught me the use of marked cards. I found
him a congenial companion, and during the eight years from 1873 to 1881
we were partners in gambling. In the latter year Martin’s health failed
and he had recourse to the waters of Hot Springs, where he died in 1885,
at the early age of thirty-five.
Perhaps I may be pardoned for relating here a few incidents of our life
at this time, which may serve to illustrate both Martin’s character and
my own. On one of our gambling expeditions we arrived at Columbia,
Missouri, and went to a hotel kept by Jim Hume. Placing a carpet satchel
upon the counter, Martin blandly demanded the best room in the house.
Being informed that the hostelry was full, he thrust his hand into his
empty vest pocket and offered to settle in advance. This audacious piece
of assurance won the confidence of the clerk, and we were assigned to
the parlor for the night. At the end of a week a bill for $12 was handed
to Martin, who excused himself from payment by saying that he had handed
all his money to me, and that he would go and find me. It was after dark
before he came across me and explained the _modus operandi_ which he had
devised. He was to lower the antique satchel from the window of our room
by a string upon receiving a signal from me that I was below. I assented
to the plan, and returning to the hotel, told the landlord to go out and
give the prearranged whistle. This he did, and down came the string with
the satchel attached, which was removed by Hume and carried into the
hotel office. Here it was opened in the presence of a large crowd of
“fakirs” who had been drawn to Columbia by the fair then in progress.
Its contents were found to be as follows: item, one deck of cards; item,
one pair of socks; item, one dirty collar; item, one rock (for ballast).
Sam’s wardrobe was regarded as unique, but of hardly sufficient value to
liquidate his bill. One of the amused sporting men present proposed
taking up a collection for Martin’s benefit. The proposition was hailed
with favor and twelve silver dollars soon jingled on the counter. The
landlord joined in the merriment, and in the exuberance of his mirth
offered to treat the crowd if someone would fetch Martin to participate
in the festivities of the occasion. Sam was soon found, and a general
jollification followed. When asked why he had not paid his bill, he
replied, “What for? Why, I could go to St. Louis and board at the
Lindell or Southern by paying for it.”
On the following day we started for St. Louis. On the train Martin
formed the acquaintance of an old gentleman, whom he courteously invited
to dine with him on reaching the refreshment station. The invitation was
accepted. Martin hurried through his meal and politely excused himself
to his companion. At the door he was asked for seventy five cents;
pointing towards the old gentleman, he said: “Father will settle.” When
his traveling acquaintance returned to the car he sought out Sam and
took a seat by his side. “Pretty good dinner for seventy-five cents,”
said Sam. “I should say so,” remarked the old gentleman. “I paid a
dollar and a half for yours and mine, and I want seventy-five cents.” At
this Martin started up in great apparent indignation, and in a loud
voice asked the conductor, “What sort of a man is that who keeps the
eating house? He has collected from both of us for our meal.” Before the
conductor could answer, the old gentleman exclaimed, “I want you to give
me that seventy-five cents that I paid out for your dinner.” Sam said
that he had no small change, but the old man assured him that he could
make change for “any sized bill.” I comprehended the situation and
quietly remarked, “Mr. Martin, this gentleman ought to be paid. I have
not enough money with me to cash your draft, but he should be paid.” My
companion at once perceived his opportunity. Producing from under the
lining of his hat a draft for $500, he said, “Now give me $499.25 and
you are paid.” Thinking that this was an attempt to “bluff” him, the old
gentleman reached down and pulled from his boot leg a large roll of
bills, from which he triumphantly counted out the “change,” as he called
it. Martin gave the conductor $20 to slow up and we jumped off the
train. The draft was, of course, utterly worthless, but the old man
apparently never made any effort to find either Martin or myself.
At St. Louis we were moderately successful in the prosecution of our
nefarious enterprises, making frequent excursions into the adjacent
country.
Our next objective point was Texas. At Houston, Martin won nearly $100
from a man by playing with marked cards. The dupe discovered how he had
been victimized and related the circumstances to a friend giving a
description of the man who had won his money. The next morning a typical
Texan called on Martin and said, “I am out making collections this
morning, and have a bill against you for exactly $96.50.” Without saying
a word, Martin opened his wallet, and counting out the amount demanded,
quietly handed it over to the “collector.” As an argument, a six-shooter
is more convincing than rhetoric.
During the Centennial year, Martin went east, visiting Philadelphia,
Baltimore and Washington. When he said good bye to me at St. Louis, he
said that he was going to wear either diamonds or shackles. A few weeks
later he wrote that it was shackles; he had been in jail three days.
In September, 1876, I went to Philadelphia myself, to join Martin. On
arriving at his hotel I found that he was temporarily absent in
Baltimore. The second night after reaching Philadelphia I was invited by
the hotel clerk to take a hand in a game of poker. I found the cards
were marked, but as the marks were very familiar I said nothing, I found
the game exceedingly interesting and rose from the table a winner by
$300. I telegraphed Sam to return to Philadelphia at once, which he did.
On opening his valise, which he had left at his hotel in Philadelphia,
he found some of his cards missing. That afternoon the clerk of the
house came to him and apologized for taking a few decks of cards from
his valise, they being convenient for use. “That is all right,” said Sam
Martin; “you are at liberty to help yourself to them at any time,
provided my friend and myself can play in the game. I only carry them
with me because they are the Hart brand of cards and are “square.” They
are a protection to me when I play for a little amusement. They won’t
cheat me.”
Of course, every pack which he had was marked, and had laid the
foundation of a great financial success. None but his celebrated “Hart”
cards were used in the games at that hotel afterwards, and in less than
three weeks we had won at poker something over $3,000.
While in Philadelphia I formed the acquaintance of a man named Anderson,
who confided to me his troubles. He told me that he had resided in the
coal regions of Pennsylvania, where he had been involved in a terrible
fight, and that he was afraid to return. He offered me $100 if I would
go down into that section and bring his family to Baltimore. This I did,
and in the evening of our arrival in the Maryland metropolis, while
Anderson and I were walking about the city together, we were both
arrested and locked up. The next morning a gentleman from the place
where my new acquaintances resided came to the jail and identified
Anderson as the man who had recently fled from that town with $3,000 of
his money. Of course, I was discharged. The gentleman from Pennsylvania
was profuse in his expressions of regret at my arrest, paid my hotel
bill, and gave me twenty dollars. I did not enjoy the experience,
however, and as the poker games at the Philadelphia hotel showed decided
symptoms of coming to an end, I determined to return to St. Louis.
But to revert to my life at Moberly. In 1874, feeling dissatisfied, I
made a trip to Hot Springs, where I passed a few months, but found
little opportunity of making money in the only way which I understood.
Accordingly, in the autumn of that year I went to reside at St. Louis.
There I was joined by my wife. Many times had I resolved to quit
gambling, but as often had my determination failed. The sight of my
wife’s sweet, patient face when I met her at St. Louis rekindled my
desire to reform and pursue some honorable vocation. The thought that I
had brought her to the shame of being a gambler’s wife was bitter. But I
overcame these reflections by arguing with myself after the manner of
those gamesters whose desire to reform is half hearted, being founded on
impulse rather than on principle. I had tried several kinds of
legitimate business and failed in each. Who would trust me in any honest
employment? How was I to provide for my wife, to say nothing of myself?
To these questions I could formulate no answer, and hence it was that
during the six years of my residence in St. Louis I played at any and
every game that promised to pay me money. In order to preserve a
semblance of respectability at home, I rarely gambled in the city.
Excursion boats, country towns, and county fairs formed the theater of
my gaming. That description of games known to professionals as “brace”
comprised those in which I engaged. My pursuits included the use of
marked cards, “squeeze spindles,” roulette, monte tricks, and “bunko
steering” for “brace” faro banks. When I could not win the entire stake
for myself, I was content to accept a percentage. Thus I lived until
April 29, 1880.
On the date last mentioned I was residing with my wife on an upper floor
at No. 1517 North Eighth Street. At about eleven o’clock in the
forenoon, as my wife was starting from home to carry aid to a former
servant who was at that time sick and destitute, her foot became
entangled in her clothing as she reached the head of the stairs and she
fell headlong to the foot of the flight. She was at once carried to her
room and placed upon her bed. Her eyes opened, and during a single
moment of consciousness she placed both hands upon her head and
exclaimed, “Where is John? O, mother! mother! you won’t forgive—you
break my heart!” She then added, “take down my hair; I am dying.”
Respiration ceased, and the loving, faithful heart that had for so many
years beat only for me was at rest.
That morning, her mother was returning from a three days’ visit at St.
Louis to her home in Roanoke; her father had just reached the National
Stock Yards at East St. Louis with two car loads of live stock; and I
was at Cote Brilliante Park, in training for a foot race with “Hank”
Wider, and Jim Bensley for a purse of $10,000. I was not apprised of the
great calamity which had befallen me until my return to my desolate home
that evening. I will not attempt to depict the emotions of remorse,
anguish, almost despair, which struggled for mastery in my heart. There
are sorrows too deep for tears and griefs too sacred to be revealed.
I at once notified Dr. and Mrs. Harvey of the death of the daughter,
whose last, agonized cry had been for a mother’s forgiveness. My
preparations for the funeral completed, the form that had been so dear
in life and was so sacred to me, in its sleep of death was carried to
Roanoke and reverently laid to rest in the family burying ground. Revs.
Talbot and Johnson conducted the last sad religious rites.
The night following the funeral I passed under Dr. Harvey’s roof, and
for the first time in my life, was kindly entertained by my wife’s
parents. Soon after leaving the village, I arranged for the erection of
a suitable monument to mark the last resting place of my loved one.
The foot race for which I was in training at the time of my wife’s death
had been declared off, out of respect for my bereavement, and when I
returned to St. Louis I was without anything to engross my thoughts.
Then how many good resolutions did I form to abandon the vice, which in
the mood of repentance induced by my wife’s death, had grown not only
distasteful but actually abhorrent to me. I saw the degradation into
which I had fallen, and I resolved to make another effort to raise
myself from the slough into which I had sunk.
After remaining in St. Louis for about six months, in the fall of 1880 I
went to Little Rock, Arkansas, where I stumbled across the Mabel Norton
theatrical troupe, then under the management of John Hogan. The
combination had become financially stranded, and I advanced the
necessary funds, taking the position of treasurer. After visiting the
principal towns in the valley of the Arkansas river, we went to Eureka,
where I severed my connection with the company and returned to my evil
courses, opening several gambling houses. Here I formed the acquaintance
of a number of persons who I initiated into the mysteries of “brace”
games with a view to their becoming of assistance to me in the pursuit
of my nefarious calling.
While I was at the last mentioned resort I wrote to Mrs. Harvey,
recommending the waters for the use of her invalid daughter. Mother and
daughter both visited the springs, and while there treated me with
kindness and even cordiality. Their visit constituted the second
occasion on which I was allowed to associate with any of the family
except my wife. I felt that I was never justly entitled to their
consideration, yet they always demanded my esteem, if not my affection.
I remained at Eureka Springs for seven months, encountering varying
fortunes, when I again returned to my old home in Roanoke.
In the early fall of 1881, I received a despatch from Jem Sanford, a
professional gambler, to come to Chicago. The dispatch conveyed a
proposition to “take in” the fairs then being held in the surrounding
country. The proposal I readily accepted, and going to Chicago I united
my fortunes with the redoubtable Jem. Together we visited many county
fairs in the states of Indiana, Illinois and Missouri. Our outfit
consisted of marked cards, dice, spindles, a hap-hazard, and other
devices to defraud the unwary. Considered solely from a money making
standpoint our jaunt was a successful one. No games involving large
stakes were played, but we reaped a constant harvest of small sums from
the ignorance and stupidity of the country people.
At Marion, Indiana, however, while I was running a game of “hap-hazard”
on the fair ground, the game was discovered to be “skin.” I was
arrested, tried, and fined $25. I paid the fine and left the place
without delay.
At the end of the fair season we returned to St. Louis. I had determined
to locate in Chicago and thither I went later in the autumn. There I
became a member of the commission firm of Stockton, Young & Co., who
referred by permission to Wm. Young & Co., then the leading general
commission house of that city. I found operating on change different
from running a “squeeze spindle,” but the “squeezing” was effectually
accomplished in both cases. In the spring of 1882 the composition and
title of the firm was changed; Ben Demint was admitted to membership,
and the firm name became Stockton, Quinn & Co.
While a member of the firm, I was causelessly arrested for defrauding a
Mrs. Morgan out of $700. By way of defence I produced her receipt, and
was thereupon honorably discharged.
One day, while business was dull, Demint and I were chatting in our
office, when one of us (probably myself) proposed, in a spirit of
deviltry, to advertise for a wife. The suggestion was adopted, and the
day following the insertion of the advertisement we received fifty-six
replies. At the end of a week we had received answers from points as far
distant as New York and later from California and New Orleans. From the
beginning I regarded the whole project as a mere matter of passing
sport. Little did I think how potent an influence it was destined to
exert over my future life.
Among my correspondents was a handsome, petite Jewess, named Lily Boas,
whose acquaintance I formed, and by whom I was captivated at once. On
July 3, 1882, we went together to Milwaukee, where we were married. My
former experience in the matter of securing parental consent had not
been of a sort to encourage me to ask for it in this instance, and as my
fiance was content without it, we agreed to regard it as a needless
formality.
I was determined that my second wife should not be subjected to the
humiliating circumstances which had embittered the life of May. I
determined to abjure gambling then and forever. To remove myself from
the temptation, I determined to withdraw from business in Chicago, and
once more to take up my residence on my father’s farm. The monotony and
ceaseless toil of a farmer’s life were irksome to me, but I hoped to
find in them a refuge from my overweaning passion. Better the dullness
of a plodding routine than the fitful excitement of a gambler’s
checkered life; better an aching body than a ruined soul.
For a year I led a rural life, and in September, 1883, I removed to St.
Louis. There I found employment with McDonald’s Detective Agency, whose
proprietors I faithfully served for two years, retaining their
confidence at the termination of our relations. While with this concern,
I returned to my former pursuits, running games at fairs, picnics, etc.,
and on excursion boats.
While living in St. Louis at this time, I became involved in two or
three transactions which brought me into some unpleasant notoriety. The
first was in connection with the sale of a saloon, known as the “White
Elephant,” on 6th Street, near Chestnut. I had an interest in this
place, jointly, with a man named Henry W. Huthsing. Huthsing sold out
the business to one Fred. Beckerer, of East St. Louis, for $1,900.
Payment was made in nineteen $100 four per cent. U. S. bonds, and my
partner, finding that the premiums and accrued interest amounted to $375
gave Beckerer his check for that sum, greatly to the latter’s surprise.
Becoming dissatisfied with his bargain, the purchaser set up the claim
that the bottles and barrels in the place were chiefly filled with
water, a statement which was utterly untrue. He brought suit against us
and caused our arrest. Our experience before trial was not of a
character seriously to impress us with respect either for the
administration of justice or for the integrity of some of the legal
luminaries of the St. Louis bar. We gave bonds in $1,000 each, signed by
Henry W. Godfrey, an old-time gambler and well-known in the courts of
that city. We retained as counsel ex-judge Wm. Jones and C. R. Taylor,
paying them retainers of $50 and $100 respectively. When the case was
first called, Jones demanded $50 additional, having ascertained that
Taylor had received $100. The demand was accompanied with a threat of
withdrawing from the defense and allying himself with the prosecution,
and we complied with his request. The case was continued, and soon
afterward we gave Godfrey $300 upon his representation that the
prosecuting attorney, R. S. McDonald, had agreed to dismiss the suit.
What became of the money I cannot tell, but Godfrey repeatedly told us
that he had given McDonald $250, and we supposed that the matter was
settled. Several months later we were surprised to learn that the case
was about to be called again. Huthsing was obliged to give Judge Jones
his note for $100 to appear and defend. The day before that set for the
trial Jones wrote to Mrs. Huthsing that the note must be paid at once or
he would refuse to appear. The money was not paid and we were
accordingly deprived of the valuable services of the “Hon.” (?) Judge
Jones. I gave another attorney, Col. Nat. Claibourn $10 to move for a
continuance, which was granted, and subsequently retained ex-Governor
Charles P. Johnson, as our attorney. The case was called on January 16,
1887, and at the request of my counsel, I was granted a separate trial.
At the suggestion of Gov. Johnson, the evidence was submitted without
argument to the jury, who re-entered the court room in exactly nineteen
minutes with a verdict of acquittal. The case against Huthsing was then
dismissed. Thus the “White Elephant” was disposed of and the cheerful
prophecy of the St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_ came to naught; that paper
had said before the trial, “the way things look, it appears that softly
the cuckoo is calling for Quinn to come up the road.”
Another unpleasant experience of mine while sojourning in St. Louis was
in connection with the Van Hennessey-Wolff “gold brick” swindling case
in 1885, in which one U. S. Wolff, of Madison, Indiana, was defrauded of
$5,000. The victim offered a reward for the apprehension of the man who
had defrauded him. The matter received wide publication and attracted
general attention. A detective named Page, came to St. Louis with the
papers necessary to secure the extradition of Van Hennessey.
I knew Van Hennessey only too well, and had no reason to regard him with
affection. I had advanced to him some $1,200 to embark in the business
of running a Wild West show, no part of which sum had been returned, and
he had given me a note for $700, which I yet hold. I had pawned my own
watch and chain and my wife’s diamond ear drops to obtain the money. The
stock was to have been mine, but I discovered too late that Van
Hennessey and his brother John had mortgaged it for its full value.
While my child was ill I asked John Hennessey for money with which to
buy medicine, and was refused, although I knew that he had several
hundred dollars in his pocket at the time. When the Indiana detective
appeared upon the scene I thought my time had come. I accordingly
proposed to point out his game, knowing that the man he wanted was in
Tennessee. The result was an arrangement that Page (the detective), one
Backenstoe, and my brother should proceed to Tennessee, where they
should collect my note and then allow Hennessey to go. The amount to be
collected was to be divided equally between Page and myself, after
Backenstoe had been reimbursed for the money he was to advance for
expenses.
In the meantime, a wealthy man of Nashville, Tennessee, by the name of
Oscar F. Noel, had been swindled out of $6,000 by the gold brick scheme,
and when they arrived in Tennessee they found that Hennessey was then
engaged in a similar enterprise to defraud a man from Marietta, Georgia.
They soon found their man, whom my brother captured at the point of a
pistol. On their return trip they stopped at Nashville, where Hennessey
said that he could raise the $700. They placed him under the care of my
brother, and Page went out for a little while on “business.” About ten
o’clock that evening the latter returned with an officer, representing
the authorities of Nashville, to whom he turned over Hennessey, on the
charge of swindling Noel, receiving for his services in that connection,
it was said, the sum of $1,150. The Indiana requisition was returned and
Hennessey was tried, convicted, and sentenced to the Tennessee
penitentiary for a term of five years. After serving two years in prison
Hennessey was pardoned. He was brought to St. Louis a hopeless
consumptive, and died in a few days. The next result of the expedition
was that Backenstoe was “out” the money advanced for expenses. I found
the amount of my note to be a permanent investment, and my brother was
obliged to pawn his pistol to obtain money with which to get home. The
detective, after the manner of many of his class, “sold out” not only
us, but his state as well, and was probably well satisfied with himself.
This was the era when the gold brick swindlers were reaping a rich
harvest, and I was induced, through cupidity and vicious propensities,
to embark in that line of operations myself. I soon got into trouble. In
September, 1886, in company with a party known as “Doc” Kerns, I was
arrested at St. Louis, charged with attempting to sell a bogus brick to
one Bob Basket, of Howard County, Missouri. While we were held in jail a
Jew named Levi Stortz, a small manufacturer of jewelry, came to the Four
Courts and identified me as one of the men from whom he had bought one
of these fraudulent articles. A formal charge was thereupon made against
me, and Kerns was liberated. I was released on $1,500 bail, John Vittie
becoming my surety. Ex-Governor Johnson being absent from the city, John
I. Martin was employed as my attorney on the strength of his
representations that he “could influence” the judges. Stortz had sworn
that he paid $3,700 for the bogus brick on July 15. Mr. Martin and I
went together to St. Paul, Minnesota, where we obtained depositions from
the proprietor of a hotel where I had stopped, and from the cashier of
the city water works, and several other business men to the effect that
I was in that city on July 12th, and for two weeks thereafter.
Several months after my arrest, two men, named Frank Aldrich and “Billy”
Adkins called on me, and the former told me that he had been the cause
of my arrest. He said that he had induced Stortz to make the charge
because he had understood that I was endeavoring to have him sent to the
penitentiary. He added that he had offered $100 to a grocer on Jefferson
Avenue to go to the jail and identify me as the swindler who had tried
to defraud him in a similar way. The latter part of this story was
corroborated by Adkins, who said that he had been present at the time.
Aldrich also stated that he had endeavored to retain Governor Johnson to
assist in my prosecution, but that the latter had refused to entertain
the proposition. He went on to express his deep regret for all this,
saying that he wished to “bury the hatchet,” and as an earnest of his
desire to make atonement he handed me two ten dollar bills. Before going
to St. Paul I had myself retained Governor Johnson as counsel and he
forwarded a letter from Aldrich sent in his care, offering to establish
an alibi for me by swearing that I was with him in Chicago at the time
named by Stortz. This offer was indignantly rejected. All the facts were
brought to the notice of the prosecuting attorney, and as a result the
case was dropped.
I now come to the recital of the gloomiest chapter in my life’s history,
a chapter of legalized intimidation, of perjury and the subornation of
perjury, and of gross and wanton outrage upon personal liberty committed
in the name of justice and under the forms of law. I refer to my arrest,
trial and incarceration in the Southern Penitentiary of Indiana for a
crime of which I was as innocent as any of my readers and the
perpetrators of which, were to me entirely unknown. On August 7, 1887,
accompanied by “Doc” Kerns and John Forbes, I left St. Louis by way of
Terre Haute, at which place our party stopped for a few days. While
eating supper at a restaurant, two strangers, who afterwards proved to
be detectives, entered and accosted Kerns, who soon called me forward
and introduced me. These men, whose names were Vandeveer and Murphy,
placed us under arrest and took us to police headquarters, whither
Forbes was soon brought by Vandeveer and Chief Lawler.
Some two months before this a farmer by the name of Zach Deputy, living
near North Vernon, Ind., had been victimized by three confidence men to
the tune of $3,000, and it was this offense which was laid at our door.
Upon our arrival at headquarters, an effort was made to extort money
from us under the guise of “a compromise.” Had we been actually guilty,
this would, of course, have been an attempt to compound a felony, but
for that, these zealous officials, who had been sworn to enforce the law
whose majesty they so flagrantly violated, cared little. The proposition
was declined, and we were searched, when it was disclosed that our
entire cash assets aggregated $8.65.
After we had been placed in jail, we were visited by an alleged lawyer
calling himself Thomas Harper, who was permitted to interview us by the
grace of the police authorities. He wanted $100 for services which he
offered to render in the capacity of attorney. We declined his proposal
and he indignantly spurned our suggestion that $10 were probably all
that his services were worth. On the following Sunday Vandeveer called
on us, but we refused to recognize him, and on Monday morning the
authorities telegraphed to Webb Benton, a North Vernon detective that
they were holding the men who had fleeced Deputy. On receiving the
telegram Benton took with him a livery stable keeper named Burge and
started to convey the tidings to the old farmer. He had previously
offered a reward of $200 for the arrest of the guilty parties, and was
easily persuaded to enter into a written contract to pay the sum of $300
if Benton and Burge would point out to him the men who had robbed him.
This having been done, the trio went to Terre Haute, and the three
prisoners were brought before Deputy for identification. After he had
looked us thoroughly over, Benton asked him if he recognized us. The old
man shook his head, but pointing to Kerns said: “That man looks some
like one of them, but he is too small.” Thereupon Chief Lawler and
Vandeveer sent for Kerns and advised him to settle the matter by paying
$1,500. “Doc” replied that he had nothing to settle. Then the officers
suggested $1,000, but Kerns still proved obdurate. In order to secure
the $200 reward it was absolutely necessary that Deputy should identify
us as the men who had swindled him. To induce him to do this, Lawler and
Vandeveer told him that we had just robbed a country bank of $6,000, and
that if he would swear that we were the right parties, we would gladly
settle with him. This line of argument overcame his scruples and he at
once swore out warrants for us. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that
the $200 reward was promptly demanded and eventually paid.
The next day (Tuesday) we were arraigned for the preliminary
examination, Tom Harper, the alleged lawyer aforementioned, who had
indignantly shaken the dust of our cells off of his feet a few days
before, now appeared in the role of our attorney and asked for a
continuance. We promptly repudiated him, and Forbes told the court that
we would waive examination. Accordingly we were remanded to jail, and
the next day were taken to Brownstown, the county seat of the county in
which the crime had been committed. It was a slight mitigation of our
condition to be placed in the custody of Sheriff Wicks, whose kindness
was in delightful contrast to the blackmailing tactics of the police
officials of Terre Haute. Thomas Harper, Esq., who had so magnanimously
volunteered to ask for a continuance which we did not wish, easily
obtained possession of the watches taken from Kerns and Forbes by the
police, and retained them, alleging that he had a lien of $200 upon them
for his professional (?) services. They were subsequently redeemed by
Al. Burkey, of St. Louis, who paid that amount to the over-zealous
practitioner, when the watches were sent C. O. D.
At Brownstown we retained Lon Brenneman, a lawyer of some local
reputation. The next morning we telegraphed to Lieut. Governor Smith, of
North Vernon, who came to us at once, and agreed to appear in our
behalf. The Friday following, we had a preliminary hearing before a
justice of the peace. At that examination Deputy, under oath, identified
Kerns, because he was “bald-headed,” although he admitted that he was
smaller in stature and lighter in build than at the time when he alleged
that he committed the crime. He explained this discrepancy by swearing
that he believed the prisoner’s clothes were stuffed when he first saw
him, and added that on that occasion Kerns wore false whiskers. On
cross-examination the witness admitted having been instructed by Lawler
and Vandeveer to identify us as the men who had robbed him, because he
would thus recover his money and also admitted the making of the
contract with Burton and Burge. On this evidence we were held for trial
on September 12, in bonds of $3,000 each.
Gov. Smith, our counsel, strongly urged us to retain Jason B. Brown,
Esq., to which suggestion we assented. He himself went to Kansas City
and St. Joseph, Mo., to obtain depositions in our behalf. These were
secured from reputable citizens of those cities, and established the
fact that we were not in the state of Indiana at the time Deputy swore
that we had defrauded him.
The trial came off on the day appointed. Our consciousness of innocence
made us confident, and we asked for no delay. Deputy repeated his story
as told at the preliminary hearing, adding this time that when he first
saw us we all wore false whiskers and wigs and all had our clothes
stuffed out until we must have resembled a group of veritable Daniel
Lamberts. He not only made the same damaging admissions as before on
cross-examination, but also acknowledged that he had agreed to pay the
prosecuting attorney $500 in the event of our conviction, or 25 per
cent. of any money that we might pay by way of compromise.
Burge, the North Vernon liveryman, from whom the three swindlers had
hired rigs, swore that we looked like the precious trio. He also
testified to the fact that a gray horse was attached to one of the
buggies. In this latter statement he was corroborated by all the
witnesses but one, who, however, was positive in his identification of
us. Others swore to having seen us in the neighborhood about the time of
the robbery. This constituted the case for the state.
For the defence, were read the depositions taken in Missouri, which have
been already referred to as establishing an alibi on the part of Kerns,
and in addition witnesses were introduced in behalf of Forbes and
myself, who swore positively that we were both at St. Joseph, Missouri,
on the day when the complaining witness was defrauded. Among these were
Harry Trimble, now the clerk of Judge Baker’s court in Chicago, and
James Whitten, a responsible real estate owner of St. Joseph, both of
whom were well acquainted with me. It is worthy of remark that Mr.
Trimble was immediately arrested on the charge of perjury after giving
his testimony, but it is needless to add that he was never tried.
In addition, a number of prominent citizens of North Vernon who had seen
and remembered the men who had swindled Deputy were positive that we
were not the parties. Among these was a Mr. Curtis, a wealthy stock man
and the marshal of the town; another was a responsible merchant, and yet
another Mr. Douglas Snodgrass, proprietor of the Snodgrass House at
North Vernon, where the swindlers had stopped on the day of the
perpetration of the crime, and where one of them had stayed for a week
previously. The latter was corroborated by his wife, mother and three
sisters.
After being repeatedly urged by me, my counsel, Honorable Jason B.
Brown, called for the production of the contract between Deputy and the
prosecuting attorney, in which demand he was sustained by the court. The
attorney, Douglas Long, rising with flushed face and hang-dog air
admitted the existence of the contract but stated that it was not in his
power to produce it. This satisfied the court and the matter was not
pressed.
While the trial was in progress, I observed in the court room the
presence of a man whose name and residence were subsequently learned. He
was one Higgins, and he came from Detroit. It was also afterwards
ascertained that he had attended in the interest of Charles Stewart, Ed.
Rice and “Punch” Mason, the actual robbers. He appeared nervous and
deeply interested, and before the proceedings were over left the town,
ostensibly for Detroit, saying that he was going for the purpose of
raising money to clear the three innocent men then on trial. Although he
did not return, this incident furnished a clue to the guilty parties and
their whereabouts. After the rendition of the verdict, I laid these
facts before Sheriff Byrnes and warrants were obtained for the arrest of
the parties named.
Our trial consumed five days, and during its entire progress popular
sentiment against us ran very high. In the streets of Brownstown, the
demonstrations were almost riotous. Bonfires were lighted in the evening
and threats of violence were freely and openly made. The jurymen were
undoubtedly aware of these facts and were probably not uninfluenced by
them. We were informed that no man charged with crime, however innocent
he might be, could be acquitted in Brownstown “unless he brought his
jury with him,” and were asked to advance thirty-five dollars to be used
in “convincing” seven of the jurors.
After the evidence was all in, my counsel, Col. Brown, addressed the
jury in stentorian tones. His plea was alleged to be in our behalf, but
at its close I found it necessary to ask him on which side of the case
he had been speaking. The prosecuting attorney demanded a conviction (in
which he was ably seconded by the howling mob outside), the jury, and
the twelve “good men and true” withdrew from the courtroom, ostensibly
to weigh the evidence, but in reality to formulate a predetermined
verdict of guilty. Their foreman announced their conclusion (?) upon
their return, and the farce was over. For some unexplained reason Col.
Brown had retired from the room, during the absence of the jury, and it
devolved upon Lieut. Gov. Smith to make the stereotyped motion for a new
trial, which was promptly over-ruled.
The verdict fell with crushing effect upon my wife, who had been at
Brownstown throughout the trial, and whose natural grief at the
conviction of a husband whom she knew to be innocent, was rendered more
poignant by the reflection that she and her only child would be now
thrown upon the “cold mercy of an unfeeling world.”
I made a personal appeal to the presiding judges to defer sentence,
urging that I would be able to introduce additional and stronger proof
of my innocence, and in all probability to trace the parties really
guilty. My prayer was of no avail, and we were then and there sentenced
to three years’ imprisonment in the penitentiary at Jeffersonville. I
forbear to comment upon what I feel satisfied the reader will agree with
me in regard to the indecent haste of these proceedings.
That night we passed in the county jail, which was doubly guarded, with
a view to our protection against the angry, yelling crowd outside, which
surged backward and forward through the streets, rending the air with
demoniac shouts and clamoring for our execution by the light of the
great bonfire, whose livid flames danced fitfully upon the walls of our
prison. The next morning, in charge of Sheriff P. T. Byrnes, one of
nature’s nobleman, we started for Jeffersonville. We were permitted to
stop at the Snodgrass House, to say good bye to the family who, at the
risk of their own popularity and that of their hostelry had so zealously
yet fruitlessly identified themselves with our cause. They had kind
words for us in that hour of our humiliation and distress, and their
generous sympathy stirred us as nothing yet—not even the murderous mob,
thirsting for our blood—had stirred us; we broke down and wept. At
Seymour the train was boarded by that matchless orator, that eminent
jurist, that advocate without a peer, the great, the only Col. Jason B.
Brown. Words of honeyed cheer fell from his lips like rain, but alas,
they were not as “water to a thirsty land.” We had lost faith in the
redoubtable Colonel, and his assurance that he would “have us out of
prison in a week” fell upon our ears like the hollow echo of a mocking
laugh.
Arriving at the penitentiary, we went through the customary routine. The
necessary descriptions were entered, the formal minute of our
conviction, the county from which received, the crime charged, length of
sentence, etc., etc., was made. We were given the regulation bath, duly
shaved by the convict barber, and then we donned the stripes, that badge
of infamy which burns into the soul as the branding iron into the
quivering flesh. We were assigned to labor in the shoe-shop.
I feel that it would be folly for me to hope to convey to the reader who
has never tasted of the bitterness of prison life even a faint idea of
the feelings of him who for the first time enters the gloomy gates of a
penitentiary to do the State involuntary service as a felon. The
overwhelming sense of shame, the sickening feeling of isolation from all
that makes life sweet, the bitter memories of the past that crowd, like
a horde of mocking demons, upon the brain—all these might well plunge
into an agony of despairing grief, a stouter heart than mine. Nor is the
unvarying routine of prison life calculated to draw a man from that
self-contemplation which is at once the most tiresome and the most
dangerous of all mental exercises. I shall never be able to recall
without a shudder those wearisome days of bootless toil, rendered all
the more unbearable by the alternation of those dark nights of
loneliness;—nights whose bleak shadows were deepened rather than
dispelled by memories of home, of wife and child, and of all that the
heart holds dear. It is out of the utter agony of such a life that the
helpless soul turns to its Creator as its sole remaining refuge, or in
the bitterness of its torment curses even Him who made it.
After Sheriff Byrnes had safely landed us in the penitentiary, he
proceeded to Indianapolis with the warrants for the arrest of Stewart,
Rice and Mason, for the purpose of securing requisitions for their
surrender. I had had a surfeit not only of Indiana justice but of
Indiana lawyers as well. I therefore wrote to St. Louis and retained the
services of Ex-Gov. Johnson. He came to the prison and learned from me
all the facts of the case. Forthwith he set about securing the
extradition of the guilty parties from Canada, whither they had fled.[A]
-----
Footnote A:
In her anxiety to secure the release of her husband, Mrs. Kerns went
to Detroit to see Higgins. Stewart was there in Windsor, Can., where
Mrs. Kerns and Higgins found him. He politely handed her twenty
dollars and told her to return home as “as every one must skin his own
eel.” That was the only satisfaction she obtained.
-----
It will not be out of place here to recount the heroic and magnanimous
(?) zeal which Col. Jason B. Brown displayed in our behalf in due time.
Some three weeks after our incarceration he made his appearance at the
penitentiary and requested an interview with us. He did not leave us
long in ignorance as to the object of his visit. He told us that old
Deputy had been in debt to the amount of about $6,000 before that
unlucky day, when, at one fell swoop, he lost both his $3,000 and his
confidence in mankind. “If,” said the Colonel, “Mr. Deputy’s debt could
be squared up, I could arrange to have you pardoned in about ten days.”
This generous proposal being “declined with thanks,” he suggested
$3,000, and later $2,000 as a sum the payment of which might at once
convincingly prove our penitence and measurably solace Mr. Deputy under
his existing weight of misfortune. Finding his mission fruitless he left
us, but subsequently opened a correspondence, in the course of which he
offered to accept $1,000, which sum he gradually reduced to $300, as the
price which we were to pay in consideration of being pardoned for an
offense which we had never committed. These letters, of course, were
read by Mr. James Patton, the warden of the prison, who advised us to
have nothing to do with Col. Brown, inasmuch as he was quite as likely
to oppose our pardon as to champion it.
Meanwhile, requisition papers had been obtained from the Governor and
sent to Detroit by Sheriff Byrnes. The Detroit authorities showed great
vigilance. A watch was placed upon the houses in that city where the
families of the guilty parties resided, as well as upon their accustomed
haunts. The result was that one night in November, 1887, Stewart and
Rice were arrested at their homes and Mason at a gambling hell. Although
a messenger was despatched to Rice to warn him of the impending danger,
the police were on the alert, and he was brought to headquarters within
a few hours after his confederates. Sheriff Byrnes was notified and went
to Detroit at once. For five weeks the rascals fought extradition in the
courts, and the sheriff was offered $1,000 to drop the prosecution, an
offer which he indignantly spurned.
While in jail, the prisoners were photographed. Rice was obstinate and
had to be held during the operation, in consequence of which the picture
obtained showed him with closed eyes and open mouth. Poor as the
likeness was, however, it was recognized by no less than ten persons as
that of the man who had stopped at the Snodgrass House in North Vernon
on the day when Deputy had been victimized. The other two were easily
identified, and Stewart was recognized as the man who had boarded at
that hotel for a week preceding the crime. When the Detroit court
finally directed the surrender of the prisoners to the Indiana
authorities, there ensued an attempt to rescue them by force, but the
officers succeeded in placing them in a wagon in which they were driven
to the Indiana State line. Albert Boebritz, a detective, and James J.
Houston, a deputy sheriff, both of Detroit, accompanied the party to
Brownstown.
The best legal talent of the State, including such eminent advocates as
United States Senator Dan Voorhees and John Lamb, of Terre Haute, were
engaged for the defense. The trial was had in January, 1888. The accused
were positively identified by twenty-three reputable witnesses, among
them all the members of the Snodgrass family. The fact of their driving
out of town on the morning of the day of the robbery with two of Burge’s
teams, was also established, and a liveryman from Kentucky testified to
their having hired a rig from him.
It grieves me to say that the aged Deputy and Colonel Jason B. Brown did
not appear in a favorable light in connection with the investigation.
Relying upon the assurance that the nature of his evidence should be
kept secret, the old farmer went before the grand jury and identified
the men then accused, virtually admitting that he had lied while giving
his testimony at our trial. It was also learned afterwards that the
unsophisticated old man, under the tutelage of the astute Col. Jason B.
Brown, had received from Stewart and company $1,000 not to appear as a
witness against them at the trial, and had been promised the remaining
$2,000 of his loss immediately upon their acquittal. Kerns, Forbes and
myself were brought from the penitentiary to testify that we were not
within the State at the time the crime was committed. Upon our parole to
accompany the officers quietly and make no attempt to escape, we were
permitted to go without hand-cuffs in custody of Deputy Warden Barnes
and Mr. Lemons, one of the guards. At Brownstown we were kindly treated,
occupying a private room in the sheriff’s house.
After the case of Stewart, Rice and Mason had been submitted to the jury
and that body had deliberated for thirty-six hours, a ballot showed
eleven for conviction and one for acquittal. Finally the jury returned,
announcing that an agreement was impossible and they were discharged. It
was understood that the final vote was nine to three in favor of
conviction. Sheriff Byrnes had predicted a disagreement from the first.
He had himself been offered $500 if he could induce the court to reduce
the prisoners’ bonds to $1,000 each, and afterward said that he had
learned that Philip Davis, one of the jurors, had been promised $300 and
an increase in his pension if he would “hang” the jury. It is
unnecessary to state that the sheriff rejected the offer, but the judge,
Collins, saw fit, of his own motion, to make the desired reduction. The
prisoners then gave bail and fled the country, their bonds being
declared forfeited at the next term of court.
The officers of the penitentiary now took an active interest in securing
our release. A strong petition for pardon based upon the allegation of
our innocence, was addressed to Governor Gray and was endorsed by
Senator Voorhees and John Lamb, counsel for Stewart, Rice and Mason, who
not only wrote to, but also personally called upon, the executive,
Governor Johnson of Missouri, rendered invaluable service in securing
favorable action upon the petition. He demanded, not clemency, but
justice. He had sifted and weighed all the evidence bearing upon the
case, and he spoke with no uncertain sound. Words such as his, prompted
by the deliberate judgment, unerring instincts and warm heart of one of
the greatest criminal lawyers of the Mississippi Valley, could not fail
to carry weight. The result was inevitable. The executive of the State
in whose so-called courts of justice we had suffered such a grievious
wrong, restored to us our liberty and citizenship by his pardon. But to
remove from us the stigma of the felon, to atone for the weary months of
suffering which we had undergone, in a word, to put us back where we
were upon the morning of that day when we first became entangled in the
machinations of that diabolical plot,—these were boons which even this
great seal of the Sovereign State of Indiana could not bestow.
In a private letter written by Governor Johnson some months ago in
reference to this matter he says:
ST. LOUIS, May 4, 1889.
_Dear Sir_:—Your letter of inquiry as to Mr. John Quinn is received.
Permit me to say in response, that if ever there was a case of
judicial wrong and oppression, he has the misfortune of affording the
illustration. At the solicitation of his friends I became his attorney
after conviction and sentence, and visited him in prison, at
Jeffersonville, Indiana, where I heard the statement of the facts in
his case. I immediately went to work to find out the truth of the
recital. I examined into the matter exhaustively and became convinced
of his innocence of the perpetration of the crime charged against him.
I collected all the facts and circumstances going to show that my
opinion was correct and worthy of consideration, and in laying them
before Gov. Gray, of Indiana, he righted a great wrong and pardoned
him. He is not the first man in my experience who has suffered so
great a misfortune. I am very truly yours,
CHAS. P. JOHNSON, Atty.
Of my prison life I care to say but little here. Not that my memory of
it has grown indistinct, or that I might not say something that would
awaken interest. To dwell upon it in detail in this place would swell to
too great dimensions a sketch which has already outgrown my original
intention. It is enough to say that I was what is known as a “good”
convict, respectful in my demeanor to the officials and yielding
unhesitating obedience to every command. I think that I do not
exaggerate when when I say that I won and retained the confidence of the
officers, from whom I received every kindness compatible with the
necessarily inexorable discipline of a penal institution. I shall always
recall with gratitude the generous words of encouragement repeatedly
spoken to me by the warden and his deputy and by many of the guards, and
notably from Messrs. Miller and Wilkinson. In the solitude of my
workbench and cell I had ample leisure to reflect upon the follies of my
youth, and the graver offences of my maturer years. My wasted life, with
its miserable vacillation of purpose, passed before me in all its
shameful reality of color. While cleaning out the rubbish from under my
bench one day, I picked up a battered Testament, upon the fly leaf of
which were written the words, “From your broken-hearted wife.” The
entire sacred volume contains no more touching epitome of a blighted
existence than was laid before me in this inscription, with its pregnant
suggestion of early love, girlish confidence, marriage, womanly love,
home, perhaps paternity, crime, misery, punishment, and, at the end, the
despair of a broken heart. But I do not intend to moralize. It is enough
to say that within those four stone walls in which I passed so many
sleepless nights, and behind that grated door which so effectually
barred all communication with the outer world, I felt the first emotions
of what I still believe to have been true penitence. To prove it such
shall be the aim of my future life. Acting under these newly found
impulses, I became the teacher of a Sunday school class, and was one of
the ten convicts who founded, under the supervision of Chaplain
Bornhill, a Young Men’s Christian Association within the prison walls. I
was made assistant librarian—under Mr. Martin, a lifetime prisoner—and
entrusted with the writing of a considerable proportion of prisoner’s
letters to their friends.
I entered the penitentiary on Sept. 19, 1887, and just two months
afterwards I received the most severe blow of my life. It happened on
Thanksgiving day. On the recurrence of anniversaries such as this, one’s
mind naturally reverts to thoughts of home and kindred. On this
particular day I was lying upon my prison bunk, lost in a day dream of
my wife and child, when my musings were suddenly broken off by the
abrupt announcement of the death of my darling, my only, boy. The shock
of the awakening was too great for me to endure, and I fell senseless on
the stone pavement of my cell, nor was I able for days to realize the
overwhelming force of the blow that had stunned me.
I have already said that my wife was with me during my trial at
Brownstown. She also visited me twice during my imprisonment in the
penitentiary, and on both occasions had expressed unshaken confidence in
my innocence and had assured me of her unswerving fidelity to her early
love. Very precious to me were these pledges of undying constancy, and
on my part I had vowed that not even death itself should ever abate my
love for her. Her letters, down to April 15, 1888, overflowed with
tender sentiment. She gently chided me for even seeming to question her
devotion to me in my hour of darkest need. It may conceived, therefore,
with what mingled emotions of astonishment and grief I received from
her, on May 5, the following letter:
“CHICAGO, May 5th, 1888.
JOHN:
Yours received. I had hoped your attorney would inform you of my
intentions. * * * I have studied long and earnestly, and have
concluded that this is best for me. I do this of my own free will. It
was my intention to wait until you were free, but it is best to be
candid with you now. You know the way we have lived in our six years
of married life. There was nothing but sorrow and poverty. You took me
from a good home, to which I have returned, and I hope you will leave
me in peace. Heaven knows I pity you, but look deep into your heart,
and see if you can drag my young life further, as it has been. I don’t
wish you to blame anyone for this but myself, and I don’t wish to have
further correspondence with you. If you have anything further to say
you can say it through your attorney; but don’t expect a reply, as I
have filed for a divorce. Wishing you good luck and a speedy release,
I am,
Yours respectfully,
MRS. LILY QUINN.”
This blow, following close upon the death of my little boy, well nigh
prostrated me. I saw that I was also to lose my wife. Only the Searcher
of all hearts knows the depth of my affection for the mother of my
child, since whose death she had seemed doubly dear to me. The thought
of her had been, next to my newly found trust in an all-merciful
Providence, my main-stay amid the misfortunes which had engulfed me; and
when I had thought of my release from prison (and at what hour of the
day did I not think of it?), I had looked forward to her affectionate
companionship as the only refuge and solace of my earthly life.
I well knew on what grounds she would demand her divorce. The State of
Indiana had branded me as a convict, and this was enough, in the eye of
the law, to release her from a yoke which she had come to regard as
galling. Defence was impossible. Nor did I hope to be able to move her
heart by entreaty. Yet I could not forbear to write to her once again,
even if only to say farewell. As this last letter of mine embodies my
inmost feeling at the time, I venture to hope that the reader who has
honored me with his interest up to this point of my narrative may pardon
me if I transcribe it here. It ran as follows:
“JEFFERSONVILLE Penitentiary, May 13, 1888.
MY DEAR WIFE:
I feel that I cannot say anything to do justice in this case. But as
an act of justice to God and our child in heaven; to you in Chicago,
to myself in the penitentiary, I will make this feeble effort.
I am alone in my little home—a cell of 6 by 8 feet,—suffering my own
afflictions, and knowing it is far beyond my power to touch your
strange heart in sympathy; after what you have done to one you once
loved, and one who loves you still.
I do not blame you for trying to get my attorney to impart the sad
information to me, for your own conscience’s sake. I know it was a
hard trial to tell me what you have written, knowing I am innocent of
the crime for which I am placed here.
You tell me you did it with your own free will. Let us not question
the cause, but the effect. It is—that much we know. You say: “Heaven
knows I pity you.” If this is what you call pity, Heaven forgive those
who despise. You say, “I took you from a good home, and from a father
and mother who love you.” You ask me to look deep into my heart; that
I have done. Never did I forsake a friend while in trouble.
Let me ask you to seek seclusion in your own unhappy reflection. Sit
down quietly and let conscience penetrate the deepest recesses of your
heart, and you will right this terrible wrong. You act as though God
was asleep, and his all-merciful care was dormant.
You say you do not wish any further correspondence with me. Are you so
cruel after exchanging so many testimonials of affection with me
during the past six years? There is a letter in the office, addressed
“Dear Wife” to you. There is a little boy above us, looking down on us
both.
You have clung to me in many trials of adversity, and have proved to
be a brave, sweet little woman. I have neglected God for you, and it
may be better that this has happened now, for the day might come when
I would be dependent on you, and you cast me into the poor house.
When I go out of this prison I shall begin a new life; as the woodsman
in the forest hews out a new home. Where, I do not know, but will
trust to the kind hand of Providence to direct me. You conclude your
letter by saying you wish me “good luck and a speedy release.” I thank
you for that. You know I am overpowered, I surrender. I am not a
William Tell, and feel that any attempt to keep your affections would
be ineffectual.
I have had many trials. I have dwelt in the mansion of sorrow and
pain. I have associated with the neglected and forsaken here, and have
listened to the sad stories of those whom their wives have forsaken,
with tears in my eyes. But the husbands of these wives were guilty.
But that my own dear wife, whom I love so devotedly, should forsake me
in the hour of trouble, when she knows I am innocent, is a heaviness
of sorrow of which there can be no avoidance,—the severity of a mental
torture from which there can be no escape. It forms a complication of
horrors that will impel me to a convict’s grave.
Since you have turned from this scene of distress, it has shown me
that interest alone moves you, since by your actions you punish
misfortune as crime, and raise crime to a level with misfortune. Have
you forgotten the last night in the jail at Brownstown, where you said
you would never forsake me, knowing that I was not guilty? Did you not
tell Mrs. Withy you would never forsake me? No, never; that I had been
so good to you? And so many letters I have received to the same
effect. Your letter before the last one addresses me as “Dear
husband.” * * * Quite a change in so short a time.
Let us hope that mamma, Georgie and papa may some time occupy one of
those beautiful mansions prepared by the Friend of sinners, which will
prove as happy as the one at 1405 Olive Street, four years ago the
29th of last April, when our child was born. O, wife; if you could
only stand at the foot of my old straw bed and hear my cries, you
would weep for me.
Did we then think that this would ever happen? No, no, no. If I had
thought so, you would have heard the cries and groans, and witnessed
the streaming tears, and more than mortal anguish of a broken-hearted
husband, who is now in the penitentiary, innocent, yet forsaken by the
mother of his child, my wife.
The fatal blow falls hard upon me. In this hour of my deepest woe,
weakness seems to have seized upon me for my total destruction. Every
poisoned shaft, which malice could invent, has been hurled against me.
Our child has been dead nearly six months, and I have not yet heard
the story of his sickness. You began it in one of your letters (now
before me) when the doctor came in and told you that he would not live
thirty-six hours. You screamed, and the poor little darling put his
arms around your neck and said: “Mamma, don’t cry; I won’t die.” You
then walked him over and showed him my picture, and asked him who it
was. “That’s my papa,” was the reply. * * *
When I realize that you know I am innocent and utterly powerless, I
shrink with pain to think that the wound of my child’s death has only
began to heal when it is made to bleed afresh from the blow of an iron
hammer in the hands of my wife, the mother of my child. * * *
You have filed an application for divorce. Now comes the struggle. I
love you too well to oppose it if you ask for it. If you have asked
for it because I am in the penitentiary, change your complaint, for
you will have to make oath, and you know I am innocent, to which you
must swear. * * * Place it upon any other grounds and I will sign the
necessary papers.
Of course it is nothing to you now whether I stay here or not. I may
tell you that Mrs. Forbes and Mrs. Kerns will be here to meet their
husbands at the old iron door, and take them back to their affection.
Who will meet me and take my hand? I will stand alone. Where will I
go? * * * If you won’t come send Fankie (an adopted boy). I will let
him tell me what to do.
May God forgive and direct you in the path of virtue and truth, is the
prayer of your affectionate husband.
JOHN QUINN.
P. S.—I will say good-bye with the last words of our baby’s prayer:
‘God bless mamma and papa, grandma and grandpa, and everybody. Amen.’”
I was pardoned November 9, 1888, and two days later, when the long hoped
for document reached the prison, I was discharged. I was at liberty, but
carried in my heart a double desolation. Not for me did the sun shine
and the face of Nature smile. In a cemetery at St. Louis was a little
grave that held the sacred dust of the being once dearest to me on
earth, and in my heart I carried the tomb of a buried hope.
My foreman in the prison shop, Mr. George H. Eastman, welcomed me to
liberty, and invited me to his house, where I was most hospitably
entertained for a week. I next went to St. Louis, but remained only one
day; long enough to gaze once more at the home where I had last lived
with my wife and child, now gone from me forever. A sense of utter
loneliness came over me; the world seemed strange; my identity was all
that I could call my own.
From St. Louis I came to Chicago, where I sought out my old friend and
quondam partner, Ben Demint, whose warm greeting was a cordial to my
heart, and under the influence of whose genial encouragement I began to
look upon the world as not altogether lost.
Two objects were uppermost in my mind. One was to prepare and deliver a
lecture, in which I might demonstrate my innocence of the crime of which
I had been convicted; the other was to publish a work on gambling,
through which I might, by exposing the cheats and frauds of the
professional gamester, deter others from entering upon the path “whose
gates take hold on Hell.” My first lecture was delivered in the
auditorium of the First M. E. Church, at Chicago, on the evening of
Monday, May 20, 1889. My book (the present volume) is before the public.
The fact that I was contemplating issuing the present volume became
known to some members of the “profession” in Chicago a year ago, and on
June 27, 1889, about ten o’clock in the forenoon, I was arrested by
detectives Kehoe and Flynn, without the shadow of a charge having been
preferred against me. For five hours I was deprived of my liberty. What
a commentary upon the nature of the relations existing between the
“profession” and the custodians of public morals.
In this connection I desire to return thanks to John Cameron Simonds,
Esq., and Mr. Matthew W. Pinkerton, of Chicago, for their generous
intervention in my behalf. To their kind efforts I owe my speedy
release.
During my lifetime I have thus far been called upon to mourn the loss of
father and mother, three brothers—Dick, Robert and Victor—and two
sisters—Laura and Roma. Of eight children, but three of us survive,
George Sidney, who still lives in Randolph County, Missouri, where he
was born and reared; Hatsel Seldon, at present at Hot Springs, Arkansas,
and myself.
To the press of Chicago, which so kindly encouraged him in his early
ventures in the lecture field, the author desires to express his
grateful acknowledgements. Unknown and friendless, he felt the timidity
incident to one inexperienced in public speaking, and who carried in his
breast the knowledge of his own past wrong-doing. But the journals of
the city in which he made his maiden effort, those leaders and exponents
of public sentiment, sustained him, and their words of commendation
imparted to him fresh courage.
I hardly know how better to close this recital of a part whose shameful
recollections might well overcome a stouter heart than mine, than by the
following quotation from an old verse-writer, which have long floated
through my memory. They present, in homely language, a truth which
strikes a responsive chord in the heart of every man who is not
panoplied in serene satisfaction with his own virtues. The lines run as
follows:
“Thou may’st conceal thy sin by cunning art,
Which will disturb thy peace, thy rest undo;
Yet conscience sits a witness in thy heart;
And she is witness, judge and prison too.”
[Illustration: John Philip Quinn]
THE THREE STAGES OF A GAMBLER’S LIFE.
[Illustration]
The foregoing illustration presents, in a form calculated to strike the
eye and impress the mind, a view of the gradations in the downward
career of a gambler.
Starting out, with high hopes of pleasure to be derived and wealth to be
gained through a life devoted to the ruin of his fellowmen, he boldly
enters upon the way whose end is death and whose steps “take hold on
hell.” Costly is his attire and elastic his step as he at first ventures
upon the road whose path is a quagmire and whose downward course is
beset with thorns.
As he advances, he finds the declivity growing steeper; his feet are
sore and his raiment torn. Too late he perceives his error, and realizes
that it is far easier to descend than to climb the tortuous, slippery
path. The illusion is dispelled; the glamour has gone out in darkness.
No longer the jovial, roystering, “hail-fellow-well-met,”—he has become
the midnight prowler, dependent for his very subsistence, upon the
scanty earnings which he derives from the percentage doled out to him by
more prosperous members of the same villainous craft for betraying the
confidence of his friends and luring the unwary to their destruction. He
realizes his situation, only to curse it; he would retrace his steps if
he knew how, but his chosen sin holds him with a grasp as close as the
coil of the deadly anaconda.
In the figure of the forlorn tramp, a destitute, penniless wanderer, a
pariah and an outcast, we see him approaching his wretched end. The
pitiless storm that beats in his face is but the sighing of the summer
wind as compared with that which rages in his breast. The wind that
howls in his ears seems to chant the requiem of home, happiness, hope,
honor,—all that men hold dear. And yet he must go on; on, into the
blinding sleet; on into the unknown future; on, until he reaches the
Potter’s Field; on until he stands before the bar of God.
Certainly it can be no mistake to call such an one a “fool of fortune,”
a fool enslaved by his own degraded instincts and besotted passions, a
fool who, in the words of Scripture, “has said in his heart there is no
God.” But professional blacklegs are not the only “fools of fortune.”
The young man, just entering upon the path of life; the middle aged man
of family, who squanders at the gaming table the money which should go
to buy luxuries, comforts, perhaps even necessaries for those dependent
upon him, the old man, who, about to sink into the grave, finds it
impossible to overcome the fascination of the vice which has reduced him
from affluence to penury—these, one and all, are fools. The savings of a
lifetime, dissipated in an hour, the cherished hopes of years blighted
by the turn of a card—these are every day occurrences in the hells where
one class of fools worship “Fortune,” and another class delude
themselves by the belief that it is possible for money dishonestly
acquired to bring with it anything but a curse.
It is with the hope that those who have not already entered upon this
course may be deterred from entering upon it and that those who may have
already tasted the false pleasures of an unhealthy excitement may be
induced to pause before it is too late, that the author has made his
frank confession of his own follies and his revelation of all the secret
arts of the gambler’s devil born art.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS—FOOD FOR REFLECTION.
Only gamblers defend gambling. Those who play faro, roulette, hazard;
those who buy mutual pools or “puts and calls;” and even those whose
instinct for gaming is satisfied with a partly legitimate business, go
on with their practices without an analysis of their actions. It is the
object of this work, not only to trace the history of gaming, so far as
is recorded, but to expose to the mind of the most casual reader the
sophistries upon which the art of gambling is based. In other words, the
author will show that if men seek for happiness in games of chance they
find sorrow; if they hope for gain, they fall into penury; if they flee
from care, they suffer unending perplexity; if they be honorably
ambitious, they forfeit all public regard.
It is a sad fact that ethics—the science of human duty—had reached its
summit long before the Roman Empire was founded. The philosophers of
Africa and Asia taught to the students of Greece all that this work can
teach to English-speaking people. Aristotle classed the gambler with the
thief and robber, and so just was the mind of Alexander’s preceptor,
that he hated even usury. If man studied ethics, with any other purpose
than for mental relaxation, there could be no gambling; there could be
none of the gross selfishness and competition which shames our
civilization, and in reality gives to the barbaric spirit of conquest
that relief which it finds in gambling.
We have, then, only to repeat the warnings of the sages of the world,
and to reinforce them with the history of the gaming vice in all ages.
Thousands of years have elapsed since man learned that gambling was
morally wrong. Why, then, does he gamble? Because he does not know that
all wrong is a source of unhappiness. No man wishes to be unhappy. All
men _are_ unhappy; they seek peace. In the fact that argument has failed
to carry home to the human mind this conviction, that gaming cannot give
peace, the author finds his reason for writing. Only by patient
iteration of the principles which Aristotle accepted, and only by a
persevering recital of the evils which gambling has wrought on men, can
it be hoped that the young student will accept as a truth, without
personal proof, that doctrine which, to prove, would cost his fortune
and his happiness.
Why, then, is gambling wrong? Why did Aristotle denounce it? Why does
the young man of to-day need further proof that gambling is wrong and
disappointing—why does he lose years of time, hazard his respectability,
acquire dangerous habits and diseases, and regret the experiment he has
made? To answer these questions requires this volume.
Blackstone cleverly calls gaming “a kind of tacit confession, that the
company engaged therein do in general exceed the bounds of their
respective fortunes; and therefore they cast lots to determine upon whom
the ruin shall at present fall, that the rest may be saved a little
longer.” This statement, which has stood the criticisms of centuries,
leaves to the gamester the unhappy knowledge that some one in his
company is to be destroyed. Instead of sitting at an entertainment,
then, he is a pall-bearer. He carries away the dead because he himself
is not dead. To begin, therefore, the gambler who thinks must have
throttled pity. He knows it is a funeral; he is so selfish that he cares
only for his own welfare. When two or more men gamble, the winners win
and the losers lose, but there is no productive labor; therefore, nobody
profits except it be the owner of the premises who has put his building
to an unproductive business—a business closely allied with other vices
that at once rob their agents of honor, health and fortune. Commerce,
when flying almost in the face of nature, will, if successful, benefit
man and alleviate his needs, but the gambler spends his time and his
energies in that which (as this work will carefully show) is of enormous
evil. It is more than a waste of time. It is more than a waste of money.
It is more than a waste of health. It is more than a waste of thought.
For gambling, as Charles Kingsley has said, is almost the only thing in
the world in which the honorable man is no match for the dishonorable
man. The scrupulous man is weaker, by the very fact of his scruples,
than he who has none. When a man begins to play he may have a high
feeling of honor, but what right has honor to sit at a gaming-table?
There’s the rub. When he wins he will consider it folly not to extend
the hours of play, and will begin an expense that he did not indulge
before. With greater expense, he will be keener at the game—more zealous
to win. But he will lose anon, and further anon his losses and gains
will be equal. Then his increased expense—the luxury of late hours, with
dinners, carriages, and personal service—must be paid from the income
that was deemed insufficient to support a more modest mode of life. As
this manifestly cannot be done, recourse in hope must be had to the
gaming-table once more, where, with losses and gains so far equal, the
increased disbursements must be made good. To win, the tricks of the
gambler must be used; friends must be inveigled to their ruin;
advantages must be seized; a sight of the opponent’s cards must be used
for whatever it will win, and one step after another gradually reduces
the player to a condition in which he secretly knows he is a rogue.
Others about him have long known it. The true philosopher knows it the
moment the “high-minded player” sits down to the game.
But ignorance does not depict a scene so deplorable. The gambler in his
best days, is lured by a brighter vision. He does not value money, and
gathers that reward which comes from a princely generosity and a
reckless patronage of all who desire to serve him. But of real humanity
he has none, because his business, veil it as you may, is robbery. The
man who plays against the gambler is called a “producer,” and what can
that mean but fool or victim—a victim whose greed is his ruin. Despising
respectable men who play with him as greedy fools, the gambler must
oppose honest men (who will not play) as foes. Hating all men, he must
hate women; therefore marriage is rare among the “profession.” If he
secures a fortune, so that he may “retire” from hazard, it will be seen
that he owns and enslaves both men and women, and never aids the
emancipation of society. Sensualism and materialism are his
characteristics. If he loves power in his community, it is for private
aggrandizement. The hand of society has been against him; he cannot
forget it. Reform would be forgiveness, and the gambler never forgives.
True respectability would be forgetfulness of the past, and the gambler
never forgets. Such is the successful gamester—the “retired gamester.”
And to secure that much of success how many thousands of victims are in
his train? His charities are a sham, like the subscriptions of Monte
Carlo on Riviera; like the proffered relief to flood sufferers by the
Louisiana lottery. While the wail of the unhappy and the lost is heard
at the wheel, the cruel game goes on without mercy. The very existence
of these splendid dens of dishonesty and inhumanity, are a menace to
men.
But success in this crime is as rare as success in any other. The
ordinary gambler does not “retire.” He dresses extravagantly, he lives
in ignorance, he pursues the existence of an ape. The mere sensualist
sins and repents, but the reformer who toils with the drunkard and the
fallen woman despairs of the gambler. He lives his short life, and dies
alone in his garret or in prison. His fellow-gamblers are glad he is
dead. They say he was unfit to live, and they know.
Of all acts, gambling induces most often to suicide. It is believed that
the number of “the profession” is not relatively large considering the
total population, yet the suicide of the professional gambler is a
matter of the most frequent note. In England eight persons out of
100,000 kill themselves in a year. At Monaco, a solitary gambling
establishment, one hundred suicides were reported in one season. The
German tables of play have sent thousands out to death. The reason why a
gambler should kill himself appears to him in the aspect of lost honor.
If he joins to this a loss of money—the only thing for which he has
striven—he cannot summon fortitude to live. He goes out of the world,
impelled by a just nature, that thus removes his life from the earth
which he has encumbered.
The strain of gambling is a sharp one. It breaks the nerves and
prematurely ages the face. Losses, if they do not paralyze the mind, at
least enrage it against circumstances and events, turning the man to a
veritable horned beast, or to a poisonous serpent, bent on inflicting a
blow though it be on its own body. The natives of India call this
passion “hot heart,” or inner rage without vent. The revulsion has been
severe to the extent of our conception. Fortune was near, nor is it far.
The loser feels that fate is a sentient being—a hag whom he must tear
with his nails. Her blow has been twice as harsh as if he had not hoped,
and it falls on one ill-prepared to receive it. There lies but one
escape, and that is death. Hence the excitement with which professional
gamblers behold the loss of their means of livelihood. Where suicide
does not follow, the most painful blows are often delivered by the
gambler upon his own temples and forehead. He has no pity on himself for
losing money that he ought to have kept.
Gambling is closely allied with forces which tend to the subversion of
social order; it is directly conducive to various crimes of frequent
occurrence. The gambling mania is at war with industry, and therefore,
destructive of prosperity and thrift. Devotion to the gaming habit will
in time hush the voice of conscience and is a constant menace to honor
and happiness. Once possessed of the passion, an individual is lost to
every sense of duty as husband, father, citizen, and man of business.
His heart becomes the prey of emotions at enmity with affection and
sound morality. In this condition, a man is unfitted for any
responsibility requisite to the welfare of society. In spirit, if not in
fact, he is an Ishmaelite—an outlaw; then, expediency is his only
principle, and necessity his only law. In heart, at least, he is a
criminal. As a result, the man is false to every confidence, recreant to
every trust! Is this not true? Look about you and see! How many bloody
tragedies are directly traceable to the gambling “hell?” How has this
vice fed the mania for homicide, the tendency to suicide? The business
world is rife with forgeries and defalcations, which may be directly
ascribed to gambling. Widows and orphans are plundered by their
trustees, corporations wrecked by their officers, one partner made the
victim of another, the employer betrayed by his employee, all because of
this terrible passion. But is this the end? Is it even the worst? In
gambling, as in other forms of evil, are not the “sins of the father
visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation.”
It would seem so, if Dr. Ribot is an authority. Descending from sire to
son, from ancestor to posterity, the vice enters into the very _fiber of
the soul_. Ribot asserts of gambling, as of avarice, theft and murder,
that the propensity is subject to the law of heredity; that the “passion
for play often attains such a pitch of madness as to be a form of
insanity, and like it transmissible.” And Da Gama Machado says: “A lady
of my acquaintance, and who possessed a large fortune, had a passion for
gambling, and passed whole nights at play. She died young of pulmonary
disease. Her eldest son, who was very like his mother, had the same
passion for play. He, too, like his mother, died of consumption, and at
about the same age. His daughter, who resembled him, inherited the same
taste, and died young.” Justified twice over, then, is society, in
protecting itself against a practice so terrible, so deadly, so far
reaching in its effects.
In course of time, this seems to have been realized by all nations
pretending to civilization, whether ancient or modern. Whatever may have
been the private practice of rulers and statesmen, in this respect,
their public policy and legislative enactments were against gambling.
Some of the laws of the ancients against gambling are worthy of adoption
to-day, and are well calculated to check the destructive evil. Amongst
the Jews, for instance, a gambler could not act as a magistrate, or
occupy any high or honorable office, nor could he be a witness in any
court of justice. Such disqualifications, at the present day, would
largely decimate the judicial ranks and deplete the government roll. In
ancient Egypt, again, a convicted gambler was condemned to the quarries
of Sinai, there to expiate his offense. Would not a kindred punishment,
now, be effectual with the “genteel” gambler—with ye “gentleman” gambler
of the gilded “hell” and “club house.” Yea, extended, even in a general
sense, to all persons, whatever their position in life, convicted of the
offense of gambling, would it not go far toward a reduction of this
great and growing evil?
No where is the capriciousness and inconstancy of the ancient Greeks
more manifest than in their policy toward gambling. Denouncing it in the
abstract, they were universally addicted to the practice. At one time
the object of legislative prohibition, with them, at another it would be
granted a license, or permitted to flourish without “let or hindrance.”
To the Romans has been ascribed a talent for political organization; a
genius for jurisprudence. Strangely inconsistent, however, was their
position on the subject of gambling. By the Roman laws, ædiles were
authorized to punish gambling, except during the Saturnalia—a time when
every passion was allowed to run riot. In other respects, the Roman law
on this subject resembled that now obtaining in England and America.
Money lost at play could not be legally recovered by the winner, and the
loser could recover the money paid by him to the winner. Under the
Justinian Code, according to Paulus, a master or father had a remedy
against any person inducing the servant or son to play. This must have
been a wholesome measure. Why may it not be on every statute book in the
United States? The most radical feature of the Roman law, perhaps, was
that by virtue of which a gambling house might be forfeited to the
State, and this equally so, whether it belonged to the offender, or to
another person cognizant of the offense. Had this Roman law of
confiscation been some years since ingrafted on the law of each State in
the Union, it may be a matter of speculative opinion, of course, how
many “club houses” would have passed into the hands of the government.
If wagers did not violate any rule of public decency or morality, or any
rule of public policy, they were not invalid by the common law of
England. And such was the principle of law inherited by the English
colonies in America, and recognized by the courts of the respective
States of the Union.
In England, however, dating from the middle of the eighteenth century, a
series of statutes has been enacted, aimed not only at gambling in
stocks, but at all wagering contracts. In 1834, the well known statute
of Sir John Barnard was enacted. This act was intended to prevent what
it styled the “Infamous Practice of Stock Jobbing.” This statute was
repealed by 23 and 24 Victoria, Ch. 28. By the act of 8 and 9 Victoria,
Ch. 109, S. 108, “all contracts or agreements, whether by parol or in
writing, by way of gaming or wagering, shall be null and void, and no
suit shall be brought in any court of law or equity for recovering any
sum of money or valuable thing alleged to be won upon any wager.” This
statute is now in force. These enactments aside, the English courts were
wont to reprehend such contracts, and frequently expressed regret that
they had ever been sanctioned.
The authorities in this country are far from uniform on the common law
doctrine; some leaning decidedly against wagering contracts. Others, on
the other hand, have countenanced them. Such contracts have been
sustained by the United States courts, and the courts of New York,
California, Texas, New Jersey, and Delaware. In Maine, Massachusetts,
New Hampshire, Vermont, and Pennsylvania, a wager was never a valid
contract. Now, by the revised statutes of New York all “wagers, bets, or
stakes, made to depend upon any race, or upon any gaming by lot or
chance, casualty, or unknown or contingent event whatever, shall be
unlawful. All contracts for, or on account of, any money or property, or
a thing in action, so wagered, bet or staked, shall be void.” Similar,
and even more stringent, legislation of like character, exists in Ohio,
Iowa, West Virginia, Virginia, Wisconsin, Missouri, New Hampshire, and
Illinois.
In many states gambling is a misdemeanor only. Where this is the case,
the gambler is allowed to prey upon the community at his pleasure, and
compelled to pay only an occasional fine. In not a few of the states,
however, the offense is a felony which may be punished by imprisonment
in the penitentiary. May it become the law in all the states. More than
this, the penalty should not be an alternative between a fine or
imprisonment. The prison door should be open to every convicted gambler,
without hope of escape.
From all this it will be seen not only that gambling has long been
denounced, and with good cause, as a great social evil; but that it has
been an important object for legislation. It will clearly appear, also,
that all laws, provisions and penalties have been ineffectual to
suppress it, prevent its growth, or counteract its demoralizing
influence. That gaming is an evil of the most pernicious character in
society, no man can have the effrontery to deny; but a doubt may be
reasonably entertained whether the propensity be not too strong to be
controlled by law, and too human for any legislative enactments.
More than human wisdom and effort is required to master the ruling and
inherent passion of universal man. Moreover, if the law is to
successfully suppress public gambling, it must be by enactments falling
with equal weight, and operating with just severity on all practitioners
of the principle which it is the object of the law to discountenance;
and not by measures protecting one class of offenders and punishing
another; not by exempting those high in social position, while those of
lowly estate are made to feel the heavy hand of authority. If at all, it
is to be accomplished only by striking at the whole system of gaming, as
far as the law can effect the object, upon one great principle, letting
law go hand in hand with justice, in the work, so that it err not in the
principle of its enactments or in the equity of its administration.
CHAPTER II.
HEBREWS, PERSIANS, CHINESE AND JAPANESE.
The Hebrews, in resorting to the casting of lots, believed it was an
appeal to the Lord. It was not thought to be gambling. It is useful that
the reader should understand this. Thus by lot it was determined which
of the goats should be offered by Aaron; by lot the land of Canaan was
subdivided; by lot Saul was chosen to wear the crown; by lot Jonah was
discovered to be the cause of the storm. It is well to note that herein
gambling had its sacred origin. Man cannot easily surrender the idea
that Heaven directs the casting of a die. It is possible that man founds
his passion for hazard upon his love of the mystic. Yet no laws are so
exact as the laws of chance, and none are so sure to seize on those laws
as the professional gambler. The priests of Egypt assured Herodotus that
one of their kings visited alive the infernal regions, and that he there
gambled with a large party. Plutarch recites an Egyptian story to the
effect that Mercury having fallen in love with the earth, and wishing to
do the earth a favor, gambled with the moon, and won from the moon every
seventieth part of the time she illumined the earth. Out of these
seventieth parts Mercury made five days, and added them to the earth’s
year, which had formerly held but 360 days.
The examples of these gods could not but move the people to gamble. We
know that the vice prevailed because we discover the existence of heavy
penalties against it. In Egypt, if a person were convicted of the crime
of dice-playing, or of being a gamester, he was sent to work in the
quarries, to recruit those vast companies which were continually engaged
in public enterprises, such as the pyramids, the labyrinth, the
artificial lake and the lesser monuments.
PERSIANS.—We gather that gaming with dice was a fashionable diversion at
the Persian court 400 years before Christ, from the historical anecdotes
recited by Plutarch in his life of Artaxerxes. The younger Cyrus, son of
Queen Parysatis, had been killed at the order of Artaxerxes by a
favorite slave of the king; and the queen, who was the mother also of
Artaxerxes, burned secretly for revenge on the slave, whose name was
Mesabetes. But as the slave had merely obeyed the monarch, her son, the
Queen laid this snare for him. She excelled at playing a certain game of
dice. She had apparently forgiven her elder son, the King, for his cruel
deed, and joined him continually at play. One day she proposed playing
for a stake of $500, to which the King agreed, and she, feigning lack of
skill, lost the money, and paid it on the nail. But affecting sorrow and
vexation over her ill-luck, she pressed the King to play for a slave, as
if her cash were short. The King suspected nothing, and accepted the
stake. It was stipulated that the winner should choose the slave. Now
the Queen resorted to all the arts of gaming, which easily procured a
victory. She chose Mesabetes, the slayer of Cyrus, and this slave, being
delivered into her hands, was put to the most cruel tortures, and to
death. When the King would have interfered, she only replied with a
smile of contempt: “Surely you must be a great loser, to be so much out
of temper for giving up a decrepit old slave, when I, who lost $500, and
paid on the spot, do not say a word, and am satisfied.”
To properly understand this story, it must be remembered that a slave
had no rights whatever, being treated simply as cattle. Should a man
express pity for a rat in the teeth of a terrier, he would be on a par
with Artaxerxes if he pitied Mesabetes. The grief of the outwitted King
was unmanly, from the ancient standpoint, but it is notable that dice
ministered to the plot of revenge and murder.
The laws of the modern Persians, who are Mohammedans, prohibit all
gambling. The Persians evade the sin by making alms of their winnings—a
sorry device, for it is only the robbery of Peter to give larger to
Paul. Like all other evasions, even this practice soon degenerates into
gambling pure and simple, the excuse being that skill more than chance
has to do with the game. The public spirit, however, is happily adverse
to the practice, and any gambling-place is called in detestation, a
morgue, a carrion-house, a “habitation of corrupted carcasses.”
THE HINDOOS.—At the “Festival of Lamps,” in honor of the goddess of
wealth, the Rajpoots make a religion of gambling. At such a time vice
may indeed prosper. Easy was the conquest of a people whose sensuality
and superstition could be so well united in the service of the
priesthood. The specialties of Hindoo gambling are interesting. The hot
climate stimulates the passion, and the greater the Raja, or King, the
longer the tale of his fortune at play.
The ancient Hindoo dice, known as _coupeen_, were similar to modern
dice, and were thrown from a box. The practice of “loading” is plainly
alluded to, and there was opportunity for skill in handling the box. In
the more modern Hindoo games, called _pasha_, the dice are not cubic but
oblong, and they are thrown like printer’s quads in “jeffing”—that is,
out of the palm of the hand. The throw may be made either directly upon
the ground, or against a post or board, which will break the fall and
render the result more a matter of chance.
A story of a Rajah’s insane love of play forms a striking passage in the
great Sanskrit poem of the Veda. The famous gambling-match was the
outcome of a conspiracy between two brothers, Duryodhana and Duhsasana,
and their uncle Sakuni, of the family of the Kauravas, for the purpose
of robbing Yudhisthira of his Raj, or the kingdom of the Pandavas. The
poem deals with the conception of a Nemesis. Envy and love of conquest
led the conspirators to invite Yudhisthira to a game of _coupeen_ at
Hastinapur. The Veda is translated as follows:
“And it came to pass that Duryodhana was very jealous of the pomp of his
cousin Yudhisthira, and desired in his heart to destroy the Pandavas and
gain the Raj. Now Sakuni was the brother of Gandhari, who was the
brother of the Kauravas, and he was very skillful in throwing dice, and
in playing with dice that were loaded, insomuch that whenever he played
he always won the game. So Duryodhana plotted with his uncle, and then
proposed to his father, the Maharaja, or Great Raja, that Yudhisthira
should be invited to the Festival, and the Great Raja was secretly glad
that his sons should be friendly with their cousins, the sons of his
deceased brother, Pandu, and so he sent his younger brother, Vidura, to
the city of Indraprastha to invite the Pandavas to the game.
“And Vidura went his way to the city of the Pandavas, and was received
by them with every sign of attention and respect. And Yudhisthira
inquired whether his kinsfolk and friend at Hastinapur were all well in
health, and Vidura replied, ‘They are all well.’
“Then Vidura said to the Pandavas: ‘Your uncle, the Great Raja, is about
to give a great feast, and he invites you and your mother and your joint
wife to come to his city, and there will be a match at dice-playing.’
“When Yudhisthira heard these words he was troubled in mind, for he knew
that gaming was a frequent cause of strife, and he was in no way
skillful in throwing the dice, and likewise knew that Sakuni was
dwelling at Hastinapur, and that he was a famous gambler. But
Yudhisthira remembered that the invitation of the Great Raja was equal
to the command of a father, and that no true Kshatriga could refuse a
challenge either to war or play. So Yudhisthira accepted the invitation
and commanded that on the appointed day his brethren and their mother
and their joint wives should accompany him to the city of Hastinapur.
“When the day arrived for the departure of the Pandavas, they took their
mother Kunti, and their joint wife Draupadi, and journeyed from
Indraprastha to the city of Hastinapur, where they first paid a visit of
respect to the Great Raja; and they found him sitting among his
chieftains, and the ancient Bhishma, and the preceptor Drona and Karua,
who was the friend of Duryodhana, and many others were sitting there
also.
“And when the Pandavas had done reverence to the Great Raja, and
respectfully saluted all present, they paid a visit to their aunt
Gandhari, and did her reverence likewise.
And after they had done this, their mother and joint wife entered the
presence of Gandhari, and respectfully saluted her; and the wives of the
Karauvas came in and were made known to Kunti and Draupadi. And the
wives of the Kauravas were much surprised when they beheld the beauty
and fine raiment of Draupadi; and they were very jealous of their
kinswoman. And when all their visits had been paid, the Pandavas retired
with their wife and mother to the quarters which had been prepared for
them, and when it was evening they received the visits of all their
friends who were dwelling at Hastinapur.
Now, on the morrow the gambling match was to be played; so when the
morning had come, the Pandavas bathed and dressed, and left Draupadi in
the lodging which had been prepared for her, and went their way to the
palace. And the Pandavas again paid their respects to their uncle, the
Maharaja, and were then conducted to the pavilion where the play was to
be; and Duryodhana went with them, together with all his brethren, and
all the chieftains of the royal house. And when the assembly had all
taken their seats, Sakuni said to Yudhisthira: “The ground here has all
been prepared, and the dice are all ready: Come now, I pray you, and
play a game.” But Yudhisthira was disinclined, and replied: “I will not
play, excepting upon fair terms; but if you will pledge yourself to
throw without artifice or deceit, I will accept your challenge.” Sakuni
said: “If you are so fearful of losing you had better not play at all.”
At these words Yudhisthira was wroth, and replied: “I have no fear
either in play or war; but let me know with whom I am to play, and who
is to pay me if I win.” So Duryodhana came forward and said: “I am the
man with whom you are to play, and I shall lay any stakes against your
stakes; but my uncle Sakuni will throw the dice for me.” Then
Yudhisthira said: “What manner of game is this, where one man throws and
another lays the stakes.” Nevertheless he accepted the challenge, and he
and Sakuni began to play.
At this point in the narrative it may be desirable to pause, and
endeavor to obtain a picture of the scene. The so-called pavilion was
probably a temporary booth, constructed of bamboos and interlaced with
basket work; and very likely it was decorated with flowers and leaves
after the Hindoo fashion, and hung with fruits, such as cocoa-nuts,
mangoes, plantains, and maize. The chieftains present seem to have sat
upon the ground, and watched the game. The stakes may have been pieces
of gold and silver, or cattle, or lands; although, according to the
legendary account which follows, they included articles of a far more
extravagant and imaginative character. With these passing remarks, the
tradition of the memorable game may be resumed as follows:
So Yudhisthira and Sakuni sat down to play, and whatever Yudhisthira
laid as stakes, Duryodhana laid something of equal value; but
Yudhisthira lost every game. He first lost a very beautiful pearl; next
a thousand bags, each containing a thousand pieces of gold; next a piece
of gold so pure that it was as soft as wax; next a chariot set with
jewels and hung all round with golden bells; next, a thousand war
elephants, with golden howdahs set with diamonds; next a lakh of slaves
all dressed in good garments; next a lakh of beautiful slave girls,
adorned from head to foot with golden ornaments; next all the remainder
of his goods; next all his cattle; and then the whole of his Raj,
excepting only the lands which had been granted to the Brahmins.
Now when Yudhisthira had lost his Raj, the chieftains present in the
pavilion were of the opinion that he should cease to play, but he would
not listen to their words, but persisted in the game. And he staked all
the jewels belonging to his brothers, and he lost them; and he staked
his two younger brothers, one after the other, and he lost them; and he
then staked Arjuna, and Bhima, and finally himself, and he lost every
game. Then Sakuni said to him: “You have done a bad act, Yudhisthira, in
gaming away yourself and becoming a slave. But now, stake your wife,
Draupadi, and if you win the game you will again be free.” And
Yudhisthira answered and said: “I will stake Draupadi!” And all
assembled were greatly troubled and thought evil of Yudhisthira; and his
uncle Vidura put his hand to his head and fainted away, whilst Bhishma
and Drona turned deadly pale, and many of the company were very
sorrowful; but Duryodhana and his brother Duhsasana, and some others of
the Karauvas were glad in their hearts, and plainly manifested their
joy. Then Sakuni threw the dice, and won Draupadi for Duryodhana.
Then all in that assembly were in great consternation, and the
chieftains gazed upon one another without speaking a word. And
Duryodhana said to her uncle Vidura. “Go now and bring Draupadi hither,
and bid her sweep the rooms.” But Vidura cried out against them with a
loud voice, and said: “What wickedness is this? Will you order a woman
who is of noble birth, and the wife of your own kinsman, to become a
household slave? How can you vex your brethren thus? But Draupadi has
not become your slave, for Yudhisthira lost himself before he staked his
wife, and having first become a slave, he could no longer have power to
stake Draupadi!” Vidura then turned to the assembly and said: “Take no
heed to the words of Duryodhana, for he has lost his senses this day.”
Duryodhana then said: “A curse be upon this Vidura, who will do nothing
that I desire him.”
After this Duryodhana called one of his servants, and desired him to go
to the lodgings of the Pandavas, and bring Draupadi into the pavilion.
And the man departed out, and went to the lodgings of the Pandavas, and
entered the presence of Draupadi and said to her: “Raja Yudhisthira has
played you away, and you have become the slave of Raja Duryodhana: So
come now and do your duty like his other slave girls.” And Draupadi was
astonished at these words, and exceedingly wroth, and she replied:
“Whose slave was I that I could be gambled away? And who is such a
senseless fool as to gamble away his own wife?” The servant said: “Raja
Yudhisthira has lost himself, and his four brothers, and you also, to
Raja Duryodhana, and you cannot make any objection. Arise, therefore,
and go to the house of the Raja.”
Then Draupadi cried out: “Go you now and inquire whether Raja
Yudhisthira lost me first, or himself first; for if he played away
himself first, he could not stake me.” So the man returned to the
assembly, and put the question to Yudhisthira; but Yudhisthira hung down
his head with shame, and answered not a word.
Then Duryodhana was filled with wrath, and he cried out to his servant:
“What waste of words is this? Go you and bring Draupadi hither, that if
she has aught to say she may say it in the presence of us all.” And the
man essayed to go, but he beheld the wrathful countenance of Bhima and
he was sore afraid, and he refused to go, and remained where he was.
Then Duryodhana sent his brother Duhsasana; and Duhsasana went his way
to the lodgings of Draupadi, and said: “Raja Yudhisthira has lost you in
play to Rajah Duryodhana, and he has sent for you. So arise now and wait
upon him according to his commands; and if you have anything to say, you
can say it in the presence of the assembly.” Draupadi replied: “The
death of the Karauvas is not far distant, since they can do such deeds
as these.” And she rose up in great trepidation and set out, but when
she came near to the palace of the Maharaja, she turned aside from the
pavilion where the chieftains were assembled, and ran away with all
speed toward the apartments of the women. And Duhsasana hastened after
her and seized her by her hair, which was very dark and long, and
dragged her by main force into the pavilion before all the chieftains.
And she cried out: “Take your hands from off me.” But Duhsasana heeded
not her words, and said: “You are now a slave girl, and slave girls
cannot complain of being touched by the hands of men.”
When the chieftains thus beheld Draupadi, they hung down their heads
from shame, and Draupadi called upon the elders amongst them, such as
Bhishma and Drona to acquaint her whether or no Raja Yudhisthira had
gamed away himself before he had staked her; but they likewise held down
their heads and answered not a word.
Then she cast her eye upon the Pandavas, and her glance was like the
stabbing of a thousand daggers, but they moved not hand or foot to help
her; for when Bhima would have stepped forward to deliver her from the
hands of Duhsasana, Yudhisthira commanded him to forbear, and both he
and the younger Pandavas were obliged to obey the command of their elder
brother.
And when Duhsasana saw that Draupadi looked towards the Pandavas, he
took her by the hand, and drew her another way, saying: “Why, O slave,
are you turning your eyes about you?” And when Kama and Sakuni heard
Duhsasana calling her a slave, they cried out: “Well said! well said!”
Then Draupadi wept very bitterly, and appealed to all the assembly,
saying: “All of you have wives and children of your own, and will you
permit me to be treated thus? I ask you one question, and I pray you to
answer it.” Duhsasana then broke in and spoke foul language to her, and
used her rudely, so that her veil came off in his hands. And Bhima could
restrain his wrath no longer, and spoke vehemently to Yudhisthira; and
Arjuna reproved him for his anger against his elder brother, but Bhima
answered: “I will thrust my hands into the fire before these wretches
shall treat my wife in this manner before my eyes.”
Then Duryodhana said to Draupadi: “Come, now, I pray you, and sit upon
my thigh;” and Bhima gnashed his teeth and cried out with a loud voice:
“Hear my vow this day: If for this deed I do not break the thigh of
Duryodhana, and drink the blood of Duhsasana, I am not the son of
Kunti.”
Meanwhile the Chieftain Vidura had left the assembly, and told the blind
Maharaja, Dhritarashtra, all that had taken place that day, and the
Maharaja ordered his servants to lead him into the pavilion where all
the chieftains were gathered together. And all present were silent when
they saw the Maharaja, and the Maharaja said to Draupadi: “O, daughter,
my sons have done evil to you this day. But go now, you and your
husbands, to your own Raj, and remember not what has occurred, and let
the memory of this day be blotted out forever.” So the Pandavas made
haste with their wife Draupadi, and departed out of the city of
Hastinapur.
Then Duryodhana was exceeding wroth, and said to his father: “O
Maharaja, is it not a saying that when your enemy hath fallen down, he
should be annihilated without a war? And now we that had thrown the
Pandavas to the earth and had taken possession of all their wealth, you
have restored them all their strength, and permitted them to depart with
anger in their hearts; and now they will prepare to make war that they
may revenge themselves upon us for all that has been done and they will
return within a short while and slay us all. Give us leave, then, I pray
you, to play another game with these Pandavas, and let the side which
loses go into exile for twelve years; for thus, and thus only, can a war
be prevented between ourselves and the Pandavas.” And the Maharaja
granted the request of his son, and messengers were sent to bring back
the brethren, and the Pandavas obeyed the command of their uncle, and
returned to his presence; and it was agreed upon that Yudhisthira should
play one game more with Sakuni, and if Yudhisthira won the Kauravas were
to go into exile; and that if Sakuni won, the Pandavas were to go into
exile, and the exile was to be for twelve years, and one year more; and
during that thirteenth year those who were in exile were to dwell in any
city they pleased, but to keep themselves so concealed that the others
should never discover them; and if the others did discover them before
the thirteenth year was over, then those who were in exile were to
continue so for another thirteen years. So they sat down again to play,
and Sakuni had a set of cheating dice, as before, and with them he won
the game.
When Duhsasana saw that Sakuni had won the game, he danced about for
joy; and he cried out: “Now is established the Raj of Duryodhana.” But
Bhima said: “Be not elated with joy, but remember my words: The day will
come when I will drink your blood, or I am not the son of Kunti.” And
the Pandavas, seeing that they had lost, threw off their garments and
put on deer-skins, and prepared to depart into the forest with their
wife and mother, and their priest Dhaumya; but Vidura said to
Yudhisthira: “Your mother is old and unfitted to travel, so leave her
under my care;” and the Pandavas did so, and the brethren went out from
the assembly hanging down their heads with shame, and covering their
faces with their garments; but Bhima threw out his long arms, and looked
at the Kuravas furiously, and Draupadi spread her long black hair over
her face and wept bitterly. And Draupadi vowed a vow, saying:
“My hair shall remain disheveled from this day, until Bhima shall have
slain Duhsasana and drunk his blood; and then he shall tie up my hair
again, whilst his hands are dripping with the blood of Duhsasana.”
Such was the great gambling match at Hastinapur in the Heroic age of
India. * * *
The avenging battle subsequently ensued. Bhima struck down Duhsasana
with a terrible blow of his mace, saying: “This day I fulfil my vow
against the man who insulted Draupadi!” Then setting his foot on the
breast of Duhsasana, he drew his sword and cut off the head of his
enemy; and holding his two hands to catch the blood, he drank it off,
crying out: “Ho! ho! Never did I taste anything in this world so sweet
as this blood.”
CHINESE.—Many gambling games have been invented by the Chinese and
gambling houses are numerous in their cities and towns. Into these dens,
as is the case in other countries, the inexperienced are enticed by
sharpers, there to be plundered of their money. It is the old story; the
sharper pretends friendship for the unsophisticated visitor and a desire
to show him the notable sights. Once in the den, the victim is permitted
to win a small sum, several perhaps, but the result is always the
same—he is fleeced of his ready money, which may not be all his own, but
entrusted to him by neighbors and friends with which to purchase goods
for them. With money gone and character ruined the poor Chinaman, in
many cases, becomes a vagabond, in process of time, a beggar, or a
thief, and finally ends his course in suicide.
A common gambling instrument in China, consists of a circular board,
some 18 inches in diameter, which is divided, either into 8 or 16 equal
parts, with lines drawn from the center to the division points at the
circumference. In the center is a standard, or post, some 8 inches high,
upon which two or three inches from the top, is placed a slender wooden
stick in such a manner as to revolve easily. At one end of this piece of
wood is tied a string, which hangs down nearly to the surface of the
board. Being turned by a sudden movement of the hand, the horizontal
stick will continue to revolve for sometime. When it stops the string
indicates the division of the board which wins. The player places his
bet on any division he may favor and whirls the stick himself. If the
string stops over any other place than the one upon which he placed his
money, he loses. If he wins, the proprietor of the concern pays him in
money, or sweetmeats, as he may prefer. This gambling device operates
upon the same principle as the modern “wheel of fortune.”
Another method of gambling may be called the “literary” or “poetical.”
The “banker,” or gambler proprietor, having provided himself with a
table, seats himself behind it, in the street. On the table, for the
inspection of those who may wish to gamble, is written a line of poetry
of, say, five or seven characters, one word of which is omitted. A list
of several words is furnished, anyone of which, if inserted in the blank
place, will make good sense. In betting which of these words is the one
omitted consists the gambling. He who guesses the right word receives
five times his stake. Yet another method of gambling is this: Provided
with three slender slips of bamboo, or other wood, eight or ten inches
long, the gambler seats himself by the wayside and, grasping the slips
at one end, holds them up so that they diverge from each other. A red
tassel, or string, hanging from the hand which conceals from sight the
lower ends of the slips, is supposed to be attached to one of them. He
who wishes to play the game bets that he can guess the slip to which the
string is attached. If he fails, he loses his stake; if he succeeds he
receives back his stake and twice as much more. The game is often
dishonestly operated, and the operator seldom forfeits any money.
Frequently, the red string is attached to all three of the slips, but in
such a way that when one of them is pulled from the hand which grasps
it, it will slip off and remain on the other two. If, then, one of these
is pulled, it slips again and remains attached to the one still held in
the hand. Then the gambler opens his hand to show that everything has
been conducted “fairly” and the thread is seen to be attached to the
slip that was not drawn, thus everything seems to have been honestly
managed. Of course, the man who operates deceitfully and unfairly does
not allow the condition of the string on the ends of the sticks in his
hand to be seen or examined at the beginning of the game.
In China, gambling is forbidden by law. It is tolerated by the
government, nevertheless, and considerable sums of money are realized by
it from this source. Indeed, certain magistrates at Canton once actually
converted their spare rooms in their respective “yamuns” into gaming
houses. But, as a rule, the dens are in back or side streets, for, there
as well as here, the more respectable trades people object to such an
establishment. In 1861, all the shop-keepers in a particular street in
Canton closed their shops and refused to open them, until the Governor-
General of the province promised to issue an order directing the
district ruler to close a gambling house which he had permitted to be
opened in the street. It appeared, however, that these merchants did not
object to the gambling establishments on moral grounds, but through fear
that their business would be injured.
There are various kinds of gaming houses in China. Some are conducted by
joint-stock companies, consisting of ten or twenty partners. In such
houses there are usually two apartments. In the front room is a high
table, in the center of which is a small square board, the sides of
which are numbered one, two, three and four. The game in this room
requires the presence of three of the partners. One is called the Tan-
koon, or croupier; the second, Tai-N’gan, or shroff, and sets by the
side of the former with his tables, scales and money drawers; and the
third, the Ho-Koon, who keeps account of the game and pays over the
stakes to the rightful winners. The gamblers and their patrons assemble
around the high table, on which the Tau-Koon, or croupier, places a
handful of “cash,” over which he immediately puts a cover so that the
gamblers cannot calculate the amount. The players are then requested to
place their stakes on such side of the square as they may choose. When
this has been done, the cover is removed by the croupier, who, using a
thin ivory rod a foot long, proceeds to diminish the heap of coin by
drawing away four pieces at a time. Should one piece remain the gambler
who placed his stake on the side of the small square marked one is the
winner. If two or three remain he saves his stake; if four, he loses it.
This game is called Ching-low and the player has one chance of winning,
two of retaining his stake and one of losing it. Another game, called
Nim is played at the same table. At this game the player has one chance
of winning double the amount of his stake, two of losing it and one of
retaining it. Should his stake be placed on that side of the board
numbered two, and two pieces of money remain of the heap after
successive removals of four, his winnings are double the amount of his
bet. If three pieces remain he retains his stake, but if either one or
four remain he loses it. Yet a third game played at this table is called
Fan, in which the player has one chance of winning three times his stake
and three chances of losing it. Still another and similar game at this
table is known as Kok. In it the stake is placed at a corner of the
board, between two of the numbers, and if either of them corresponds to
the number of pieces left of the pile of money, the player wins the
amount of his stake; if either of the other two numbers corresponds he
loses his bet.
In the inner apartment of these establishments, the stakes are all
silver coin, and here also three of the partners are required to conduct
the game. The stakes are often heavy and the money is not placed on the
table for fear the vagabonds or desperate characters in the place should
make a rush and seize it. The players and their stakes are therefore
distinguished by corresponding cards from different packs. Because of
the large sums paid monthly to the mandarins by the proprietors the
expenses of the latter are very heavy and they exact from the players
seven per cent. of all the winnings. Sometimes gaming establishments are
started by prostitutes, but they are generally closed by the authorities
as soon as detected.
One peculiar mode of gambling is called Koo-Yan, or “The Ancients,”
sometimes known under the name of “Flowery Characters.” This game, it is
said, originated in the department of Chun-Chow, and was introduced in
the 28th year of the reign of Taou-Kwang. The term “ancients” means a
number of names by which thirty-six personages of former times were
known. These names are divided into nine different classes as follows:
1. Four men who attained the highest literary distinction. In a former
state of existence these men were respectively a fish, a white goose, a
white snail, and a peacock.
2. Five distinguished military officers. These men were once
respectively a worm, a rabbit, a pig, a tiger, and a cow.
3. Six successful merchants. These were once respectively a flying
dragon, a white dog, a white horse, an elephant, a wild cat, and a wasp.
4. Four persons who were conspicuous for their uninterrupted happiness
on earth. Respectively, in former state, a frog, an eagle, a monkey, and
a dragon.
5. Four females. Respectively a butterfly, a precious stone, a white
swallow and a pigeon.
6. Five beggars. Respectively a prawn, a snake, a fish, a deer, and a
sheep.
7. Four Buddhist priests. Respectively a tortoise, a hen, an elk, and a
calf.
8. Two Taouist priests. Respectively a white egret, and a yellow
streaked cat.
9. The name of a Buddhist nun who, in another world, was a fox.
The company selects a person who has an aptitude for composing enigmas,
to whom they pay a very large salary. New enigmas are constantly wanted,
as the houses where this game is played are open twice daily, at 7 A. M.
and 8 P. M. Each enigma is supposed to refer to one of the creatures
enumerated. When an enigma is composed, it is printed and sold to the
people, the sale of itself bringing in a considerable revenue. When the
purchaser of an enigma thinks he has discovered the creature to which it
refers, he writes his answer on a sheet of paper, and at the appointed
hour hastens to the gambling house and gives it into the keeping of a
secretary, together with the sum of money he is prepared to stake upon
the correctness of his guess. When all the answers and stakes have been
received, the names of those who have answered correctly are recorded by
the secretary. Suspended from the roof of the chamber, where the players
are assembled, is a folded scroll containing a picture of the creature
to which the enigma refers. At the proper time this scroll is unfolded
by the secretary, and as soon as the picture is seen it is greeted with
a loud shout of exultation by the successful few and with murmurs of
discontent from the many who have guessed wrong. “It is hardly necessary
to add that the managers take care to provide enigmas of such ambiguous
character that the majority are always wrong in their conjectures. The
amount staked in these places is limited.”
Much money is lost at such establishments by ladies, but as they are not
allowed to appear in public, they are represented by their female
servants.
Large sums are daily lost by all classes in a game called ta-pak-up-pu,
or “strike the white dove.” A company is formed of fifty partners,
having equal shares. One acts as overseer, and, for reasons which will
presently appear, is required to live in strict retirement. To him is
given a sheet of paper on which are eighty Chinese characters,
representing, respectively, heaven, earth, sun, moon, stars, etc. In his
private apartment, he makes twenty of the characters with a vermilion
pencil. The sheet is then deposited in a box, which is carefully locked.
Thousands of sheets of paper, containing eighty similar characters, are
then sold to the public. Marking ten of the eighty characters, the
purchasers next morning, take their papers to the gambling establishment
to have them compared with the one marked by the overseer. Before they
give them up, they make and retain copies of them. When all the papers
have been received, the box containing the overseer’s paper is unlocked,
and when taken out, the player’s papers are compared with it. If a
player has not marked more than four of the characters marked by the
overseer, he receives nothing. If he has marked five, he receives seven
“cash;” if six, seventy “cash;” if eight, seven dollars; and if ten,
fifteen dollars. A person can buy as many as three hundred copies of the
gambling sheet, but he must make them all alike. There are never more
than two establishments of this kind in large cities and their winnings
must be very great, judging from the number of sheets sold daily.
There are also houses in which cards are played night and day, and in
them many persons are brought to ruin. To elude the vigilance of the
authorities, these establishments are more or less private, but card
players experience little trouble in finding such haunts. Gambling by
means of oranges is also practiced at fruit stalls, the wagers being
made upon the number of pips or seeds an orange may have. At fruit
stalls, also, it is common to gamble for sticks of sugar cane. The cane
is placed in a perpendicular position, and he who succeeds in cutting it
asunder from top to bottom with a sharp edged knife, wins it from the
fruitier. Should the attempt fail, the fruitier retains his cane and
wins more than its value in money. Gambling by means of a joint of meat,
or pork, or fish, is a very common pastime. The joint or fish is
suspended from the top of a long pole and bets are taken as to its
weight.
The games prevalent in Japan closely resemble those practiced in China.
Cards and dice are strictly prohibited, and, although the law is said to
be transgressed by the gambling houses, at home the Japanese respect it.
CHAPTER III.
ANCIENT AND MODERN GREEKS AND ROMANS, TURKEY IN EUROPE, AND ASIA MINOR.
It is probable that the fall of Greece was due to the license that
prevailed as to gaming, and consequently to all other and lesser forms
of dissipation and corruption. Philip of Macedon was planning the battle
of Cheronea at the very time when dicing had reached its most shameful
height in Athens. Public associations existed, not for the purpose of
defending Greece against her foes, but for the encouragement of the
basest passions that surge in the human breast. Both Philip and
Alexander knew the value to despotism of vice among the people.
Alexander put a fine on those of his courtiers who did not play, for he
had a jealous fear of subjects who were engaged in more serious
pursuits.
But dice alone did not furnish the implements of gambling. The ancient
Greeks had the equivalent of Cross and Pile, and gambled at cocking
mains. The Athenian orator, Callistratus, notes the desperation of these
practices when he says that the games in which the losers go on doubling
their stakes “resemble ever-recurring wars, which terminate only with
the extinction of the combatants.”
It was a practice of the ancients to put the invention of vicious acts
or games upon foreign nations. Thus we have Plutarch’s indignant answers
to Herodotus; but no Grecian ever resented the story that dice was first
made by Palamedes, at the siege of Troy. Dice were called _alsae_ by the
Romans, and there were two kinds, the _tali_, or four-sided
knucklebones, and the _tesserarae_ or six-sided bones. The _tali_ has
four sides long-wise, the two ends were not regarded. Up one side there
was an ace, or _canis_; on the opposite side six; on the other two sides
four and three. On the _tesserarae_ the numbers were from one to six.
But on both sides of _alsae_ or dice the numbers on the upper and lower
side would make seven, as now-a-days on dice.
The game was played with three _tesserarae_ and four _tali_. They were
put into a box made into the form of a tower, with a straight neck—wider
below than above, called _fritillas turris_, _turricula_, _orca_, etc.
This box was shaken, and the dice was thrown upon the gaming board,
_forus_, _alvenus_, _tabulalus oriae_. The highest or most fortunate
throw was called _Venus_, or _jactus venereus_, or _basilicas_ (the
King’s throw.) It consisted of three sixes on the _tesserarae_, and
differing numbers, as two alike, on the _tali_. The worst throw, the dog
throw, was called in Latin _jactus pessimus_, or _jactus canes_. In this
throw, the three _tesserarae_ must be aces, and the _tali_ all the same
number. The other throws were valued according to the numbers. Cocked
dice nullified the throw, as now-a-days. While throwing the dice it was
customary to name the desires of the player, and this practice still
holds with negroes in their game of _craps_. Old men were specially fond
of the game. _Jacta alsa, esto!_ Let the die be cast! was Cæsar’s cry at
the Rubicon when he betrayed the Roman republic. The law prohibited
dice-playing, except in the month of December, during the Saturnalia,
and the character of gamesters was then as infamous as now, although
there was much gambling. The works of Horace, Cicero, Suetonius,
Juvenal, Tacitus, Plautus, Varro, Ovid, Pliny, and Paulus, show by
direct reference and by metaphor, the familiarity of dice in the public
mind, and the evils they involved. Persius, in his satires, speaks of
the practice of cogging the dice, and cheating the unwary.
Augustus, the first Roman emperor, was an habitual gambler, and,
notwithstanding the laws prohibiting the practice, gambling was
prevalent at Rome in all ranks of society. Although the emperor was a
passionate gambler—as devoted to the vice, at least, as his cold and
deliberate nature would permit—yet he was nothing if not a politician,
and in frequenting the gaming table, he had motives other than cupidity.
For example, he wrote Tiberius: “If I had exacted my winnings during the
festival of Minerva; if I had not lavished my money on all sides,
instead of losing twenty thousand sestercii (about $5,000) I should have
gained 150,000 sestercii (about $37,000). I prefer it thus, however, for
my bounty should win me immense ‘glory.’”
If Horace may be credited, they could “cog” a die in the Augustan age,
if they could not “secure” it, as in this.
The emperor, Caligula, converted his palace into a gambling house, and
while indulging his passion for play, this human monster conceived his
most fiendish deeds, and resorted to falsehood and perjury in his
efforts to escape the tide of ill-luck that set against him. When
frenzied by losses, this wretch would vent his cruel spleen upon those
about him, and to make good what he had lost he did not hesitate at
murder most foul and confiscation most wanton. On one occasion, it is
related, after having condemned to death several Gauls of great opulence
and confiscated their wealth, he rejoined his gambling companions and
exclaimed, “I pity you when I see you lose a few sestercii, whilst, with
the stroke of a pen I have just won six hundred millions” (about
$150,000,000). Although the author of a treatise on gambling, yet the
emperor Claudius played like an imbecile. In gaming, as in all else,
Nero was a veritable madman, and would stake hundreds of thousands on a
single cast of the dice. In ghastly humor the imbecile, Claudius would
play against the estates of his murdered victims. In his caustic
description of the hypotheosis of Claudius, the great Seneca brings the
emperor finally to hell, and represents him as there condemned to play
at dice forever with a bottomless box, always in hope, but ever balked.
“For whenso’er he shook the box to cast,
The rattling dice delude his eager haste;
And when he tried again, the waggish bone
Insensibly was through his fingers gone;
Still he was throwing, yet he ne’er had thrown.”
Cicero is authority for the statement that Cato, the censor, was an
inveterate gambler. If so, how inappropriate the appellation which has
brought to his memory an ill-deserved fame? With what consistency could
a man addicted to gambling censure the conduct of his fellow man?
Domitian was blamed for gaming from morning till night and without
cessation even on the festival days of the Roman calendar. But this is
scarcely notable in a man who was brutal in every instinct, base in
every passion. In his satires Juvenal exhibits children playing dice in
imitation of their fathers, and in his third satire they are represented
cheating in their games. The fighting quails of the Romans are mentioned
by Plutarch, and to him we are also indebted for the lament of Marc
Antony, that even the very quails of Octavius Caesar were superior to
his own. Was this a foreboding of the fate of Cleopatra’s lover at the
battle of Actium? Returning to Juvenal we find this graphic picture:
“When was the madness of games of chance more furious? Nowadays, not
content with carrying his purse to the gaming table, the gamester
conveys his iron chest to the play room. It is there that, as soon as
the gaming instruments are distributed, you witness the most terrible
contests. Is it not mere madness to lose one hundred thousand sestercii,
and refuse a garment to a slave perishing with cold?” This inexorable
and terrible satirist was the contemporary of eleven Roman Emperors,
including Domitian.
Gibbon, quoting from Ammianus Marcellinus, thus describes the situation
at Rome at the end of the fourth century: “Another method of
introduction into the houses and society of the ‘great’ is derived from
the profession of gaming, or, as it is more politely styled, of play.
The confederates are united by a strict and indissoluble bond of
friendship, or rather of conspiracy. A superior degree of skill in the
“tessarian” art is a sure road to wealth and reputation. A master of
that sublime science who, in a supper or assembly, is placed below a
magistrate, displays in his countenance the surprise and indignation
which Cato might be supposed to feel when he was refused the prætorship
by the votes of a capricious ‘people.’”
All authorities who mention the subject agree that gambling made fearful
havoc in society and government under the Emperors, and the conclusion
is irresistible, that the “decline and fall” was due in a large measure
to the prevalence of this infatuating and demoralizing vice. It is
asserted, on good authority, that at the epoch when Constantine
abandoned Rome, never to return, every inhabitant of that city, down to
the populace, were addicted to gambling.
The Greeks are to-day famous for the number of sharpers that ply their
trade, both with dice and cards, but especially with cards. To cheat in
this way the Greek relies on shifting the cut, which is done in many
ways:
1. As the Greek lays down the pack to be cut, he is ready to seize that
part of the deck which his opponent leaves on the table, and lay it on
the other so that the upper part projects over the lower and toward him.
This offers a niche for the insertion of the little finger of the hand
which raises the pack. It is possible for a player having his little
finger thus in a pack, to twirl the two parts and restore them to their
original or uncut position. All that can be seen is a whirring movement,
and even this cannot be seen if the hand falls for an instant beneath
the table.
2. To pass the cut, the sharper replaces the top part of the deck
himself, but so quickly that it is impossible to see that he puts the
top part almost half way back off the deck. With the right hand he
raises the misshapen pack to the palm of his left hand. As the back of
his left hand obscures the vision, he clutches the forward or lower half
of the pack and brings it to the top, the appearance being that he is
straightening the pack, in order to deal. He now has the cards as he
stocked them in the first place. This trick is called the _straddle_ and
other names.
3. A wider card is introduced from another pack, and placed exactly over
the stocked portion of the deck. As this card is about half-way down,
and as it offers a salient edge for the fingers, the victim usually
makes the cut precisely where the sharper designed it.
4. The _bridge_ is formed by bending half the deck convexly and the
other concavely. Thus, if the other half be convex at the face of the
card, it is difficult for the victim to lift any of the lower half, and
he will make the cut in precisely the same place as if there were a
wider card to aid him.
In dealing, the sharper can at any time retain on the top of the pack a
card which he does not wish to deliver, and it is impossible to detect
the cheat until after a long study of the motions of the player. When
gamesters play with each other, they are constantly on the lookout for
this trick, which is aided by the crimping or denting of important
cards. A gambler examines his aces closely to see if his opponent has
crimped them. If not, he crimps them. If two gamblers confront each
other in a game where “producers” are present, the two gamblers “take
the office” and cheat together, dividing stakes after the play.
The palming of cards is practiced where two of the sharpers sit together
in a large game. The dealer holds a “hand” in the palm of his right
hand, dealing to himself a hand at his extreme left. As he lays down the
deck he lowers his left arm upon his fair “hand” and pushes it along,
meanwhile pretending to pick up the “hand” which has been in the palm.
The confederate stays out of the play and with his right arm receives
the fair “hand” and throws it in the rejected cards along with his own
hand.
The _roof_ is a large number of cards which the sharper holds from a
deck of thick cards. The decks are changed by consent from very thin
faro-cards to very thick cards. At the first deal of the victim the
_roof_ is placed on in the act of cutting, and the victim cannot detect
the difference in thickness because of the change of decks. Thus the
victim deals himself four kings and his dishonest foe four aces.
Counting the cards, he finds the deck complete. Vain in the belief of
his acuteness, he bets and loses.
The _cold deck_ is a pre-arranged pack, introduced under the tray of a
waiter at the call for liquor, or carried in rear pockets called
_finetles_. Pockets called _costieres_ are in front. To mark the cards,
the Greek will buy the stock of a tradesman and exchange the goods on
some excuse, often preparing and sealing the decks. Then, at some future
time, he has the satisfaction of being asked to play with cards bought
by his victim, every one of which carries a mark known only to the
rogue.
The Greek carries a tin-box under the fore-arm, in his coat sleeve. This
is called _the bag_ in English. Projecting from the sleeve is a pair of
pincers which will seize and withdraw any card that may be desired.
Basiled cards, or _strippers_, were one of the most effective methods of
cheating in the eighteenth century, when the secret was known only to
sharpers. _Strippers_ are made by cutting the cards so that they are
wider at one end than at the other. Now, if one of the cards be turned,
it will present, at the narrower end of the deck, the feeling of a wide
card, and can be _stripped_ out of the deck in a twinkling. In the hands
of an expert, the basil may be scarcely perceptible to the touch, and
the further advantage of a variety of basils may be obtained. Thus, with
a convex basil or ax-like edge, the gambler may feel for a court card,
while with a convex basil, or razor-like edge, he may detect a low card.
Thus he may cut high or low with only a few cards turned, and those by
accident in the hands of his victim. Basiled cards cannot be detected
without a delicate touch and close scrutiny, implying suspicion and
inviting a quarrel if the rogue be vicious, as none is so jealous of his
honor as a thief.
The _chapelet_ is an arrangement or stock of cards by the order of
certain words. One of the oldest _chapelets_ is found in Latin, and each
word means a certain card of the pack of fifty-two.
The poverty, squalor and filth among the Turks and the Greeks is due, in
a considerable degree, to gambling. Men gamble away their money, their
merchandise, their household, their clothes, and not infrequently they
hazard themselves, on the chance of a die.
“One of my sudri, or carriers,” writes a gentleman to us, “when I was
going from Jenidscheh up into the Rhodope mountains, had lost himself in
this way and had become the property of a wealthy ‘Broussa’ merchant,
but on the death of the latter he again became free and resumed his
precarious gambling life. That is only one instance out of hundreds to
be found in the Turkish Peninsula, of men becoming so degraded by this
mad passion for gaming.
“I remember once stopping at a street corner in Zante, the capital of
the Island of Currants, the Zacynthus of the ancients, and watching a
party of ragged idlers, who had chosen a shady corner of a colonnade as
they played ‘comboloio.’ The ‘comboloio’ is a rosary, or bead string,
and the game is played with the loose beads and a ‘Kanate’ or earthen
jar, with a long, narrow neck, generally used for water. I didn’t
understand the rationale of the game, but it seemed to consist of
betting on which of the colored beads would come out successively, after
being shaken up in the ‘Kanate.’ Presently one of the party went off to
fetch some wine and I strolled away down to the harbor. I had occasion
to pass the same spot in the evening, about dusk, or rather the short
twilight that answers to dusk in those latitudes, and the group was
still there, rolling the colored beads out of the water vessel, and
passing little copper coins to and fro. They were always good humored
and merry. Indeed, amongst the lower classes in Greece, and particularly
amongst these loafers of the street, one rarely meets with any strong
display of feeling over losses or gains at play. They have become
largely imbued with the spirit of the Turk, and take everything that
comes with a dull resignation to fate. There are few large gambling
houses in Greece, as far as I know, but every town has plenty of little
‘dens’ and ‘joints’ where gaming is openly practiced and allowed.
“The spirit of hazard is inherent in the Greek, and everywhere one finds
the dice box, the wheel, the ‘Koulai,’ or card tables. Cheating is
regarded, I will not say as legitimate, but at least as justifiable. If
a man is fool enough to allow himself to be cheated, he must suffer the
consequences, and his acceptance of these consequences is always
graceful and blended with a sort of admiration for the cheater. Speaking
of this, I remember seeing in the museum at Athens (I think it was) a
number of the Kanatii mentioned above, with false bottoms carefully
fitted to them. They are a standing puzzle to the ceramist. If they were
used simply as vessels for holding water or wine, the use of these false
bottoms seems inexplicable, but I believe this was only a device used by
the gamblers in the game of ‘comboloio.’
“The American gentleman, traveling in Greece, had better beware of
sitting down at the card table with delicate handed Greeks. He is sure
to be invited wherever he goes, and unless he knows his company well, he
is sure to lose his money, no matter how skilled he may be in the tricks
common to the fraternity in his native land in the west; and if he
should take a hand and find that he is being plucked, the only way is to
ignore it, and withdraw from the game at an opportune moment. It would
never do to treat the Greek in the manner that certain parties once
treated Ah Sin when playing ‘The game he did not understand.’
Everywhere, through the Grecian Islands, one will find these dens kept
by Levantines and Greeks, and fitted up with all the modern
paraphernalia of gambling.
“This is the most beautiful part of Europe. The waves of the glorious
Mediterranean wash eternally on the ‘Shores of the old Romance.’ No spot
of the land, or the sea, but has a history, a legend, or a poem. Here in
old Salonica, the seven-towered citadel, once the Acropolis, still
watches o’er the town, its rugged cliff facing Mount Olympus across the
gulf. Down below, in the town itself, is many a temple, but little
attended since the days when Olympus was the abode of the gods. What a
great pity that the people should have become so degraded.
‘We have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
‘Where is the Pyrrhic-phalanx gone?”
“Sings Byron. Yes, the Pyrrhic-dancer and the Pyrrhic gambler meet one
at every step. Some of these old houses that I have mentioned were
pointed out to me as noted gambling hells, and they have probably been
so for centuries.
“One house that I went into at Corfu, just off the Italian-looking
Spianata, or Esplanade, had scratched on the tiled walls of the rooms
some jokes and ribaldries, which must have been hundreds of years old.
Among other things there was a representative of the old tessara, or
marble game, a sort of pocket billiards, now to be found only in the
lowest dives, and usually played with biased balls.
“At Milon, a suburb of Corinth, is a magnificent gaming house, worthy of
Monte Carlo, and it would seem as if a special Providence watched over
it. The street in which it stands has been twice almost entirely
destroyed by fire, but the house has escaped; earthquake after
earthquake has left the place intact; and while I was in the city there
was a very severe shock of earthquake, which desolated the entire
suburb, but did not even disarrange the mirrors in the ‘Glass Room,’ a
chamber where only high play is permitted, and whose very floors and
ceilings are of plate glass. By the way, there is an ugly hole through
one of these very mirrors, a little round hole, which has not starred
the glass, telling that a certain Russian Prince once shot himself with
a revolver in that room, and in his death agony pressed the trigger
again, firing another shot which pierced the mirror behind him.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
GERMANY, RUSSIA, ROUMANIA, BULGARIA AND SERVIA.
“The Huns,” says St. Ambrose, “a fierce and warlike race, are always
subject to a set of usurers, who lend them what they want for the
purpose of gaming. They live without laws and yet obey the laws of
dice.” The Father adds that when a player has lost he sets his liberty
and often his life upon a single cast, and is accounted infamous if he
does not pay his “debt of honor,” as a debt of dishonor has always been
named.
We are told by Tacitus, in his history of the Germans, that the warriors
gambled without the excuse of being drunk, which was probably an
ironical indictment of the Romans, who did the same thing. The practices
noted in a later age, by St. Ambrose, are described by the great Roman
scholar, who says that a German who loses his liberty, submits to be
chained and exposed to sale. The winner is always anxious to barter away
such slaves.
Let us now look into the Germany of to-day. In 1838, the government at
Paris abolished the public salons of play, and then arose Baden,
Weisbaden, Sissingern, Wilhelmbad, Koethen, Hamburg, Ems, Spa, Geneva
and Monaco. The gaming season began in the spring, when the leaves were
green and closed in the late autumn. The opening and closing days of the
tables were like the saturnalia of the Romans. _Rouge-et-noir_ and
_roulette_ were the games.
[Illustration: _The Garden at Wiesbaden._]
In 1842, Homburg was an obscure village, the capital of the smallest of
European countries. Its inhabitants were poor and unassuming. There was
one inn, the “Aigle.” To this, a few German families came to drink the
waters of a mineral spring. In the year 1842, the famous Blanc brothers
arrived from Paris, from whence they had been driven. Frankfort had
refused to receive them, and hearing of Homburg, they traveled thither
in a diligence, and put up at the “Aigle.” The prime minister, who
governed the Landgrafate of Homburg, at a salary of $300 a year, was
open to the offers of a visitor so rich as the elder Blanc. Permission
was given to set up a _roulette_-wheel at the inn and an old and
skillful croupier of Frascati turned the wheel. No one could beat this
wheel. So successful was the summer’s business that Blanc, at its close,
obtained from the prime minister an exclusive concession to build a
cure-hall, lay out a public garden, and pay into the national exchequer
40,000 florins (over $17,000) a year. With this concession Blanc went to
Frankfort, and the Jews aided him in forming a company with a capital
stock of about $175,000. Of this sum the Jews took half, and the Blancs
half. During the winter a small cure-hall was built, and advertisements
of the sanitive properties of the waters filled Europe. Next year
visitors poured into Homburg in large numbers, and they were offered
fully as much gambling as mineral water. From this beginning arose the
great “company.” In 1867, the place was the most noted gaming resort in
Europe. Nature and art had conspired to make it attractive. On one side
are the mountains; on the other the river plains; the stream being the
Main. On the mountain-side is a forest, with walks for the visitors.
Gardens, lawns, groves, lakes, fountains, swans, music, and perfume, all
united to dull the sense of right, and make a heaven of hell, for hell
was what Homburg had come to be in 1867.
Fronting on the main street of the town, built of brown freestone in the
fashion of a palace of Florence, was the “Temple of Fortune.” A spacious
vestibule, paved with Roman mosaic, led to the great _salon_, whose
walls and ceilings were laden with gilt and sculpture, mirrors and
curtains of velvet and satin. Sofas and chairs of damask appeared to
invite to rest, but there was no rest in that dread chamber. The rattle
of the balls went on. Money sounded and checks clicked. There came
regularly the cries of the croupiers, the cappers and the recommenders:
“Make your play, gentlemen and ladies;” “The play is made; nothing more
goes.”
As he entered, the visitor must remove his hat, as if he were in St.
Peter’s. The goddess of fortune was a jealous and very exacting deity.
From a gentleman once connected with the “_Levant Herald_,” we are
indebted for the following glimpses of gambling as it obtains in the
Balkan Peninsular to-day:
“In Bulgaria and Servia I have seen the peasants throwing dice, or
coins, or even a notched stick, to decide the point as to who should pay
for the morning meal of ‘yekmek e’ soot’ (bread and milk.)
“The gamins of the street gamble for ‘Loukouni,’ little sticks of what
looks like ‘Turkish Delight.’ In all the towns one may see at the street
corners, the ‘hakimal,’ or ‘fakirs,’ with their packs of greasy cards,
wheels of fortune, and little cunning traps of dingy brass work into
which you drop small pieces of money and see whether it will ever reach
the bottom. Unfortunately that happy event rarely occurs. The coin
almost invariably becomes intercepted in its tortuous path and is
claimed by the swarthy proprietor of the “faki.” Very often these men
carry jewelry, and will match their wares against some property of your
own; then play you ‘double or quits’ at ‘djini,’ which is practically
the same as three card monte, only both parties have the privilege of a
throw. While in Belgrade I came across an Arab, a most intelligent man,
who had been a courier in Europe for years. I remarked to him upon this
passion for gambling, and denounced its results in very strong terms.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but what would you have? These people are happy; they
enjoy themselves. Why should they work when they can earn money so
easily?’ ‘_Ed djunya djifetun ve talibeha khilab_’ (The world is an
abomination, and those that work thereon are dogs.) This man had a
supreme contempt for manual labor, and would spend days and nights in
gaming houses. He was a master of the art of cheating, and told me he
never employed any but fair means. ‘I know enough to guard myself from
others,’ he said, ‘but why should one waste one’s talents on cattle like
these?’ pointing to a long-bearded, venerable ‘hakimal’ near by. I
think, however, that he did use his ‘talents’ pretty freely, for I
noticed that he never came away from the table empty-handed.
“Now here was an instance of a man with remarkable natural intelligence,
a fine linguist, well read, cultivated, a most agreeable traveling
companion; but he was a gambler, and all his thoughts and energies were
directed to one object—the winning of money by unfair means. He won
immense sums, and if he had kept them, would have been a very wealthy
man. But ‘light come, light go,’ and every cent was squandered in
pleasure, often of the vilest, most revolting kind. I told him how it
would probably end in a horrible death from starvation. ‘No,’ he replied
quietly, ‘not like that. There is always a way out of life,’ and he
pointed significantly to a small Malay creese which he carried in his
belt. I went with him one night to the ‘Tag Alek’ in Belgrade, a hell of
the worst reputation, and where I would not have ventured alone for a
kingdom, but I knew I was safe in the company of ‘Le Brulant,’ as the
courier was called. We passed through a dimly lighted court yard and
entered by a little arched door-way, which opened into a small stone
hall with a little fountain in the middle. My companion spoke a few
words to the man in charge (cawass), who supplied us with felt sandals,
and also gave me a loose gown to put over my European dress. Then we
passed into a long, low room filled with little tables, each occupied by
its group of card players, who were waited on by nearly nude negroes.
[Illustration: _The Old Castle, and View of Baden-Baden._]
“There was almost perfect silence, broken now and then by a muttered
oath or exclamation. The players were well, and even richly dressed, and
seemed to embrace many nationalities. We went through noiselessly, and
into another small room fitted up with divans and lounges. This was a
conversation room, and there were two or three men talking in a Slav
dialect in one corner. From here one could pass by separate doors, to
the rooms where roulette, rouge et noir, and other games were played,
but my companion refused to enter these, saying we should only disturb
the players. We sat down, and an attendant brought us some coffee, black
and bitter as gall, then handed us each a ‘tcihbouque’ (pipe), to light
while a little boy dressed as an Albanian, brought us a piece of red hot
charcoal on a platter. After a few minutes ‘Le Brulant’ proposed that we
should see the rest of the house. I agreed, and we arose. ‘Let’s go to
the Shades first,’ he said. I asked him what he meant. ‘Well,’ was the
reply, ‘the rooms over these,’ pointing to the way by which we had
entered, ‘are nothing. The men who play there are quiet, steady people.
They are not initiated. Look here,’ and he drew back a heavy gold-
embroidered curtain which concealed the end of the passage we had
traversed. It was a magnificent room which lay beyond, gorgeous with
gold and silver, and all the vivid colors of oriental furnishing. At the
different tables were men and women seated, and apparently absorbed in
their game. The attendants in this room were young girls dressed in a
single fold of a fabric so fine and transparent that the white flesh
gleamed through like pearl. My companion dropped the curtain and said:
‘Ah, there’s no one there to-night but the Lurley (mentioning the
soubriquet of a woman infamously known all over Europe) and she seems to
have a new victim.’ The Arab ground his teeth together savagely, as he
hissed: ‘They may well call her the Lurley.’ We looked into a number of
other rooms, where the same scene was being enacted, with variations.
These were the public rooms, but there were also private dens, some of
which were set apart for opium devotees. ‘But,’ I said to ‘Le Brulant,’
‘I don’t see any danger in coming here. Everything seems quiet and
orderly. How is it that the house has such a fiendish reputation?’ ‘Yes,
you see the fair side to-night,’ he answered, ‘but if I was to leave you
now, you might never get out of this place alive, if you had any money
or jewelry about you. One of those sirens yonder would soon lure you to
a nice, cool resting place at the bottom of the Danube.’ He said this so
fiercely that I shuddered, and the thought struck me that the gambling
fever might flash out in his veins at any moment and leave me without a
protector in this hell upon earth. He saw my disquietude, and said
gently: ‘Come, let’s go; its best not to stay too long.’ We passed out
by another door opening on the same dark court yard, and I breathed more
freely when we reached the open air, and I could see the stars above my
head and feel the fresh breeze blowing down from the mountains, sweeping
away the sense of languor and enervation imbued by the heavy scented
atmosphere of the Tag’ Alek.”
At the German watering places the gambling houses were required to pay a
heavy tax by the several principalities, which licensed them,
notwithstanding games of hazard were forbidden by the laws. Moreover,
the respective governments were so perfectly conscious of the ruin
caused by gaming that they prohibited their subjects from patronizing
the licensed establishments. In Homburg the law even forbade citizens
from living intimately with gamblers and visitors, under a penalty of
from 30 to 150 florins.
“The bankers” of Baden-Baden paid an annual license of 300,000 francs
($60,000), which was expended in constructing and beautifying the baths.
The “bankers” were at an annual expense, in addition to this license, of
700,000 francs ($140,000), yet, notwithstanding this, the net profit of
one season amounted to 2,000,000 francs ($400,000).
At Wiesbaden and Ems, the tables belonged to a joint stock company,
which paid 115,000 florins for the double license. So profitable was the
business that the company offered 100,000 florins more for the privilege
of keeping the establishment open during the winter. The expenses of the
company, for the season of 1860, were estimated at 750,000 francs, yet,
from the net profit of the year, a dividend of 49·30 francs was paid on
each one of the 25,000 shares of stock, showing an aggregate net profit
of 1,232,500 francs ($246,500). At Wiesbaden there were two tables for
roulette and two for rouge-et-noir, and at Ems one for each.
Homburg paid a license of 50,000 francs ($10,000), for which it had the
privilege of keeping the tables in operation throughout the year. The
society, or company, defrayed the expense of all buildings and
embellishments. Its capital was divided into 10,000 shares, each of
which earned a dividend of fifty-three francs.
Spa, for a time one of the most flourishing gaming resorts, paid a net
annual profit of more than 1,000,000 francs from the operation of one
roulette and one rouge-et-noir table. Geneva, like Spa, paid no license.
The gaming “sessions” were held in a mansion of the President of the
Council, for which, in 1860, a rental of 25,000 francs was paid. The
general expenses that year were about 125,000 francs, and the net
profits 300,000 francs ($60,000). Towards the end of the last century,
Aix-la-Chapelle was a great rendez-vous of gamblers, and play there was
generally desperate and ruinous. The chief banker paid a license of
4,000 Louis. The gaming profits in 1870 were 120,000 florins ($70,000).
Wiesbaden is in the Duchy of Nassau, being three or four miles farther
from the historic city of Frankfort, to the westward, than Homburg is to
the northward. Situated on the spurs of the Taunaus, about 100 feet
above the Rhine, it is environed by beautiful villas, remarkable for the
picturesqueness of their gardens—the residences, for the most part, of
the wealthy bankers of Frankfort, the financial center of continental
Europe. Wiesbaden is one of the oldest watering places in Germany. The
locality is referred to by Pliny, in his natural history, and the
remains of a Roman fortress were discovered some twenty years ago in the
Heidenburg, north of the city.
Among the noteworthy buildings of the place are the Ducal Palace, built
in imitation of the Alhambra, the ministerial building, once occupied by
the Florentine Consulate, and the Catholic Church. Until 1872, the
architectural and social center was the Cure Hall. In this structure the
principal hall once contained copies of the Apollo, Venus, Laocoon and
other celebrated productions of ancient art, and was embellished with
pillars of red and gray marble quarried in the region. Outwardly, the
Cure Hall is a reproduction of the immortal Pantheon, with its imposing
portico fronting upon a charming square, wherein fountains play in the
sunlight or beneath the soft rays of the moon, glinting through the
leaves and branches, all of which makes beautiful shades and contrasts
of color. On each side of the square are broad colonnades lined with
fancy shops. The interior of the Cure Hall was furnished and adorned in
a sumptuous and florid manner, as at other German Spas, and the pleasure
grounds in the rear presented a charming prospect of walks, grottoes,
and miniature lakes.
When gambling was in the ascendant at Wiesbaden, society there was in a
very mixed and deplorable state. The fast were in full possession,
almost, and as late as 1872 respectable women dared not take a stroll in
the grounds outside the Cure Hall. When gambling, with “hideous mien,”
stalked through this fair scene, the aged, broken down courtesans of
Paris, Vienna and Berlin made Wiesbaden their autumn rendez-vous. A
correspondent of the London _Daily Telegraph_ described them as “arrayed
in all the colors of the rainbow, painted to the roots of their dyed
hair, shamelessly decollette, prodigal of “free” talk and unseemly
gestures, these ghastly creatures, hideous caricatures of youth and
beauty, flaunted about the play rooms and gardens, levying blackmail
upon those who were imprudent enough to engage them in “chaff” or
badinage, and desperately endeavoring to hook themselves onto the
wealthier and younger members of the male community. They poison the air
around them with sickly perfume; they assume titles and refer to one
another as “cette chere comtesse,” their walk was something between a
prance and a wiggle; they prowled about the terrace whilst the music was
playing, seeking whom they might devour, or rather whom they might
inveigle for their devouring. How they did gorge themselves with food
and drink when some silly lad or aged roue allowed himself to be bullied
or wheedled into paying their scope, their name was legion and they
constituted the very worst feature of a palace which, naturally a
paradise, was turned into a seventh hell by the uncontrolled rioting of
human passions. They had no friends, no “protectors.” They were
dependent upon accident for a meal or a piece of gold to throw away at
the tables; they were plague spots upon the face of society; they were,
as a rule, grossly ignorant, and horribly cynical, and yet there were
many men who were proud of their acquaintance, always ready to entertain
them in the most expensive manner, and who spoke of them as if they were
the only desirable companions in the world.
[Illustration: _The Conversationhaus, Exterior and Interior._]
In all the world cannot be found an inland watering place so charming as
Baden. The climate is invigorating, the situation unequalled and the
locality, from every point of view, exceedingly beautiful. Situated on
the confines of the “Black Forest,” in the beautiful valley of the
Oelbach, and surrounded by green and graceful hills, Baden resembles
both Heidelberg and Freiburg, but is more lovely than either.
Overlooking the town are the fine old ruins of a castle, dating from the
11th century. This castle was for centuries the residence of the
Margraves of Baden, and was destroyed as late as 1869 by the French.
From the ruins a beautiful panorama is unfolded to the view. In the
distance can be seen the broad valley of the Rhine, from Strasburg to
the ancient town of Worms. Nearer lies the delightful valley of Baden,
with its green pastures, and groves of fir trees and charming villas.
Near the castle are huge and irregular masses of porphyry, which seen at
a distance, reminds one of ruined towers and crumbling battlements.
The pleasant walks and drives, which are numerous about the town, lead
one to pretty villages and fine views of old Roman ruins. Baden has only
about 8,000 inhabitants, but the annual influx of visitors has been
known to reach 50,000 or 60,000.
Prior to 1873, the central attraction of Baden was, of course, the
conversationhaus (Conversation House); so called, it is presumed,
because no one was permitted to speak there above a whisper. Applying
the name “conversationhaus” to a gambling hall must have been due to
some Teutonic vagary in which irony was uppermost. The conversationhaus
contained drawing, reading, dining, concert and gaming rooms, all
elaborately gilded and frescoed and richly furnished. Great mirrors, on
every side, reflected all that transpired and made the place appear
larger and the players more numerous than they really were.
The promenades of Baden, during the afternoon and evening, when an
excellent band played before the gambling hall, presented a very
animated and attractive scene. There representatives could be seen from
all quarters of the world and of every nationality claiming to be
civilized. The great majority were faultlessly attired in the latest
fashion, and many very elegant toilets were to be seen. No better
opportunity could be imagined to show a pretty face, a fine figure, or
costly jewels and gowns, and the women were therefore happy. The men
struggled to express that grand insouciance which indicates the final
fathoming of all social profundities. The pleasantest feature of Baden
were the walks and promenades where one could stroll leisurely with the
bright sunshine overhead, soft and perfect music in the ear, and a gay
panorama of pretty women and well dressed men before him.
The gambling rooms at Baden usually had six roulette and rouge-et-noir
(trente-et-quarante) tables running. The games opened daily at 11
o’clock in the morning, and ran continuously until 11 o’clock at night.
The place was almost as public as the street. Everybody went in or went
out, played or refrained from playing, as he pleased. There was no one
to question or interrupt, to invite or discourage, any respectably
dressed or decently behaved stranger, who, from curiosity, inclination
or other motive might desire to enter and look about. It was contrary to
the rules for one to wear his hat or to take a cane or umbrella into the
gambling rooms, and in the vestibule, lackeys were stationed to relieve
visitors of these articles. These lackeys wore livery not unlike a court
costume and were most obedient, obsequious and ready to do any one’s
bidding, with the expectation of course, of receiving a “tip” for their
trouble. The Directors paid a license of $75,000 a year and paid out as
much more for the running expenses of the establishment, yet reaped
immense profit. The season extended from May until October and was at
its height from the middle of July until the first of September.
The Baden salons during the height of the season, were attractive to the
mind and interesting to the eye. The contemplative spectator, the
student of human nature, saw much relating to cosmopolitan society which
he could scarcely find elsewhere. The _roulette_ and _trente-et-
quarante_ tables were always crowded, while the games were in progress.
Well dressed men and women, young and old, notables and nobodies, many
of distinguished bearing, sat around the tables, or leaned over from
their standing posture behind, and placed their bets, raked in their
winnings, or scowled and muttered curses when they lost. All the players
were absorbed in the game. Around each table, also, were to be seen,
scores of persons, whose despondent countenances told, as plainly as
words could express it, that their last louis had been swept away. The
“banker” or dealer, and the croupiers, his assistants, occupied seats
raised above those of the players, that they might the better see what
was transpiring on the table, and not to be interfered with by the
movements of the bettors.
No attache of the establishment was ever known to ask any one, even in
the most indirect manner, to take part in the game. All seemed
indifferent on that point, and visitors were free to play or not as they
pleased. Dealers, croupiers, and lackeys—all maintained an air of good
breeding and never allowed themselves to exhibit emotion or even any
particular interest. Thousands were raked in, or paid, with each deal or
roll of the ball, and all proceeded in a marvelously mechanical way. The
players did but little talking and rarely spoke above an undertone. The
chink of the coin could be distinctly heard, as the dealer tossed it
adroitly to the winning stakes, or as the croupiers raked in the losses.
Over all, like a sad refrain, was heard periodically, the dealers
direction to the players, “faites votre jeu, messieurs,” “le jeu est
fait,” and “rien ne va plus.” (“Make your play, gentlemen!” “Nothing
more goes!”)
Baden was the most dangerous of all gambling resorts, though the most
respectable. On arriving from Homburg or Wiesburg, say in 1860, and
entering the Maison de Conversation, at Baden, one could hardly believe,
for the moment, that he was in a gambling house, for the interior was in
striking contrast with that of most places devoted to this purpose. The
attendants were neatly attired and quite courteous. The company was
elegantly dressed and no one over-stepped the bounds of strict decorum.
The professional gambler was a rarity. The titled aristocrat was there
and potentates arrived in their elegant carriages, from the city, or the
country. Representatives of the _demi-monde_ were there, but they
differed little, in outward aspect, from the most respectable.
Writing of the interior of the Conversationhaus in 1870, Mr. Whitelock
said: “How shall I describe to my readers, in language sufficiently
graphic, one of the resorts the most celebrated in Europe—a place if not
competing with Crockford’s in gorgeous magnificence, use, and display,
at least surpassing it in renown, and known over a wider sphere? The
metropolitan pump-room of Europe, conducted on the principle of
gratuitous admittance to all bearing the semblance of gentility and
conducting themselves with propriety, opens its Janus doors to all the
world with the most laudable hospitality and with a perfect indifference
to exclusiveness, requiring only the hat to be taken off upon entering,
and rejecting only short jackets, cigar, pipe, and meerschaum. A room of
this description, a temple dedicated to fashion, fortune, and
flirtation, requires a pen more graphic to vivify and depict. Taking
everything, therefore, for granted, let us suppose a vast salon of
regular proportions, rather longer than broad, at either end garnished
by a balcony; beneath, doors to the right and left and opposite to the
main entrance, conduct to other apartments, dedicated to different
purposes. On entering, the eye is at once dazzled by the blaze of lights
from chandeliers of magnificent dimensions, composed of lamps, lustres,
and sconces. The ceiling and borders set off into compartments showered
over with arabesques, the gilded pillars, the moving mass of
promenaders, the endless labyrinth of human beings, assembled from every
region in Europe, the costly dresses, repeated by a host of mirrors, all
this combined, which the eye conveys to the brain at a single glance,
utterly fails of description. As with the eye, so it is with the ear; at
every step a new language falls upon it and every tongue with different
intonation, for the high and the low, the prince, peer, vassal and
tradesman, the proud beauty, the decrepit crone, some freshly budding
into the world, some standing near the grave, the gentle and the stern,
the sombre and the gay; in short, every possible antithesis that the
eye, ear, or heart can perceive, hear, or respond to, or that the mind
itself can imagine, is here to be met with in two minutes. And yet all
this is no Babel; for all, though concentrated, is admirably void of
confusion; and evil or strong passions if they do exist, are religiously
suppressed—a necessary consequence, indeed, where there can be no
sympathy, and where contempt and ridicule would be the sole reciprocity.
In case, however, any such display should take place, a gendarme keeps
constant watch at the door, appointed by the government, it is true, but
resembling our Bow street officer in more respects than one.”
We here append what a traveler witnessed within the Cure-hall at Baden
in the summer of 1854:
“Almost immediately on our entrance our attention was attracted to a
young Englishman, fashionably dressed, but yet of such rakish and
sinister aspect that I set him down at once as a black-leg who had
figured at Epsom or Newmarket; a London roue, who, having lost character
and means at home, now formed one of that base band of English sharpers
who are to be found on the continent, and who initiate our young bloods
into the mysteries of the gambling tables, or fleece them at private
gaming parties. In eager excitement this person pressed through the
crowd, and, bending over the table, repeatedly deposited a handful of
silver florins, until nearly every yellow line or space had a stake
placed upon it. It seemed as if he had set his life upon the cast and
was resolved to take the bank by storm. Within a few minutes, however,
his entire cash was lost, and as the croupiers remorselessly gathered it
in with their little rakes, he turned abruptly away.
“But whose are the small gloved hands and rounded arms which, just at my
left, are suddenly thrust forward to obtain silver for the Napoleon d’or
which she gives to the markers? I look around and see a tall and
elegantly dressed French lady standing at my side. She cautiously
deposits one or two florins on the board, and with subdued excitement
watches the progress of the game. At length the silver pieces are all
staked and lost. Now, with gloved hands, she unfastens the string of her
purse and other gold is produced and changed, until all is gone, and
she, too, suddenly disappears.
“The game has progressed but a few moments when our countryman returns
and proceeds as before, with the same result, and then disappears again.
Now, here is also the French lady again, with her silk purse containing
gold pieces, and playing with greater excitement than ever; but after
some winnings, she, too, loses all.
“Yonder stands a tall, thin lady, who seeks the table on which small
sums can be played. See how anxiously she glances over the table, and
how cautiously she deposits her little sum. Once or twice she wins, and
her pale cheeks become flushed, and her eyes kindle; but in a short time
it is all gone, and then, leaving the place, she retires to one of those
garden chairs sitting apart from the rest of the people, her cheeks more
wasted, her eyes duller, apparently broken-hearted, as if the thought of
her confiding husband and little ones far away oppressed her spirit. But
look again and you will see another lady with a younger lady by her
side. It is her daughter, and she is initiating her into the mysteries
of gambling. Who would like to marry such a woman, thus trained into the
mysteries of such a game as this?
“A man now enters the room. His dress and person are neglected, his face
is unwashed, his long and curly hair falls wildly over his forehead,
seamed and furrowed with deep wrinkles, A little girl is by his side.
She, too, is miserably dressed, and his rank seems to be that of a
peasant. He is an inveterate gambler and cannot do without his
excitement. He takes a seat at the foot of the table, deposits a florin
from time to time, and carefully examines a small marked card on which
is marked the result of each revolution of the deal. For a time
familiarity with the game seems to give him an advantage, and with a
calm satisfaction he rakes in his winnings in a heap, on which the
little girl bends her glistening eyes. And there he sits until the
evening closes, when he departs, having passed an evening of feverish
excitement and lost all. The face of that gambler and the little girl,
who was always with him and who seemed as if she were the only one left
of a ship-wrecked and ruined family, haunt me to this hour.
“At rouge et noir is a more select class than is generally found playing
at roulette. English, French, Germans, Russians, and Poles, and the fire
of Mammon always burning on his altars and the doomed flies buzzing
about them, some with already scorched-off wings; it is a scene of
external gaiety with all that is internally hollow and deceiving.
“The lights are burning brightly overhead, the players nearly all
seated, and a large number of people forming an outer circle.
“Here are two gentlemen who are bold players. They never stake silver. A
pile of Napoleons lies at the side of each. One player is about sixty
years of age, tall and robust; the other a little, dark haired, black
eyed man, and both appear to be habitues of the place. Three gold pieces
formed the first stake, and the player winning, the same was doubled.
Five more Napoleons are won.
“At this moment one of the proprietors can be seen talking with some
friends nonchalantly, and apparently uninterested in the game, in the
background; but if you will watch him carefully, you can see that he
ever and anon casts a searching glance toward the table, for this
evening the game is going against the bank. But soon caution on the part
of the player is gone, and golden visions beckon onward. One of the
gentlemen leaves ten gold pieces on the cloth, another turn and all is
gone.
[Illustration: _Gambling Saloon at Wiesbaden._]
[Illustration: _The Kursaal at Wiesbaden._]
“It was here that an Englishman played one night until he lost £180,000,
and announced his determination to win it back or to lose everything;
but he was doomed to drink, and justly too, the cup of bitterness: he
lost everything.”
Mrs. Trollope has thus described two specimens of the gamestresses, who
were wont to frequent the German watering places:
“There was one of this set,” she says, “whom I watched day after day,
during the whole period of our stay, with more interest than, I believe
was reasonable; for had I studied any other as attentively, I might have
found less to lament.
“She was young, certainly not more than twenty-five, and though not
regularly nor brilliantly handsome, most singularly winning, both in
person and demeanor. Her dress was elegant, but peculiarly plain and
simple—a close white silk bonnet and gauze veil; a quiet colored silk
gown, with less of flourish and frill, by half, than any other person; a
delicate little hand, which, when ungloved, displayed some handsome
rings; a jeweled watch of peculiar splendor; and a countenance
expressive of anxious thoughtfulness—must be remembered by many who were
at Baden in August, 1833. They must remember, too, that, enter the room
when they would, morning, noon or night, still they found her nearly at
the same place at the rouge et noir table.
“Her husband, who had as unquestionably the air of a gentleman, as she
had of a lady, though not always close to her, was never very distant.
He did not play himself, and I fancied, as he hovered near her, that his
countenance expressed anxiety. But he returned her sweet smile, with
which she always met his eye, with an answering smile; and I saw not the
slightest indication that he wished her to withdraw from the table.
“There was an expression in the upper part of her face that my
blundering science would have construed into something very foreign to
the propensity she showed; but there she sat—hour after hour, day after
day, not allowing even the blessed Sabbath, that gives rest to all, to
bring it to her;—there she sat, constantly throwing down handfuls of
five-franc pieces, and sometimes drawing them back again, till her young
face grew rigid from weariness, and all the lustre of her eye faded into
a glare of vexed inanity. Alas! alas! is that fair woman a mother? God
forbid!
“Another figure at the gaming table, which daily drew our attention, was
a pale, anxious old woman, who seemed no longer to have strength to
conceal her agitation under the air of callous indifference which all
practiced players endeavor to assume. She trembled, till her shaking
hand could hardly grasp the instrument with which she pushed, or
withdrew her pieces; the dew of agony stood upon her wrinkled brow; yet,
hour after hour, day after day, she, too, sat in the enchanted chair. I
never saw age and station in a position so utterly beyond the pale of
respect. I was assured she was a person of rank; and my informant added,
but I trust she was mistaken, that she was an Englishwoman.”
Ems is a quiet village in the Duchy of Nassau, fifteen miles north of
Wiesbaden, situated picturesquely on the river Lahn; it is surrounded by
green hills, beautiful landscapes and delightful drives. The discovery
of ancient vases and coins in the vicinity indicates that, like
Wiesbaden, it was known to the Romans. Ems has a population of less than
5,000, but entertains about 8,000 visitors each summer. When gambling
flourished at Ems, years ago, there was a croupier whose life had been a
most adventurous and checkered one. The illegitimate son of a German
Margrave, he was educated a soldier and served with distinction. Leaving
the army, he traveled through the East—was in succession a Mohammedan, a
member of the Greek church, an Israelite, a Roman Catholic, a Buddhist
and an Atheist. By his father’s death he inherited a large fortune.
Married three times, he had quarreled with and separated from each wife.
Becoming an epicurean and dilettante, he was soon a sensualist and a
sot. Broken down with dissipation, and reduced to poverty, he found
himself at Ems. Thoroughly familiar with gambling, he was given a
situation as croupier, provided he would give up drinking. This he
agreed to do, and kept his pledge. A man of exceptional ability, and
unusual opportunities, he had, in twenty short years, ruined his
prospects and his health, and settled down to the monotonous and
hopeless career of a croupier in a gambling house.
The Russians, late to learn civilization, but keenest of its students,
have begun—so say the English, their enemies—by learning all the vices.
Like Alexander the Great, the Russian autocrat permits a dissolute life
among the nobility, in order that the empire may not have to confront
the resolutions of more honorable men. Ennui wears upon the gentry. At
Moscow and St. Petersburg, the man of the fashionable world dwells in a
state of social license that contrasts sharply with his political
restrictions. Moscow is filled with men in disgrace, who are here
allowed to live in splendid exile. Gaming, racing, intemperance, and
libertinism are the most striking features of the Russian realistic
novel. If we read “Anne Karenina,” by Tolstoi, we shall be outraged with
the gross treatment of an honest husband, at the hands of an author who
pretends to follow the practical teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. The
minister of state, who suffers from the incursions of a libertine, is
dwelt upon, and held up to ridicule, while the inner life of a villain
who steals away the love of a bad wife, is glazed over and made
entertaining to low minds. It may be said that this was necessary, in a
land where a betrayed husband was the butt of ridicule; but why should
the life of a woman offer a field for the apologetics of Tolstoi? Why
should the noble author who toils like a peasant in the field, have no
word of praise for a husband whose every act was visibly an attempt to
do justice and serve the state? Why should not gambling and racing
receive a stinging rebuke at the hands of an author who is not afraid to
rebuke all other iniquities? Possibly “Anne Karenina” would have had a
very limited sale, if gamblers, libertines, and a wicked woman had not
figured as the principal characters.
In Roumania, lansquenet, makaw, baccaret, and other games are the
pastimes of old and young, and consequently the Shylock flourishes. All
Roumanians play, and it is difficult for the visitor to resist the
epidemic. The Roumanians lay the blame on the Russians and declare that
gambling sprung up during the two military occupations. Exiles like the
emigrants from France, weary of absence from their own vodki, introduced
games of chance; and card playing is now the only social entertainment
of the salons. “Every drawing-room in Bucharest is an unlicensed cure-
halle,” say a recent writer.
[Illustration: VIEW OF EMS.]
CHAPTER V.
ITALY, MONTE CARLO, FRANCE, SPAIN, MEXICO, CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA.
Histories, accessible to the author present but few glimpses here and
there of the gambling vice as it has prevailed in modern Italy. He found
but few allusions to the subject by historians, and only an occasional
word in books of travel. However, from what is generally known of Italy,
and Italians, it is beyond question that in gaming this people are not
behind the rest of their fellow men. In Naples, while under the Spanish
dominion, there was scarcely one viceroy who did not issue a decree
against games of chance; but all their efforts were in vain, for the
governor of the Vicarial Court farmed out the gaming tables to the
nobles, the people and the soldiers. The nobility at that time,
especially, were passionately devoted to every sort of gaming. When in
1620, A. D., Cardinal Zapata assumed the government, he forbade the
further farming of the gaming table by the governor, who complained
loudly. This prohibition remained in force, only until a _son_ of the
Cardinal was appointed to the gubernatorial office. Thousands of ducats
were staked upon cards and dice during this period. In the year 1631,
the Duke of St. Agata lost ten thousand ducats at tarocchi. Vencinzio
Capece, the natural son of a Knight of Malta, acquired sixty thousand
ducats by lending money to be used in gaming. His income, from interest
on such loans, amounted to fifteen and even twenty ducats daily. When
the Neopolitan people revolted, in 1647, they complained that gaming had
been encouraged by the nobility. On the 29th day of July, of that year,
the people assembled in groups to visit the gambling resorts—even the
Royal Palace was not spared. A mob entered the house of one Belogna,
where the nobles of highest rank were accustomed to meet for gaming
purposes. “Ye lord cavaliers,” called out one of the leaders, “do you
think that you will be allowed to go on with such doings? For what else
but to indulge in your evil passions for dice and cards, have you sold
the poor citizen to his arch-enemy? For what else have you sold your
votes to the Viceroy that he may burden us to his heart’s desire?” The
mob then set fire to the house, which was destroyed, together with its
contents—household furniture, tables, cards and dice. It has been
estimated that more than one hundred gaming houses were at this time
consumed by fire. Not only the nobility, but numerous adventurers gained
a livelihood at these licensed _redoubts_, (as the gaming resorts were
named). For instance, under the Second Duke of Alcala, a Calabrian
cavalier, Muzio Passalacqua, kept a house of this character, where the
play was so high that Bartholo Meo Imperiali lost sixty thousand ducats
in one evening. We are told that during the time under consideration a
similar state of affairs prevailed throughout the Italian Peninsula.
The picture given reflects the vices of Italian society, which had then
prevailed for more than four hundred years. Sismondi and John Addington
Symonds, clearly indicate that during the twelfth, thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries, the gaming vice spread amongst all classes of
Italians. In the princely castle, the ducal palace, the lowly cot, and
even the monastery, dice and other gaming devices held sway. From such
views as we obtain from the later Latin historians, of their barbarian
neighbors in the north, we know that with their invasion of Italy, was
introduced the gaming vice in its most persistent and pernicious
features. How prone the modern Italian is to the fascination of gaming,
is evident from the papal lottery system as it flourished in all parts
of the country.
Passing to the northwest, we reach the little principality of Monaco,
and the notorious Monte Carlo. Monaco is now reduced to a square mile or
two, but has a malodorous reputation greatly exceeding its political
importance or geographical dimensions. Leaving the city of Nice, by
train, and passing through a tunnel, you come full upon the beautiful
little bay of Villa Franca. Go under ground, again, and you presently
emerge upon a rocky headland jutting out into the sapphire, sea. This
cape bears aloft the little town of, Monaco. On the extreme southern
side of the headland is a deep bay, beyond which, at a distance of less
than half a mile, stands Monte Carlo on another and lesser promontory.
The bay is lined with hotels, cafes, shops and lodging houses. The
famous Casino crowns the slope of Monte Carlo, and contains the gambling
rooms, concert hall, and theatre. Near this massive structure are more
hotels and the enclosures for pigeon shooting. The walks are shaded by
orange trees and cacti, while a velvet turf spreads like a verdant
carpet under the trees. All this was the work of the late M. Blanc, who
established the Casino and its environs, after his enforced departure
from Baden-Baden. But in reality this stately palace was erected, and
the surrounding grounds laid out, at the expense of the dupes, the
blacklegs, and the courtesans of Europe. M. Garnier, who planned the
Grand Opera House, at Paris, designed the architecture of the Casino in
its sensuous detail. But this devil’s university of Monte Carlo, with
its classic rooms, and chairs for Professors Belial and Mammon, is, in
sober truth, the erection of those named. The fortune is always with
_roulette and rouge et noir_.
[Illustration: _The Casino at Monte Carlo, Monaco._]
There are six tables in the Casino for _roulette_, where the lowest
stake is twenty-five francs. Two _rouge et noir_, where the lowest stake
is twenty francs. These tables are always crowded, Sundays and week days
alike. Some persons, it is true, make lucky coups, but the majority
lose, of course. Some years ago a British dowager won four hundred
pounds, and a German two thousand pounds the same day.
By some Europeans, it has been insisted that while Monte Carlo may not
have moral or elevating influence, yet men will play, and it is not
worse there than at the club. This plea is specious and superficial. The
club is private; it is not open to women and children. The mischief that
might occur there is not an example for the public, and therefore not
contagious. The club does not exist for the sole purpose, and is not
supported by the profits of the play. It is not an instrument of
wholesale demoralization, as is Monte Carlo. The latter is a curse, a
public scandal, and an unmitigated evil. In these times of spirited
foreign policy, a more wholesome exercise of diplomacy cannot be
imagined for some influential European power, than bringing pressure to
bear on France for the extinction of Monte Carlo. It is a disgrace to
the French Republic that under its protecting wing this pandering to
European vice should be allowed, or that Monte Carlo should be a shelter
for the sharpers expelled from other haunts on the continent, there to
fatten on the wages and spoils of iniquity. If Monaco and Monte Carlo
were cleansed of this blot, they would be among the most alluring
resorts of the world. The demoralizing tables, and the vicious crew
should not be allied with such delightful scenery and salubrious
climate. Let us hope that the report is not true that an American
syndicate has offered eight million francs for the right of keeping a
gambling house at Taft-chi-dar, Hungary, like that at Monte Carlo.
[Illustration: ROULETTE WHEEL AND LAY OUT.]
M. Blanc, now dead, obtained the lease of the place from the Prince of
Monaco, agreeing to pay him an enormous rental, one-tenth of the profits
of the game, and to defray the expense of maintaining the standing army,
the police, and the menials of the principality. M. Blanc’s widow now
enjoys the profits accruing from the bargain made by her husband. The
games at Monte Carlo are kept running from noon until 11 o’clock at
night, every day in the year, Sundays not excepted, and are patronized
by the titled and most aristocratic personages in Europe. In the height
of the season, from December to April, Monte Carlo is one of the most
cosmopolitan places on earth. English, French, Germans, Russians,
Americans, Spaniards—all nationalities, almost, are to be seen about its
gaming tables. Elegantly dressed women, young and old, some of them the
wives, or members of the families, of the most reputable men in Europe;
some representatives of the demi-monde mingle with the throng and engage
in the play. The interior of the Casino presents the appearance of a
grand drawing room feté. Monte Carlo is the last and sole representative
of the class of gambling resorts of which Baden Baden, Wiesbaden,
Homburg; and Ems, were formerly notable examples.
It is said that the game at Monte Carlo is undoubtedly fair. This may be
true. The eyes of the greatest scoundrels in Europe, it is argued, are
bent upon the dealers, and that ought to be a sufficient guarantee
against any fraud being practiced. But this does not certainly follow.
The powers of a Professor of Legerdemain are admitted, and knowing this,
it would be childish to guarantee the integrity of any professional
gambler.
[Illustration: ROUGE ET NOIR.]
At the Casino eight roulette and two trente et quarante, or rouge et
noir tables, are kept running. Roulette is not played precisely as in
America, the player has less odds against him, from the fact that the
tables have only one zero instead of two. The heaviest play occurs at
the trente et quarante tables. This game is played with six packs of
cards of 52 each. Having shuffled the cards, the dealer passes them to
the nearest player, sometimes the nearest female player, to be cut. It
is a gamblers superstition that bad luck attends the one who cuts the
cards, and accordingly the professional often shirks that duty. The pack
is not cut as in the United States. The operation consists of inserting
a blue card in the sextuple pack. Two rows of cards are dealt on the
table, the first representing black and the second red. The ace counts
as one, and court cards as ten each, and the tailleur, or dealer,
continues to turn cards for the black row until the aggregate number of
their spots exceeds thirty. Suppose he deals three “court” cards, or
tens, he must deal another. If it is a deuce he calls “_deux_,” and then
proceeds to deal the red row, which, perhaps, aggregates thirty-five.
“_Cinq_,” exclaims the dealer. The black row being nearest to thirty
wins, and accordingly, all who have bet on the black win the amount of
their stakes, and the bank rakes in all that has been bet on the red.
Should the two rows tie, on thirty-one, the bank takes half of the
stakes, but ties on any other number are considered as a stand-off and
the player is free to withdraw or shift his bet, as he pleases. Bets may
also be made on “_couleur_,” or “_envers_,” the former winning, when the
winning color is the same as that of the first card dealt; and the
latter, when it is not. In the time when Baden-Baden and Homburg
preserved the air of Paris; when Meyerbeer played at Spa, and while
Tamberlik was losing his Louis, _trente et quarante_ was played with a
_quart de refait_, which only gave the bank a quarter, instead of a
half, of the money on the table, in case of a tie at thirty-one. This
was the practice, also, at Monte Carlo, until these other public
gambling establishments were closed. These ties, like all other
manifestations of chance, occur with great irregularity. On some days
there will be scarcely one; on others they will occur with terrible
frequency. M. Blanc invented a system of insurance against these ties at
thirty-one, and heavy players generally avail themselves of it. It
consists, simply, in the player paying to the bank one per cent. of his
bet, which being done, the bank does not take any of his stake when such
tie occurs. In such case the player pays one per cent. for the privilege
of playing a game in which the chances are precisely even.
At Monte Carlo no bet of less than a Louis (four dollars) is taken at
the _trente et quarante_ tables, and no bet larger than 12,000 francs
($2,400). The smallest bet allowed at _roulette_ is five francs, and the
largest 5,000 francs. On a single number, nine Louis, or 180 francs, is
the largest bet permitted. Roulette, compared with _trente et quarante_,
is a very unfavorable game for the player.
Formerly, at European gaming resorts, the game was played with two zeros
and thirty-six numbers; that is, two chances out of thirty-eight were
reserved for the bank. With the advent of M. Blanc at Homburg a more
liberal policy was inaugurated, and only one zero was employed. When M.
Blanc went to Monte Carlo he made the game still more favorable to the
players by taking, when the ball struck zero, only half, instead of the
whole of the bets on the colors, odd or even, etc. Including the zero,
the Monte Carlo roulette table has thirty-seven numbers, and the player
on a single number is paid thirty-five for one. The advantage which the
bank has, is easily seen. In backing two numbers with a single bet, one
is banking one eighteenth of the table, and is paid seventeen times his
stake. In backing four numbers, “_en carré_,” as it is called, he bets
on one-ninth and is paid eight for one. Accordingly, as he places his
bet, the punter, even though he stakes but a single coin, can play one,
two, three, four, or six numbers at once. He can also bet on the first,
second or third twelve in the thirty-six numbers, or one of the three
columns in which the numbers are arranged on the board, or on the
colors, or odd or even, or on what is called “_manque et passe_,” the
former signifying the numbers from one to eighteen, and the latter those
from nineteen to thirty-six. Betting on the columns, or the dozens,
against which the bank pays two to one, is a favorite game for punters,
who potter about the room with a handful of five-franc pieces, and
struggle all day long to win or lose a Louis or two. Twenty francs is a
Louis, in the language of the gamester. However he may bet, the
advantage is ever preserved by the table.
Though the games at Monte Carlo are kept running throughout the year,
the great rush of visitors occurs between December and April, during
which period hundreds of thousands from all parts of the civilized world
visit the Casino. Very many stay at the hotels or villas in Monte Carlo,
but the majority come and go on the trains from Nice, Menton, San Remo
and other Riviera resorts. Particularly is this true of the sports of
both sexes, who, for the most part, make Nice their headquarters. The
gardens and drives about Monte Carlo are as famous as those of any other
Riviera towns, and share, with the Casino, the attention of visitors.
Connected with the Casino is a spacious and richly adorned theater, in
which an orchestra of about seventy-five instruments furnish, each
afternoon and evening, as fine music as can be heard in Europe. These
entertainments are free, and are always crowded. The most stylish hotel
and café, the Hotel de Paris and the Café de Paris, which flanks the
Casino on either side, respectively, are both under the same management
as the Casino. The café, particularly at night, is a gay place, and
couples are continually emerging from the “lair of the tiger” to while
away a few minutes in the enjoyment of ices and liquid refreshments
under the cool awning of the café. This is a favorite resort of the
courtesans, who are ever on the watch for men who have made a winning,
and who, in consequence, are often in a mood to be lavish in spending
their easily procured gains.
In French story and song we read much of the chivalry—the valor and
honor—of their Kings and nobles in the days of old.
Here, again, “distance lends enchantment to the view.” If we are to
credit the impartial annalist, bad is the pictures of the _noblesse_ in
early France, addicted as they were to violence, drunkenness and gaming.
In spite of the admonitions of the virtuous St. Louis, his brother was a
determined gamester and, while in prison, gambled away his estates. We
have it, on authority of Froissart, that the Duc de Touraine, a brother
of Charles VI, set to work eagerly to win the King’s money, and was
transported with joy, one day, at having won five thousand livres; his
first cry was: “Monseigneur, faites-moi payer!” “Please pay me, Sire.”
Gambling went on, not only in the camp, but even in the face of the
enemy. In their devotion to the practice generals squandered their
property and imperiled the safety of their country. While in command of
the French army before Florence, under Charles V., Philibert Chalon,
Prince d’Orange, lost at play the money with which he had been entrusted
to pay the soldiers. As a result, he was obliged to capitulate to those
he might have conquered. During the reign of Charles VI, the Hotel de
Nesle was made infamous by a series of gaming catastrophes, in which,
among the nobility and opulent men of the day, who alone were allowed to
frequent it, not a few lost their fortunes and their honor and some even
their lives. In the following reign, that of Charles VII, a wonderful
reformation in the matter of gambling was effected among the lower and
middle classes, and by the preaching of an Augustinian friar, at whose
instigation the people lit fires in several quarters of Paris and, with
the greatest enthusiasm, threw into them their cards and other gambling
instruments. This reformation did not reach the royal Palace and
mansions of the nobility, where gaming continued as before, but it seems
to have quite effectively checked the gambling mania among the common
people for a number of years.
Louis XI, according to Brantome, being desirous, one day, of having
something written, called to him an ecclesiastic who had an inkstand
hanging at his side, and bade him open it. As the later obeyed a set of
dice fell out.
“What kind of sugar plums are these?” asked his majesty.
“Sire,” replied the priest, “they are a remedy for the plague.” “Well
said,” exclaimed the king, “you are a fine paillard,” (a word he was
wont to use) “you are the man for me.”
Thereupon the king took the priest into his service, for he was fond of
bon mots, and sharp wits, and was not adverse to tempting dame Fortuna
himself with the dice.
Henry III established card and dice rooms in the Louvre, and information
to this effect having been sent to a coterie of Italian gamesters by
their representatives in Paris, they gained admission at court and won
thirty thousand crowns from the king. Henry III, according to Brantome,
was very fond of play, but not through cupidity or avarice. He was wont
to play tennis and, if he won, distribute his winnings among his
companions, and, if he lost, would pay, not only his wager, but the
losses of all engaged in the game. At that time, the stakes were not
usually above three or four hundred crowns. Later, play ran much higher,
and bets of ten or twelve thousand crowns were not uncommon.
It is related that a French Captain, named La Roue, once offered a bet
of twenty thousand crowns against one of Andrew Doria’s war galleys.
Doria took the wager, but immediately declared it off, fearing the
ridiculous position in which he would be left should he lose. “I don’t
wish this young adventurer,” he said, “who has nothing worth naming to
lose, should he win my galley, to go and triumph in France over my
fortune and my honor.”
Henry IV, when very young and stinted in ready money, used to raise
money with which to gratify his growing passion for gaming by sending
his own promissory note to his friends with the request that they should
cash it, an experiment that almost invariably succeeded, as his friends
were only too glad to have the prince beholden to them. The influence of
Henry IV was exceedingly pernicious in the matter of gaming, as in other
vices. Gambling became the ruling vice, and many noted families were
brought to ruin by it.
In a single year the Duc de Biron lost over 500,000 crowns (£125,000).
The celebrated D’Audigne wrote: “My son lost twenty times more than he
was worth, so that, finding himself without resources, he abjured his
religion.” Henry IV was, indeed, the gambling exemplar of France. He was
very avaricious, and those who played with him had either to lose or to
offend their sovereign.
The Duke of Savoy, it is said, once sacrificed 40,000 pistoles (about
£28,000) rather than incur the king’s enmity. The king always wanted
“revanche,” or revenge, when he lost, and often used his royal authority
in exacting it. The extent of gambling in France at this period was
astonishing, and Paris swarmed with gamesters.
Bassompierre says in his memoirs that he won 500,000 livres in a single
year, and that his friend, Pementello, won more than 200,000 crowns
(£50,000—$250,000). It was at this period that, for the first time, were
established “Academies de jeu,” or gaming academies, as they were
called. They were public gambling houses, to which all classes of
society, even to the lowest, were admitted. Scarcely a day passed
without its suicide or scandal arising from the ruin of somebody through
gambling.
Upon the accession of Louis XIII the laws against gambling were revived,
and a vigorous attempt was made to enforce them. Nearly fifty licensed
gaming houses in Paris, which had been paying half a sovereign a day to
each of a number of magistrates, were closed. As a consequence of this
movement, gaming among the lower classes was checked to a considerable
extent, but little, if any, effect was produced upon the progress of the
vice among the nobility and the rich, beyond causing the practice to be
carried on with much greater secrecy.
It is said that the favorite stake of the Marechal D’Ancre was 20,000
pistoles (£10,000—$50,000). Louis XIII was opposed to gambling, and
indeed to all games, with the single exception of chess, of which he was
exceedingly fond.
Gambling became furious and universal again under the reign of Louis
XIV. The revolutions effected in morals by Cardinal Richelieu were
entirely nullified, at least so far as gambling was concerned, by
Cardinal Mazarin. He introduced gaming at the court of Louis XIV in
1648, and, according to St. Pierre, induced the king and queen regent to
not only countenance, but engage with much interest in various games of
chance. Everybody who had expectations at court learned to play cards as
a prerequisite to success. Games were often continued all through the
night, and the gaming mania quickly spread from the court to the city,
and thence to the country. One of the evil effects of this was shown in
the marked decrease in the respect shown to women. Under the infatuation
of the play they would remain up all night in company with their male
fellow gamesters and would give up their honor to pay their losings, or
to secure a loan with which to continue the indulgence of their passion
for play.
From the time of Louis XIV., gambling again spread among the French
people, even the magistrates becoming inveterate gamesters. Cardinal de
Retz stated that in 1650, the oldest magistrate in the parliment of
Bordeaux, also reputed the wisest, staked his entire property at play
one night, and that so general was the gambling mania, the act was in no
wise thought to his discredit.
Madame de Sevigne, familiar as she was with all that transpired at the
“iniquitous court,” as she calls it, has left more than one picture of
the disgraceful state of the gambling habit there present. In the
private houses of the crown officials, even the nobility gambled for
money, lands, houses, jewels and wearing apparel. Gourville, in his
memoirs, writes that within a few years he won more than a million
francs, while a few won considerable amounts, many more brought ruin
upon themselves and their families.
In addition to the licensed gaming houses, others were maintained in the
mansions of the ambassadors and representatives of Foreign Courts.
Indeed several gamesters of quality, in fullness of their temerity
offered to hire a hotel for a certain plenipotentiary and to defray all
expenses incident to the establishment, if he would but permit one
apartment to be used for play, and allow their valets to wear his
livery. In 1775, Sartines, lieutenant of police, licensed gambling
houses in Paris, and directed that the fees thus obtained should be
applied to the foundation and support of hospitals.
Women were then allowed to visit these houses two days in the week. So
numerous became the crimes, misfortunes and scandals directly
attributable to gambling, that it was prohibited in 1778. At court, and
in the houses of the ambassadors, however, it continued to flourish,
soon the public houses re-opened their doors, and the vice was even more
rampant than before, because of the temporary check. Suicides and
bankruptcies became so frequent, that the attention of parliament was
called to the subject, and it placed the gambling houses under rigid
regulations, which the proprietors were forbidden to violate, under
penalty of the pillory and whipping post.
Gambling was a conspicuous vice during the reign of Louis XVI. Fouche,
the minister of police, received an income of £128,000 ($640,000) a year
for licensing, or “privileging” the gaming establishments. These
furnished employment for not less than 120,000 persons, and, it is said,
they were all spies of Fouche. In 1836, so long, so scandalous and so
disastrous had been the rule of licensed vice, that public opinion
revolted at a further continuance of the policy, and all gambling houses
were ordered closed from January 1st, 1838. Since that time none have
been licensed, and gambling in France is on the same footing as in
England,—prohibited by law, but protected in secret.
In the French world M. Vernon was both influential and conspicuous in
his day. He has given to the world an interesting sketch of gambling in
Paris, from the Consulate to 1840. When a young man he sought the
allurements of the gaming table, and for several years was addicted to
the practice of this vice. His experience as a gamester would be a
lesson, in itself, for every thinking man, could it be here given in all
its masterly analysis. So elaborate is it, however, that it cannot be
given the necessary space.
Under the _regime_ of 1840, M. Thiers, then president of the cabinet,
offered M. Vernon several places in the employ of the government. The
latter, however, requested the _Maître des Requêtes_. “The thing is
impossible,” replied Thiers; “the traditions of the country would not
allow an ex-manager of play to such a noble position,” and M. Thiers
instanced, among others, a State Counselor, whose name and virtue then
commanded the highest respect. M. Vernon smiled and left M. Thiers to
his allusion. This very virtuous statesman, like M. Vernon, had been one
of the most assiduous frequenters of the gambling houses. One day,
thereafter, M. Vernon placed twenty francs on the _rouge_; he won, and
was paid by the banker; wishing, soon after, to take up his twenty
francs, he found they had disappeared. When the “deal” had ended, a
player stepped up to M. Vernon, and said: “See here, Monsieur, here are
the twenty franc pieces you are looking for. I took them up by mistake.”
This absent-minded player was none other than M. Thiers’ virtuous State
Counselor.
Two popular gambling resorts in the Paris of that day were Frascadi’s
and the _Circle des Etrangers_. In both places visitors were required to
leave their hats with the servants, in the vestibule, for which they
were given a check. Servants also brought sugar and water gratuitously;
while at Frascadi’s refreshments, in large variety, could be ordered. At
the _Circle des Etrangers_, the visitor was permitted to sup with the
person or persons he had invited to the resort. In some gambling houses
of the lower order, money upon personal credit was loaned to the patrons
by the inmates. At Frascadi’s and the _Circle des Etrangers_ as well,
large sums were loaned to known players without a receipt. Such loans
were always recompensed at the will of the borrower. One could bet as
low as ten cents in some houses of the second and third class, but at
_roulette_, as a rule, the first stakes could not be under two francs,
and at _trente et un_, the first stake could not be less than five
francs. In all games, the first or the highest doubling stakes, could
not exceed 12,000 francs. All gambling houses opened at noon and closed
at midnight. At the _Circle des Etrangers_ gambling commenced at eight
o’clock only on the days that dinners were given, and on all other days
at ten o’clock. At Frascadi’s and the _Circle des Etrangers_ suppers,
were occasionally given, with balls.
“I often met at one resort,” said M. Vernon, “a literary man with
powdered hair, who in his lucky bets, would rejoice over his winnings in
Latin. He was a poor wretch, and the least loss would make him
penniless. One day he touched me on the shoulder and led me out into the
hall: ‘See here,’ said he, ‘take this Persius and this Juvenal, and give
me forty cents.’ I refused to pay less than a dollar for these two Latin
poets. His joy was excessive, but in half an hour he returned to me, and
putting his hand in his pocket said, ‘take that pair of black silk
stockings, and give me what you please.’ I had consented to diminish his
library, but I would not consent to wear his old clothing.”
“At one time a young man, who was about to be married, came up from the
provinces with 1,500 francs to purchase his wedding gifts. He returned
home, at the end of the week, empty-handed, having lost everything at
play. His fiancee, on learning the facts, broke the engagement.
“The bank is not completely protected from swindlers. Two young men
entered Frascadi’s one evening. One staked on the _rouge_ fifty Louis
d’or in double Louis. The other staked on the _noir_, the same sum in
similar coins. The _rouge_ won and the fifty Louis were paid. The stakes
and money won were immediately taken away. The banker took up the stakes
lost on the _noir_, and saw that these double Louis were merely forty
cent pieces well gilded. The player who had won had instantly departed.
The other was arrested, whereupon, he was not at a loss for argument. ‘I
did not say,’ he said, ‘that I staked fifty Louis. I have not given you
counterfeit money; nay I lost a hundred francs. It was your business to
be more careful about paying the party beside me.’ The affair ended
here, and the bank lost its 900 francs.
“A celebrated general invented a trick which still bears his name. One
day, during the empire, he staked at the _Circle des Etrangers_, at
_rouge et noir_, a small rouleau sealed at both ends, which looked
exactly like a rouleau d’or of 1,000 francs. After he lost, he took up
the rouleau and gave the bank a thousand franc notes. He won, and said
to the banker who in turn offered him a thousand franc notes, ‘I beg
your pardon, I staked more than that.’ He opened the roll, and drew out
of the midst of some gold pieces it contained, fifteen or twenty
thousand franc notes. The general was paid, but the lesson was never
forgotten, and no one was allowed to play except with his money open and
with limited stakes.”
Before 1779, public gaming was authorized in France, but was afterwards
abolished. Under the Consulate, Fouche farmed out the gambling
privileges to a certain Perrin, and enjoined him especially to open a
_Circle des Etrangers_. However, this offer was not gratuitous. Benazet,
who was a farmer of the gambling houses during the Restoration, said
that Perrin gave to Fouche fifty Louis d’or every morning without taking
a receipt. Not satisfied with this, Fouche frequently made police drafts
on him of ten or twenty thousand francs.
The _Circle des Etrangers_ frequently gave balls, known as the _Bals
Livre_. During the Directory and under the Consulate, _Bals_ were all
the rage. Baron Hamelin, Madam Tollien, and indeed all the distinguished
ladies of society were invited to these _Bals_. During the Consulate and
the first days of the Empire, Napoleon, in company with Duroc, one of
his most intimate generals, visited them for a few hours, on several
occasions, both being masked. The president of the _Circle des
Etrangers_ barely allowed Perrin to show himself. If the unanimous
testimony of all contemporaries of the Directory and the Consulate can
be trusted, nothing can give an idea of the pleasures, the brilliancy
and the intoxication of this period of revival.
Perrin, who was made colonel, in order that he might deal Pharaon before
the queen without offense, was succeeded by Chalabre. Marie Antoinette
played Pharaon nearly every evening at the Tuilleries, at Versailles and
Trianon. Subsequently, the farming of the gambling houses was public,
and the four successive farmers were M. Bernard, Chalabre, Boursault and
Benezet. In every respect Chalabre was a man of the old _regime_. He
powdered, and was a man of fine manners. Boursault, on the contrary, was
a man of the times, with a marked face, heavy voice, violent and
passionate. He made himself heard, perhaps applauded, in more than one
club during the Restoration. It was his aim to participate only in that
which gave large profit. He therefore contracted for the mud, for the
night-soil and for the gambling houses of Paris. His house was
splendidly arranged, and he had also a rare collection of plants and
flowers, which in those days were a luxury. Benazet, the last farmer of
the gambling houses, was an ex-attorney, a man of talent and enterprise,
and both obliging and generous. At the revolution of July, he was
elected the commandant of one of the legions of the National Guard of
the environs of Paris. He was subsequently appointed chevalier in the
Legion of Honor. When alone with his intimate acquaintances, they called
him the “Emperor.” At the Cheque office of the Theatre _Francais_, they
invariably said to him “Mon Prince.”
While M. Benazet was farmer, all the gambling houses in Paris were open.
Said M. Vernon, “the leases each contained the following provisions. The
farmer paid the treasurer by equal monthly instalments, the annual sum
of 5,500,000 francs. Upon this sum appropriated to the city, the
Minister of the Interior, and under the Restoration, the Minister of the
King’s Household, received annually, and by equal monthly instalments
the sum of 1,660,000 francs, as an appropriation to the theatres and
other places of amusement. The Minister of the Interior took from it
also a good deal more money for the political refugees, or the disasters
in the department, and for charity and all sorts of misfortunes.
“The expenses of the gambling houses were fixed in the lease in the sum
of 2,400,000 francs. The farmer also received out of the net receipts
100,000 francs as his interest, and was obliged to have always either
upon the gaming tables or in his safe, 1,219,000 francs. The result of
gambling per day, and per gaming table was stated in a formulated
journal. The total capital at the beginning and at the end of the
gambling, was written in the presence of the cities’ controllers, and
showed the net proceeds. The ninth article of the lease stated that all
expenses of the administration to the annual sum of 5,550,000 francs
appropriated to the city being there paid, should further be
appropriated to the city, all the net profits when there were profits,
one-half when the total annual net profits did not exceed 9,000,000
francs belonging to the farmer. On the 31st day of December, 1837, the
gambling houses of Paris were closed by vote of the Chamber of Deputies.
From 1819 to 1837 the gambling houses cleared from 6,841,838 francs to
9,008,628 francs per year, making a grand total from 1819 to 1837 of
137,313,403 francs, and the money of foreigners formed a greater part of
this sum.”
Gambling was universally prevalent in Paris during 1829-30, and the
houses were very numerous and varied in character. Of the higher order,
were the Salon and Frascadi’s; specimens of the lower class were to be
found in the Palais Royal. The Salon and Frascadi’s were on the Rue
Richelieu, near the boulevard. They were of pretentious appearance,
externally, and magnificently furnished. They pretended to be exclusive
and to admit only such as were vouched for by some person of recognized
standing. Access was not difficult, however, and at Frascadi’s
particularly, admittance was rarely refused to those who were decently
dressed. This most popular resort opened for business at one o’clock.
Rouge et noir, roulette and dice, were played in different rooms, the
first named being most popular. In addition to the elegant furnishings
of the establishment, which included everything conducive to the comfort
and convenience of the patrons, the directors provided another feature
“for the good of the house.” They admitted a number of the demi-monde,
and, in fact, encouraged their presence. The beauty, rich toilets and
engaging manners of these females were an attraction to young men, who
would not otherwise have visited the establishment.
These women played more or less, and naturally their example was
followed by the rich scions who sought their favor. Five francs was the
smallest, and 12,000 francs the largest wager permitted at Frascadi’s.
These rooms were frequented by the nobleman, the mechanic, and the
loafer, provided their apparel was tolerably presentable. A large
proportion of the patrons were foreigners, the English predominating.
The lower class of gambling houses, in the Paris of that time, were
supported mainly by mechanics, clerks, draftsmen, and the like, men
whose character would have been ruined had it been known that they were
addicted to play, and who would not have gambled, probably, had not the
law thrown its protecting arm around the gaming dens.
In an English work on ecarte, the author says of gambling in Paris: “In
no capital of the world, are the exigencies of the needy and dissipated
made more an object of speculation than in Paris. As for our Jews, or
usurers, they are not only honest, in comparison, but far inferior, both
in their number and in their practices, to the wretches who are
everywhere to be met with in the French capital, ready to advance their
money at an extortionate interest, provided the security afforded by the
parties is such as to preclude all possible risk. With the natives of
the country themselves, these people are not only limited in their
advances, but scrupulous to a nicety in regard to public credit, since,
as by the loss of friends, a debtor for a term of confinement not
exceeding five years, is entitled to his liberty, and becomes exonerated
from any pre-existing claim, it not infrequently occurs that those who
are heavily laden with debt, prefer to be incarcerated for a few years,
to giving up property which constitutes their whole fortune and the
means of their future subsistence. The money lenders keep a regular list
of names noted down in their books, to which, in cases of necessity,
they usually refer and advance or withhold in proportion as their
employers have been more or less forward in their liquidation of former
engagements. This caution has only reference to the gay and dissipated
of their own country. But with foreigners, and Englishmen in particular,
the case is widely different, for upon these they have a hold which is
equal to all the mortgages and freehold securities in the world, being
in the event of defalcation almost certain of the debtor and for life.
“But the principal auxiliaries of these people are the dashing, splendid
females, who frequent the salons d’ecarte. Although the greater number
of these women have independent incomes, and form attachments for young
men, they usually meet in these haunts, without any view of personal
interest. Still there are many who are often without any other gifts
than those afforded by their natural attractions, and on whom the
irresistible impulse of play operates a desire to produce, in any
possible manner, the means of gratifying their favorite propensity. Most
of these also have some sort of liaison, either with their own
countrymen or with strangers. When, therefore, as the natural result of
the play and lavish expenditure of his chere amie of the moment, the
immediate finances of the young man are exhausted, and he has no longer
the means of gratifying his favorite passion, or of conducing to the
amusement of the mistress, she kindly suggests the possibility of his
procuring a sum of bills on such and such terms. These are ever in favor
of the money lender, and furnished with the necessary powers, she
instantly repairs to one of them and bargains for a present for herself
in proportion to the amount required. Then when the money is all
expended, either wholly ruined, or what is nearly the same thing, thrown
into St. Pelagie, at all events, unable to command further resources,
the young man can no longer please his fair enchantress; she forsakes
him without the least ceremony, and looks out for some other lover whose
prospects are yet in a flourishing condition. Very frequently these
women have for their lovers young men moving in the first sphere of
Parisian society, yet rendered nearly as indigent as themselves from
play, whose credit with the money lending race has long been ended.”
Gambling in Paris is carried on mainly in resorts of three distinct
kinds,—regularly established clubs, places called “clubs,” but which are
open to the public solely for gambling purposes, and the illegal
gambling houses. At all the clubs properly so-called, play runs high.
Strange as it may seem, at first thought, the danger of being cheated is
greater at these “clubs” than elsewhere, for the reason that occasional
visitors do not suspect dishonest methods in such a place. Knowing this,
sharpers manage to introduce themselves and then fleece the members as
rapidly as is possible, without exciting suspicion. This cannot be so
readily accomplished in the so-called “clubs,” which are maintained
solely for gambling, owing to the constant watch maintained by the
crooks, sharpers and professionals who frequent these resorts. The same
state of things prevails at the illegal gaming houses. The French are
quite as fond of gambling as they ever were, though there has been a
change in the manifestation of the propensity. They now seem to gamble
more for pleasure than gain, and to prefer games of the simpler sort. In
betting they are excitable like the Italians, but show better judgment.
The English surpass them in coolness, and the Americans in shrewdness
and audacity.
The most approved methods of cheating are practiced in the Paris
gambling dens. One is by arranging a “chaplet,” that is, putting the
cards into the deck in some particular order, the succession of which is
retained by the memory of the dealer; “stocking” the cards, as it is
called in the United States. The collusion of a card room attendant is
necessary to affect this. With a “chaplet” the dealer knows, of course,
what each card is before it is turned. Dealers have been known to obtain
an unfair advantage by having on a table in front of them a highly
polished snuff box, or cigarette case; which, serving as a mirror,
enables their quick and practiced eye to catch the reflection of the
cards, as they are dealt.
In American parlance, the same device is called a “shiner.” The time
honored fraud of “ringing in a cold deck” is still occasionally
practiced, and the utmost watchfulness does not always prevent it. The
dealers are sometimes the losers at this game, for, through bribery, or
otherwise, sharpers now and then succeed in having attendants supply
decks of marked cards. An instance is told of a sharper who obtained a
supply of marked cards of fine quality and then succeeded in selling
them in large quantities to persons who supplied such goods to gaming
establishments. Waiting until the cards were in use, the sharper won
many thousands of dollars before the fraud was discovered. From time to
time the same trick has been successfully played in many parts of the
United States.
M. Des Perriers, it is stated, once saw a friend of his playing ecarte
with a stranger and after watching the game for awhile perceived that
his friend was being cheated. Watching his opportunity Des Perriers
warned his friend of the fact, and the latter coolly replied “Oh that’s
all right, I know perfectly well that he is cheating me, but it is
agreed that every time I catch him at it, I shall score an extra point.”
This recalls the story of the game on a Mississippi river boat, wherein
one friend warned another that the latter was being cheated by a certain
gambler in the game. “Well, what of it, Isn’t it his deal?” the friend
replied.
The number of celebrated Frenchmen who have been ruined by gambling is
great. Of the number were Coquillart, a poet of the 15th century, Guido
the great painter, Rotrote, Voiture, M. Sallo, counselor to the
parliament of Paris, and Paschasiur Justus, a celebrated physician.
Montaigne and Descartes, the philosophers and Carden the scientist, were
all gamblers at one stage of their life, but each succeeded in
conquering the passion.
Previous to the reign of Louis XIV., women could not gamble openly, and
retain their reputation. If it was known that they were addicted to
play, they lost caste. Before the end of the reign of Louis XV., the
wives of aristocrats, generally, played heavily in their own houses
without exciting much, if any, adverse criticism; and, by the close of
the last century, gambling among women of the higher classes was almost
universal and viewed as a matter of course. It has been often remarked
that with the so-called respectable there has been less honor among
women gamesters than among men; many of them, indeed, not hesitating to
claim unfair advantages, and even to engage in downright lying and
cheating. Many women of wealth and title have by heavy losses at the
gaming table, been brought to a state of desperation and degradation
most surprising. Instances have been numerous where they have sacrificed
their virtue in order to obtain money with which to continue the
indulgence of their passion for play. Cases are not unknown where they
even sacrificed the virtues of their own daughters to the same end. The
beautiful Countess of Schwiechelt, it is said, after losing 50,000
livres at Paris became so desperate that she resorted to the robbery, of
a friend, Madame Demidoff, in order to repair her losses. The latter
possessed a magnificent coronet of emeralds which, at a ball given by
her, was stolen by the Countess, who next day proceeded to raise money
with the coronet as collateral. She was detected and convicted of the
crime. She had many influential friends who tried to induce Napoleon I.
to pardon her, which he steadfastly refused to do.
Towards the close of the Reign of Napoleon III., the circles or clubs,
became greatly demoralized by card gambling. Heavy play, which had been
confined chiefly to the mansions of the rich, places of considerable
privacy, began to be common at the clubs and be talked about in public.
Disregard for the gambling laws gradually increased, until after the
Franco-Prussian war, and numerous “clubs” were organized solely as
gambling resorts. The authorization of the Prefect of Police was
necessary, whenever a circle or club was started, and one of the
stipulated conditions was, that no play for ready money stakes should
occur at such club. It is unnecessary to say that this regulation is now
scandalously ignored and that the authorities wink at the infraction.
Baccarat is the favorite game at these resorts, as it is in the more
aristocratic and legitimate clubs of the city. In this connection, by
way of illustration, the following experience of a once prosperous
founder of one of these circles, or clubs, told by himself, is
interesting:
“I had never been in a gambling club in my life,” he said, “until one
evening in 1872, a friend took me to the circle de —— in the Place de
l’Opera. I had a capital dinner and a cigar of the first choice, and
after this everybody went into the card room. “Cincq cents louis en
banque,” (five hundred louis in the bank) were the first words I heard,
and then I watched the people play. I understood nothing of Baccarat at
that time, and my friend had to explain to me how it was played, how
much the different counters were worth, and how the man sitting in the
centre of the table opposite the dealer, and passing the cards to the
players with a sort of lath, and paying out counters or raking them up
after each coup, was an attendant, called a croupier, specially engaged
for the purpose of conducting the play. I was struck by seeing this
croupier at each bank, about every ten minutes on an average, drop
several counters, representing a louis each, into a small slit in the
table within easy reach of his hand. “Why is he doing that?” I asked my
friend. “That is the percentage which the house takes on the banks,” he
replied, “ostensibly for the use of the cards. That slit you perceive
into which the money is dropped is called the “cagnotte.” Not wishing to
play myself, and having nothing else to do, I thought I would see
exactly how much the croupiers would put in this “cagnotte” within a
given time, and I found that in an hour twenty-nine louis had been
levied on the various banks. “But at this rate,” I said to my friend,
“the house must take in an immense lot of money in the course of a few
months.” “Rather,” he replied. “It is one of the greatest money-making
concerns in the world.” “And how do they manage to start these clubs?” I
asked. “Well, you see, it all depends upon the Prefecture; if you can
only get an authorization you will find any number of capitalists to
give you what money you want to carry on your club with.” I said
nothing, but I determined to get an authorization for a club myself, if
I could. I spoke about it to some of my friends—you must know that I was
then a fabricant de brouges, and got my decoration just after the war
for having allowed them to convert a lot of my bronzes into a cannon for
the defence of Paris—I spoke to my friends, and we formed a committee,
and then I waited on the Prefect’s secretary with a document setting
forth that a few commercial gentlemen of the —— arrondissement wished to
open a club where they could meet after the business of the day, etc.
“Yes, but you are sure you will have no cards?” said the secretary,
“Monsieur le Prefect won’t hear of gambling.” I said: “Only a little
Piquet, perhaps, or ecarte; nothing more.” Well, after waiting a few
months I got my authorization, and then that scoundrel, Theodore, who
cheated me out of seventy thousand francs later on, come in with capital
as cashier. Ole Z., the usurer, came in too, and we took that apartment
on the boulevard—only 16,000 francs rent. We sent out our invitations to
the press, and to the leading players, and gave a grand dinner for the
opening night. Well sir, you may believe me if you like, but we made
12,000 francs cagnotte in that one evening, and the first year I made
300,000 francs for my share, and ought to have had more, only Theodore
and Z. swindled me. But then, of course, I had to play; I had to keep
the game going, and the luck was always against me. I had to sell out my
share in the club. I lost that, and now you see where I am.”
“It was unnecessary for the narrator to finish for the one to whom he
was speaking knew “where he was.” He had gambled away nearly a million
francs in four years and exhausted his credit, and finally had been
forced to take a position as “commissaire des jeux,” or steward in
another den similar to the one at the head of which he had formerly
prospered. He had dealt “banks” at a thousand or two thousand louis, and
won and lost time and again a hundred thousand francs in a night. Now he
was receiving in his menial position only a few guineas a week and his
one consuming desire was to wager these at the table as soon as he got
possession of them. This was not easy to do, for the commissaires are
expected to refrain from playing. But he managed it in some way or
another and invariably lost them before the evening passed. During the
rest of the week, until his next wages were due, his only pleasure
consisted in rehearsing to whoever would listen to the experiences of
his halcyon days.”
Many men of like experience are to be found in the baccarat clubs of
Paris. Some are in the height of their short-lived prosperity; the
greater number, however, are wrecks. The class includes unsuccessful
speculators on the Bourse, ex-government officials, and men who have
failed in the legitimate callings in life. Gambling dens, the world
over, are peopled by a horde of broken down, disreputable, and degraded
beings, and those of Paris are not an exception.
So profitable to their managers are these baccarat clubs, that it is not
surprising their number increased rapidly, until, at one time, there
were nearly a hundred of them, the majority of which occupied
pretentious and well-appointed quarters, until, a few years ago, in
obedience to public indignation, an attempt was made to close them up.
Many were compelled to shut their doors, but, as the movement was not
thorough, a score or more remained, defiling and corrupting the best
quarter of the city, prospering the more because of the diminished
competition. As a rule, these clubs bear high-sounding names, not
calculated to arouse suspicion in the mind of a stranger of the
iniquitous business going on within their walls. The Cercle des Arts
Liberaux, Cercle des Arts Industriels, Cercle des Artistes Dramatiques;
such were and are specimens of these names. Standing side by side with
clubs of genuine respectability, are some of these dens, in which it is
unsafe to leave anything of the slightest value in an over-coat pocket.
As a rule the baccarat clubs are managed with great shrewdness. Rules
regarding entrance fees and dues exist, but merely that they may be
cited when necessary in support of a claim that these institutions
partake of the character of genuine clubs. “Members” are rarely asked
for either fees or dues. Invitations by the hundred are sent to
frequenters of the boulevards, and each one is given to understand that
he may take his friends. Practically, these cercles are open to all who
have money. Emissaries, known variously as rabatteurs, racoleurs, or
rameneurs, or, as the English would call them, “bennets,” frequent
public places, in order to specially invite rich foreigners and
greenhorns with whom they may become acquainted. Journalists are always
welcomed and treated handsomely, in order that they may puff the musical
or other attractions offered, and that they may refrain from exposing
the real character of the places. Elaborate dinners and luncheons are
served at nominal prices; the rooms are richly furnished and adorned;
there are reading rooms, containing a wide range of current literature,
and writing rooms replete with all that convenience could suggest;
liveried attendants, deferential and polite to a nicety, attend to all
possible wants, and, in short, almost every conceivable attraction is
provided. Those who enter and, amid all these seductions, resist the
temptation to play, are exceedingly few, and to play is to lose.
Visitors naturally infer that they are in the private club house of a
company of gentlemen. The elegance is substantial enough, but the
company in reality is largely composed of genteel scoundrels and
thieves, who scruple at no dishonesty, provided the chances are fairly
against detection.
These Paris clubs are exceedingly demoralizing, not only to the members
and visitors, but to their attaches. Hundreds of persons, employed at
first when mere boys, as pages, and rising (rather descending) to be
croupiers, dealers, cashiers, etc., and gradually acquiring the desire
to own houses and carriages, and keep mistresses, can attribute their
ultimate ruin to these dens.
Dishonest playing is probably more rife in the Paris clubs now than ever
before, and is carried on with skill never before equaled. Once in a
while, as in the case of the very “respectable” Cercle de la Rue Royale,
an expose is made of a system of cheating that has been pursued for
months, perhaps, and for a week or two all Paris talks of the scandal.
If the truth were known it would be found that similar practices obtain
in nearly every gambling club. Only collusion between a menial, a
croupier, the dealer, and perhaps one or two others, is necessary for
marked cards to be introduced. Those in the secret, divide the ill-
gotten profits and detection is not probable, unless a quarrel arises
over the division of plunder. Cheating at baccarat is general, and
organized bands of sharpers scour the cities of Europe, reaping a rich
harvest from each one. The mechanism and methods of cheating at gambling
have been perfected wonderfully within the last twenty or thirty years,
as the reader of M. Hector Malots’s novel, “Baccara,” can well
understand, and nowhere has this perfection manifested itself to a
greater extent than in Paris. That Gambling is having a most
demoralizing effect in Paris is indisputable.
The time is ripe for a reformation in Paris, and many are praying that
it may come soon and be sweeping and thorough in character.
[Illustration: DISTANT VIEW OF MADRID CLUB HOUSE.]
The Spaniards are as much addicted to gambling, at least, as any
nationality. There is a tradition that they were once very liberal in
their gaming, and Voltaire says: “The grandees of Spain had a generous
ostentation; this was to divide the money won at play among all the
bystanders of whatever condition.” Montefiero tells of the liberality of
the Duke of Lima, Spanish minister to the Netherlands, who, when he
entertained Gaston (brother of Louis XIII), with his retinue, was
accustomed, after dinner, to put two thousand louis d’or on a large
gaming table, to be gambled for by the Prince and his attendants. Such
open-handedness certainly does not characterize the Spanish gamester of
this day. He is as greedy as any gamester, judging from appearances.
Gambling in Spain is general, and has always been practiced more openly
than in other European countries. “I have wandered through all parts of
Spain,” writes a traveler, “and though in many places I have scarcely
been able to procure a glass of wine, or a bit of bread, or any of the
first conveniences of life, yet I never went through a village, however
mean and out of the way, in which I could not have purchased a pack of
cards.”
The nobility of Spain, for centuries, have been especially addicted to
gambling. Not a few of this class, indeed, are said to live from the
proceeds of the gaming table, and that, too, without any apparent loss
in reputation. The condition of things in Spain thirty years ago, is
thus described by another traveler: “After the bull-feast, I was invited
to pass the evening at the hotel of a lady who had a public card
assembly. This vile method of subsisting on the folly of mankind is
confined, in Spain, to the nobility. None but women of quality are
permitted to hold banks, and there are many whose faro banks bring them
in a clear income of a thousand guineas a year. The lady to whom I was
introduced is an old countess, who has lived nearly thirty years on the
profits of the card tables in her house. They are frequented every day,
and though both natives and foreigners are duped out of large sums by
her, and her cabinet junto, yet it is the greatest house of resort in
all Madrid. She goes to Court, visits people of the first fashion, and
is received with as much respect and veneration as if she had exercised
the most sacred functions of a divine profession. Many widows of great
men have kept gaming houses, and lived splendidly on the vices of
mankind. If you be not disposed to play, be neither a sharper nor a dupe
you can not be admitted a second time to their assemblies. I was no
sooner presented to the lady, than, she offered me cards, and on my
excusing myself, because I really could not play, she made a very wry
face, turned from me and said to another lady in my hearing, that she
wondered how any foreigner could have the impertinence to come to her
house for no other purpose than to make an apology for not playing. My
Spanish conductor, unfortunately for himself, had not the same apology.
He played and lost his money—two circumstances which constantly follow
in these houses. While my friend was thus playing the fool, I
attentively watched the countenance and motions of the lady of the
house. Her anxiety, address and assiduity were equal to that of some
skillful shop-keeper, who has a certain attraction to engage all to buy,
and diligence to take care that none shall escape the net. I found out
all her privy counsellors, by her arrangement of her parties at the
different tables, and whenever she showed an extraordinary eagerness to
fix one particular person with a stranger, the game was always decided
the same way, and her good friend was sure to win the money. In Madrid
one is scarcely welcome in polite society, unless he engages in play,
and, it may be added, unless he loses much more than he wins. In the
capital there are resorts where all classes meet and play together. In
these places the tables are managed by suspicious looking men, who
insist that you will be almost certain to win, if only you engage in
play: They even go so far, in inviting you to play, as to assert that
they themselves do not play for gain but for pleasure.”
Gambling is perhaps more distinctively a characteristic of the Latin
races than of any other. Not only is it almost universal in Spain, but
it seems to cling to Latin blood wherever it is found, however much it
intermingles with that of other peoples. In Mexico, Central America, and
the countries of South America, gambling thrives as in the mother
country. “Chusa,” dice, cards, and lotteries are the principal means of
indulging the vice, but there are many other devices and games in use.
The lottery is an especial favorite, and no Mexican, Nicaraguan or
Brazilian neglects taking one or more chances of getting a fortune in
each drawing, as it occurs. Gambling in these countries is carried on
with more publicity than in England, France or Germany. In none of the
Spanish Republics on our South, is it acknowledged as one of the most
debasing and ruinous vices to which humanity is addicted; indeed, by
many, it is scarcely thought to occupy a place among the vices at all.
It is regarded scarcely to the injury of a person’s reputation that he
gambles, and it will doubtless be many years before serious attempts are
made in these countries to suppress the evil.
In this connection may appropriately be appended a picture drawn by a
tourist in Mexico, a Mr. Mason, illustrative of the gambling
propensities of the Spanish Americans in that country. He writes: “This,
being Easter Eve, was the first of those days especially set apart for
gaming and idleness, and at about nine o’clock I went to the Plaza—an
open space near the church—where I found many hundred people already
assembled to amuse themselves. A large circle, surrounded by spectators
and dancers, was especially set apart for fandangoes, which, whatever
they may be in Spain, are in the New World much inferior in grace and
activity to the common American dances, though the latter, it must be
confessed, are usually to the sound of tin pans and pots and empty
gourds. Here the music was somewhat better, though not less monotonous,
and consisted of a guitar, a rude kind of harp, and a screaming woman
with a falsetto voice. Beyond the fandango stood a range of booths
beneath which men and women of all descriptions, old and young, rich and
poor, officers in full uniform and beggars in rags, were gambling with
the most intense interest, and individuals who, from their appearances,
might be considered objects of charity, were fearlessly staking
dollars—some even venturing a handful at one time. The favorite game was
called “Chusa,” which is played on a deep saucer-shaped table, and
resembled the “E. O.” of England.
“When the oppressive glare of the sun had ceased, and the cool evening
breezes set in, Donna Francisca announced to me her intention of
visiting the “Chusa,” and invited me to accompany her. She walked there
in good state between Don Antonio and myself, preceded by her three
servant maids, one of whom was in her Indian dress and had charge of the
cigars for her mistress. We found our way to the largest gambling table,
at which Francisca, having elbowed some ragged women off the only bench
in the place, established herself in full play. Even ladies with mock
jewels, and women of all shades and colors, with every variety of mien,
crowded around their favorite game, and my landlady having succeed in
getting the balls in her hands, became entirely occupied in throwing
them, with such gestures, or turns of the arm, as, in her opinion, would
insure success. Before leaving the Plaza, where Francisca remained
playing until nearly daylight, I made my way through the crowd to take a
last peek at her, and saw a fellow to whom I had paid a real (the eighth
of a dollar) in the morning for sweeping before my door, and who was
almost in rags, standing beside my fair friend, acting as banker to the
table, at which I suppose he had been successful. He ventured his dollar
at every turn with the most perfect sang froid. The apparent
indifference to losses, and apathy when successful, is very remarkable
with all classes of Mexicans, but they gamble so incessantly that I
should conceive all excitement in this dangerous fashion must be
deadened and that love of play at last becomes a disorder, rather than
an amusement. I have frequently seen a couple of poor porters, who had
not a farthing of money, sit gravely down in the dust with a greasy pack
of cards, and anxiously stake their respective stock of paper cigars
until one or the other became bankrupt.”
This picture of life in Mexico is typical of all Spanish America.
[Illustration: owl]
CHAPTER VI.
ENGLAND.
Under the second Henry, when the courtiers grew weary of the minstrels
and jugleurs, or when they were not occupied in making love, they
beguiled the lagging moments by gaming in every form then known. Before
the third crusade, there was no check upon the gaming vice, and no limit
to the stakes. The gamester, when he had been defrauded of his
patrimony, in turn preyed upon the unsuspecting youth. He lived upon the
weaknesses of human nature then as now, and watched with pleasure the
trembling fingers and flushed cheeks of his victim, led on, as they
were, by apparent carelessness, to risk a larger sum after losing a
smaller. The victim was left by the gamester, only when the former could
not even call his clothes his own. The dupes often discovered, when it
was too late, that they had been ruined, not by the superior skill of
their adversary, but by his dishonesty. For their own advantage, then,
they who had been victims began to practice the arts of deception, chief
among which was the loading of the dice.
During the reign of Richard I., (he of the Lion’s Heart) and that of
King John, dice constituted the chief amusement of the nobility, and the
length to which they carried the game, may be inferred from the fact
that not even the “pomp and circumstance” of the martial field could
allure them from the fascinating pursuit. The Barons who collected to
resist the tyranny of John, were reproached by Matthew Paris with
spending their time in gambling with dice when their presence was
required in the field. Even the flames and the dissensions of civil war
could not excite in them an ardor equal to that induced by the dice-box.
But the evil did not stop here, and honor itself was sacrificed at the
shrine of the unworthy and demoralizing passion by some of that
brilliant band of cavaliers to whom England is indebted for her
fundamental privileges and constitutional liberty. Should still stronger
proof be required of the prevalence of the gaming vice among the Anglo-
Normans of to-day, it would be found in the instrument which was
prepared by the “allied” kings of England and France in 1190, for the
government of the forces they had fitted out against the Saracens, and
which related particularly to this vice. It was thereby enacted that
“knights and clerks should be restrained to the loss of twenty shillings
in one day, but that sailors and soldiers detected in playing for money
at all should be fined at will, or ‘ducked.’” During subsequent reigns
gaming, although generally condemned, was vigorously pursued. How the
practice operated upon the morals of the English people, during the
reign of Elizabeth and her immediate successors, may be inferred from
that phrase in Shakespeare which avers “dicers’ oaths are accounted
proverbially false.” Gambling prevailed in England under Henry VIII, and
it seems the King himself, was an unscrupulous gamester. The evidence is
ample that gambling flourished during the reigns of Elizabeth, James I,
and in the time of Charles II. Evelyn, writing on the day when James II
was proclaimed King of England, says: “I can never forget the
inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming and dissoluteness, and, as
it were, total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening), which
this day I was witness of. The King sitting and toying with his
concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland and Mazarine, a French boy singing
love songs in that glorious galaxy, whilst about twenty of the great
courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round a large
table, a bank with twice two thousand pounds in gold before them, upon
which two gentlemen who were with me made reflection with astonishment.
Six days after, all was in the dust.”
From the Harleian Miscellany, we copy the following observations on
gaming in England during the year 1668:
“One propounded this question: Whether men in ships at sea were to be
accounted amongst the living or the dead—because there were but a few
inches betwixt them and drowning. The same query may be made of
gamesters, though their estates being never so considerable—whether they
are to be esteemed rich or poor, since there are but a few casts at dice
betwixt a person of fortune and a pauper.
“Betwixt twelve and one of the clock a good dinner is prepared by way of
ordinary, and some of civility and condition oftentimes eat there and
play a while for recreation after dinner, and both moderately and most
commonly without deserving reproof. Towards night, when ravenous beasts
shall seek their prey, there come in shoals of hectors, trepanners,
gilts, pads, biters, prigs, divers, lifters, kidnappers, vouchers,
millikens, pie-men, decoys, shop-lifters, foilers, bulkers, droppers,
gamblers, donnapers, cross-biters, etc., under the general appellation
of “rooks,” and in this particular it serves as a nursery for Tyburn,
for every year some of its gang march thither.
“Would you imagine it to be true that a grave gentleman well stricken in
years, in so much that he cannot see the pips of the dice, is so
infatuated with this witchery as to play here with other’s eyes, of whom
this quibble was raised; ‘That Mr. Such-a-one plays at dice by the ear.’
Another gentleman, stark blind, I have seen play at hazard, and surely
that must be by the ear, too.
“Late at night, when the company grows thin, and your eyes dim with
watching, false dice are often put upon the ignorant, or they are
otherwise cozened with topping, or slurring, and if you are not vigilant
the book shall square you up double or treble books, and though you have
lost your money, dun you as severely for it as if it was the justest
debt in the world.
“There are yet some more genteel and subtle ‘crooks’ whom you shall not
distinguish, by their outward demeanor, from persons of condition, and
who will sit by a whole evening and observe who wins, and then if the
winner be ‘bubbleable’ they will insinuate themselves into his
acquaintance, and civilly invite him to drink a glass of wine, wheedle
him into play, and win all his money either by false dice, as high
fulhams, low fulhams, or by palming, topping, etc. Note by the way, that
when they have you at a tavern, and think you are a sure ‘bubble,’ they
will many times purposely lose some small sums to you the first time, to
encourage you more freely to ‘bleed’ at the second meeting to which they
will be sure to invite you. A gentleman whom ill fortune had hurried
into a passion, took a box to a side table and then fell to throwing by
himself. At length he swore with an emphasis—‘Now, I throw for nothing,
I can win a thousand pounds, but when I play for money I lose my all.’”
In the time of Henry VIII., as stated heretofore, gambling pervaded
every rank of society. Sir Miles Partridge threw dice with this king and
won from him the celebrated “Jesus bells,” then the largest in England,
which were in the tower of St. Paul’s. Partridge was hung for some
criminal offense in the time of Edward VI. During the Protectorate of
Cromwell, vigorous attempts were made to suppress gaming; but under
Charles II., a dissolute monarch, the vice more than recovered the
ground it had lost. The aristocracy of the period plunged into gaming as
it did into other dissipation. After the death of this King the gambling
mania again declined only to revive during the classic reign of Queen
Anne. Parliament thereupon turned its attention to the subject, and
passed stringent measures against the evil.
Under the first and second Georges, faro and hazard were subjected to
heavy penalties and yet, these and other games continued to be played by
all classes. In his correspondence with Horace Walpole, Lord Oxford
makes pregnant and forcible reference to the absorbing passion for play
that distinguished, or rather, disgraced, the times. December 13, 1754,
Walpole wrote: “I met Dyke Edgecombe and asked him with great
importance, if he knew whether Mr. Pitt was out?” “Yes,” replied
Edgecombe, who was too much of a gamester not to have a sportsman’s
conception of the meaning of “out,” “How do you know?” I asked, “Why, I
called at his door, just now, and his footman told me so,” he replied.
Another incident, related in Lord Oxford’s correspondence, shows to what
ruin the desperate play of that time sometimes led. After expressing his
surprise at the extraordinary death of ——, a most accomplished man of
the day, he says: “He himself, with all his judgment in debts, would
have bet any man in England against himself for self murder. Yet, after
having been supposed the sharpest genius in his time, he, by all that
appears, shot himself in the distress of his circumstances. He lost
£1,200 a year by Lord Albemarle’s death and more by Lord Gage’s, late
Duke of Bedford. The same day he asked immediately for the government of
Virginia, or the fox hounds, and pressed for an answer with the
eagerness that surprised the Duke of N., who never had a notion of
pinning down the relation of his own, or any man’s wants, to a day. Yet
that seems to have been the case with ——, who determined to throw the
die of life or death upon that answer from the court. Tuesday was the
night for the answer, which did not prove to be favorable. He consulted,
indirectly, and at last directly, several people of the easiest method
of finishing life, and seems to have thought that he had been too
explicit, and invited company to dinner on the day of his death, and
ordered a supper at White’s, where he had supper but the day before. He
played until it was one o’clock in the morning; it was New Year’s
morning. Lord Bertie drank to him a happy New Year. He clapped his hands
strangely to his eyes. In the morning he had a lawyer and three
witnesses to execute his will, which he made them read twice very
carefully, paragraph by paragraph, and then asking the lawyer if that
would stand good though a man were to shoot himself, and being assured
that it would, he said, “Pray be seated while I step into the next
room,”—and shot himself. I feel for the distress this man must have felt
before he decided on so desperate an action. He had the the most
compendious understanding of any man I ever saw. He had effected a
finesse in many matters beyond what he deserved, and aimed at reducing
affections to a calculation like Demoirves.
Again Lord Oxford writes: “The great event is the catastrophe of Sir ——,
who has frittered away his whole fortune at hazard, but that does not
exceed what was lost by the Duke of Bedford, he having lost at one
period of the night (though he recovered the greater part of it) 230,000
pounds. The citizens put on their double chameleoned pumps and trudged
to St. James Street expecting to see judgment on White, angels with
flaming swords and devils playing away with the dice box, etc., but
there was nothing done.”
In gambling, the reign of George III. was no improvement on those of his
predecessors, but quite the contrary. The vice became more general among
the nobility and, if possible more desperate. The most talented men of
the day were heavy players at faro and hazard. Lord Lauderdale states
that £5,000 ($25,000) were often staked on a single card at faro; and,
on authority equally good, we learn that Mr. Fox played at hazard for
twenty two consecutive hours and lost on an average £500 ($2,500) in
cash each hour. Fox was an infatuated gamester, and he once declared
that the greatest pleasure in life was to play and win, and the next
greatest pleasure to play and lose.
Under this monarch, gambling invaded private mansions to an extent
greater than ever before, or since. Many noblemen, enjoying public
esteem and political confidence, permitted their homes to become virtual
gambling dens. Lords, statesmen, and orators received from ten to twenty
guineas per hour for dealing faro in the houses of eminent personages.
At this time, women of the highest rank plunged into gaming and in their
houses promoted the terrible evil.
Since the time of George IV. gambling among the aristocracy has
decreased greatly. Gambling parties in the houses of the higher classes
are now exceedingly rare. The English Lord or Baronet now gambles at his
club, at Monte Carlo, or some other Continental resort. One sees many
English women playing at Monte Carlo, but it is said with them to be a
pastime mainly. Gambling is still largely indulged in by the lower
classes of London, but is attended with much inconvenience and risk
owing to the vigilance of the police. Turf betting, however, in which
all classes join, goes on unchecked.
In gambling, as in all other occupations, the Englishman manifests his
race characteristics. Cool and collected, he bets in a cold-blooded sort
of way, impossible to an Italian or Frenchman. The Englishman knows
generally what he is doing and rarely “loses his head,” whatever else he
may lose. Although conservative, he will, at times, bet heavily and
desperately. The gambling propensity in England now exhibits itself on
the turf more than elsewhere. Gambling houses have flourished for 200
years at least. Formerly, gambling among the nobility was carried on at
clubs or “coffee houses,” and was one of the understood features of
club-life. It was also largely practiced in private mansions. In time,
establishments, devoted solely to gambling, were started, and called
“clubs,” that an air of importance and respectability might be thrown
about them. The practice has continued to this day and the vilest gaming
“hells” in London are known by the euphonious name of “clubs.” Some of
the gaming resorts once noted in London were: “White’s”, “Brooks’”,
“Crockford’s”, “Fishmongers’ Hall”, the “Berkely Club”, “St. James”,
“Melton-Mowbray”, “Strangers”, “Cavendish”, “Leicester”, and “Hertford.”
In its day, “Fishmonger’s Hall” was the most celebrated den of the
metropolis. A description of this place was given in a communication to
the London _Times_, of July 22nd, 1824 as follows:
At the head of these infamous establishments is one yclept,
“Fishmongers’ Hall,” which seeks more plunder than all the others put
together, though they consist of about a dozen. This place has been
fitted up at an expense of about £40,000, and is the most splendid house
interiorly and exteriorly in all the neighborhood. It is established as
a bait for the fortunes of the great, many of whom have already been
very severe sufferers. Invitations to dinners are sent to noblemen and
gentlemen, at which they are treated with every delicacy, and the most
intoxicating wines. After such enjoyment a visit to the French hazard
table in an adjoining room is a matter of course, where the consequences
are easily divined. A man thus allured to the den may determine not to
lose more than a few pounds, which he has about him, but in the
intoxication of the moment and the delirium of play, it frequently
happens that notwithstanding the best resolves he borrows money upon his
checks, which being known to be good, are readily cashed for very
considerable amounts. In this manner £10,000, £20,000, £30,000, or more,
have often been swept away. The profits for the last season over and
above expenses, which cannot be less than £100 a day, are said to be
fully £150,000 ($750,000). It is wholly impossible, however, to come at
the exact sum unless we could get a peep at the ledger of accounts of
each day’s gains at this pandemonium, which, though, of course, contains
no name, as it might prove awkward, if at any time that book fell into
other hands. Some idea can be formed of what has been made, when it is
understood that £1,000 alone was given to be divided among the waiters
at the end of the last season, besides the “Guy Fawkes” of the place,
the head servant having that amount given him last year as a New Year’s
gift.
“It would be well for the frequenters of this resort to understand that
it is their money that pays the rent and superb embellishments of the
house, the good feed and fashionable clothes which disguise the knaves
of the establishment, the refreshments and wine with which they are
regaled, and which are served with no sparing hand in order to bewilder
the senses, to prevent from being seen what is going forward, and which
will not be at their service longer than they have money to be fleeced
of; they may also understand that it is their money which has gone to
make the vast fortunes of which two or three of the keepers are
possessed. The ‘hellites’ at all the ‘hells,’ not content with the gains
by the points of the game in favor of the bank, and from the equal
chances, do not fail to resort to every species of cheating. The dealers
and croupiers are especially selected for their adeptness in all the
mysteries of the black art. Sleight-of-hand tricks at rouge et noir, by
which they make any color when they wish, false dice and cramped boxes
at French hazard, are all put in practice with perfect impunity, when
every one save the banker and croupiers are in state of delirium of
intoxication. About two years ago false dice were detected at the French
hazard bank in Piccadilly, in which the proprietors of the ‘Fishmongers’
Hall’ had a share. A few noblemen and gentlemen had been losing largely,
(it is said about £50,000) when the dice became suspected, one gentleman
seized them, conveyed them away, and found the next morning that they
were false.
“The ‘hells’ generally are fitted up in a very splendid style, and their
expenses are very great. Those of the ‘Fishmongers’ Hall’ are not less
than £1,000 per week. The next in importance are about £150 per week,
and the minor ones from £40 to £80.
“The inspectors, or over-lookers, are paid from £6 to £8 a week each,
the croupiers or tailleurs £3 to £6, the waiters and porters £2, and a
looker-out for the police officers, to give warning of their approach
£2. What may be given to the watchman upon the beat of the different
houses, besides liquor, etc., is not known, but they receive no doubt
according to the services they are called upon to render. Then comes
rent, and incidental expenses, such as wines, etc. There is another
disbursement, not easily ascertained, but it must be very large, viz.:
the money annually given in a certain quarter to obtain timely
intelligence of any information laid against a ‘hell’ at a public
office, to prevent sudden surprises. This has become the more necessary
since by recent act the parties keeping the houses, and those playing
and betting at them are, when sufficiently identified, subject to a
discipline at the tread mill. The houses are well fortified with strong
iron-plated doors, to make the ingress into them a tardy and difficult
matter. There is one at the bottom of the stairs, one near the top, a
third into the room of play. These are opened or closed one after
another as the person ascends or descends, for the doorkeeper to take a
bird’s eye view of the person. The appearance of the houses, attention
of the waiters, civility of the dealers, condescension of the bankers,
refreshments and wine, all combined, have an intoxicating influence upon
the inexperienced and unreflecting mind. The proprietors, or more
particularly speaking, the bankers of these houses of robbery are
composed for the most part of a heterogenous mass of worn out gamblers,
blacklegs, pimps, horse dealers, jockeys, valets, pettifogging low
tradesmen that have been dealers at their own, and at other tables. They
dress in the first style of fashion, keep good houses, women, carriages,
and fare sumptuously, bedizen themselves out with valuable gold watches,
chains, diamonds, and rings, costly snuff boxes, etc.—property with but
little exception originally belonging to unfortunates who had been
fleeced out of everything, and who, in the moment of disaster, parted
with them for a mere trifle. Some have got into large private mansions,
and keep very respectable establishments, but persons with a superficial
knowledge of the world can very easily see through the disguise of the
gentlemen they assume. They are awkward and vulgar in their gait, nearly
all without education and manners, and when they discourse, low slang
bespeaks their calling—escapes them in spite of their teeth. There is
not a single constant player who can say that he is a winner by them.”
In 1830 “Crockford’s” was one of the most prosperous gambling
establishments in London. It was situated on the west side of St. James
street, Piccadilly, and was built by the man whose name it bore.
Although devoted to gambling purposes, “Crockford’s” was a private club,
and numbered among its members several gentlemen of eminent
respectability. It was from this fact, doubtless, that the place
succeeded in maintaining a fair reputation and was not interfered with
by the authorities. Mr. Crockford, early in life, had been a fishmonger,
which occupation he abandoned to become a gaming-house keeper. With a
man named Taylor, he for a time, managed the “Waiters’ Club,” which had
for its patrons employes and well-to-do trades-people. In little more
than a year Crockford amassed a large sum of money. Being ambitious, he
next constructed a net for higher game, in his St. James street palace.
In its meshes he would entangle the aristocratic and wealthy. In this he
succeeded to a remarkable degree, and, within a few years, accumulated a
colossal fortune. His “club house” was most magnificent within and
imposing without. The interior comprised a grand drawing-room, library,
billiard room, supper room, and several “parlors” devoted to play. All
the apartments were embellished and furnished at enormous expense and
with a magnificence quite beyond description. From the start every
precaution was taken to make the membership as select as possible; the
founder sagaciously perceiving that no surer course to success could be
adopted. The most distinguished personages of the day, including the
Duke of Wellington, were members, and “Crockford’s” became the “fad” in
fashionable London. Play was heavy in this palatial “hell,” and
repeatedly £10,000, £15,000, £20,000, and even more, were lost at a
single sitting by members of the nobility. It is said that not less than
a dozen lost £100,000 each at this fashionable “den.” Crockford’s policy
extended a liberal credit to his noble dupes. A score or more of the
heads and scions of great families were indebted to him constantly to
the extent of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He retired in 1840 but
long before that was a millionaire. Building for himself an expensive
town residence and buying an estate at Newmarket, once the property of a
proud nobleman, Crockford lived like a prince, and that, too, without
losing favor with the titled dupes whom he bled. It would seem as if the
aristocrats deemed it a privilege to impoverish themselves in his
“gilded hell.” It was said, perhaps in the bitterness of irony, that
Crockford retired only because there were not remaining enough unplucked
noblemen to make it an object to continue his business.
“White’s Club,” established as a “chocolate house” in 1698, near the
bottom of St. James street, was the most famous gaming resort of its
time. Dean Swift, in his essay on Modern Education, says of the place:
“I have heard that the late Earl of Oxford, in the time of his ministry,
never passed by White’s Chocolate House, a common rendezvous of famous
sharpers and noble cullies, without bestowing a curse on that famous
‘academy’ as the bane of half the English nobility.” White’s was the
place where the nobility indulged their passion for play, and of the
number who frequented its baneful precinct, were the Duke of Devonshire,
the Earls of Chesterfield, Chalmanely, Colley Cibber, Major John
Churchill, and Budd Doddington. It was there that Chesterfield uttered
many of his celebrated witticisms, and afforded delightful entertainment
to a distinguished company. He gambled, although fully aware of the
inevitable results of the practice. Indeed, according to Walpole, he
once told his son that “a member of a gambling club should be a cheat or
he would soon be a beggar.” Pelham, the Prime Minister, was a life-long
gambler, and, even when holding his exalted office, divided his time
between attending to its duties and playing at White’s. In a letter to
Dr. Doddridge, in 1750, Lord Littleton said: “I tremble to think that
the rattling of the dice box at White’s may, one day or other, if my son
should become a member of that ‘noble academy,’ shake down all our fine
oaks. It is dreadful to see, not only there, but almost in every house
in town, what devastations are made by that destructive power, the sport
of play.” Faro was the principal game at White’s, and professional
gamblers, provided they were thought honest, were admitted. “Heavy”
betting was the practice, and Lord Carlisle lost £10,000 at one sitting.
During the game he stood to win £50,000 of Sir John Bland, of Kippax
Park, who, himself, after losing £32,000 one night, succeeded in winning
back the greater part of it. In 1755, however, he gambled away his whole
fortune at hazard. At this period almost every difference of opinion
regarding expected occurrences was made the subject of a bet. A book for
the recording of such bets was kept at White’s and some of the entries
were of the strangest character. One member bet that the first baronet
to be hung would be Sir William Burdette, who seems to have been the
black sheep of a very respectable family. Bets were recorded on the
duration of the ministry, the receiving of titles, on earthquakes,
scandals, births, deaths, marriages, and countless other events. One day
a man fell to the pavement in front of White’s and instantly a member
bet that he was dead and the wager was accepted. When it was proposed to
bleed the man the gamesters protested vigorously on the ground that the
use of the lancet would interfere with a fair settlement of the bet.
Walpole writes: “A person coming into the club on the morning of the
earthquake of 1750, and hearing bets laid whether the shock was caused
by an earthquake or the blowing up of a powder mill, went away in a
hurry, protesting that they were such an impious set that he believed
‘if the last trumpet were sounded they would bet puppet show against
judgment.’” And in another place he says, “One of the youths at White’s
has committed murder and intends to repeat it. He bet £12,000 that a man
could live twelve hours under water, hired a desperate fellow, sunk him
in a ship by way of experiment, and both ship and man have not been
heard of since. Another man and ship are to be tried for their lives
instead of the real murderers.” “Lord Digby,” wrote Guy Williams, “is
very soon to be married to Miss Fielding. Thousands might have been won
at White’s on his lordship not knowing that such a being existed.” One
of the entries in the book read, “Lord Mountford bets Sir John Bland 20
guineas that Nash outlives Colley Cibber.” Neither won the bet, for both
committed suicide before either Nash or Cibber died. Bets were also made
that Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, would out-live the Duchess of
Cleveland.
Play at White’s was believed to be “on the square,” but there is much
information to the effect that it was not. The fact that professional
gamblers were admitted ought to be conclusive on the point. Hogarth, in
his representation of gambling at White’s, places a highwayman at the
fireside, waiting until the heaviest winner shall depart and thus
furnish his opportunity.
“Brooks’ Club” was founded in 1764, immediately south of White’s, on St.
James street. Of the celebrities who frequented it, one time or another,
were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, Hume, Gibbon, Sheridan, Fox, Pitt,
Lords Euston and Chatham, Wilberforce, Horace Walpole, the Dukes of
Roxburgh and of Portland, the Earl of Strathmore, and Mr. Crew,
afterwards Lord Crew. It did not flourish at first and Brooks, its
proprietor, died in poverty in 1772. The club then became known as
“Almack’s” and for a time enjoyed prosperity as the favorite rendezvous
of the rich and great men of London. That the betting was heavy there
may be inferred from the fact that a certain Mr. Thynne, because he won
only 12,000 guineas ($63,000.) in two months, retired in disgust on
March 21st., 1772. Fast scions of noble families were accustomed to lose
or win from £10,000 to £25,000 in an evening at “Almack’s”. It was
asserted that when play was in progress there was rarely less than
£10,000 in bets on the table. Lord Starbordale, one night while he was
still in his minority, lost £10,000, but won it back by one fortunate
turn at hazard, whereupon he exclaimed, with a great oath: “Now if I had
been playing deep I might have won millions.”
The fashionable young men of the day were veritable dudes and affected
foreign notions and tastes and wore curls and eyeglasses. When about to
sit down to play, they replaced their embroidered coats with others of
frieze, or turned them wrong side out for luck. They slipped on leather
wristlets to save their lace ruffles. To avoid disarranging their hair
and to protect their eyes from the light, high-crowned broad-brimmed
hats were worn by them. Pitt put his whole soul in play while at it, as
into all else that he did. When Wilberforce returned in triumph to
Parliament and to London, in 1790, he was at once elected to membership
in all the “clubs.” “Almack’s,” however, was his favorite resort, where
he became very intimate with Pitt, whom he had known at Cambridge.
Wilberforce was not a heavy gambler and did not continue the practice
long. It has been handed down that he once lost £100 and that on another
occasion he kept the bank and won £600.
Gibbon, the historian, spent much of his time at “Almack’s”, and was far
from averse to play. He was accustomed to indite his correspondence from
there and in one letter, dated June 24th, 1776, wrote: “Town grows
empty, and this house, where I have passed many agreeable hours, is the
only place which still invites the flower of English youth. The style of
living, though somewhat expensive, is exceedingly pleasant, and
notwithstanding the range for play, I have found more entertainment and
rational society than in any other club to which I belong.”
Six years before, Horace Walpole, in a letter to Mann, draws a less
favorable picture. “Gaming at “Almack’s”, which has taken the place of
“Whites”, is worthy the decline of our Empire, or the decline of the
wealthy, as you choose.”
The “Berkley Club” enjoyed its greatest prosperity about the middle of
the present century. It had spacious and finely furnished rooms and
afforded every convenience to its members. French hazard was the
principal game at this resort. No stake less than a sovereign was
accepted and players were allowed to bet as high as they desired. The
terms of play, as well as the management, were such as to exclude all
except the wealthy elite. These frequented the place in considerable
numbers, but it never had the patronage once enjoyed by “White’s”,
“Almack’s”, and “Crockfords.”
The “Waiter’s Club,” in Piccadilly, flourished in the early part of the
present century. For ten years, or more, the company wont to gather
there was rather select, but the ruinous effects of play (dishonest
play, it was quite generally believed) soon demoralized and actually
forced them to disband. By an easy transition the place passed to the
management of a set of blacklegs, who conducted it as a common gambling
“hell.”
Gambling in the 18th century, in England, is thus described in the
_Eclectic Magazine_ for May, 1885: “In the more contracted sense in
which we understand the word ‘gambling,’ our grandsires appear to have
been more attached to it than the generations which went before them.
The actor and the politician, the divine and the tradesman, were alike
infected with the rage for gaming. The Duke of Devonshire lost his
valuable estate of Leicester Abbey, to Manners at a game of basset.
Peers were impoverished, and estates mortgaged, in a single night, and
the men who had entered the room in a state of affluence, rushed madly
into the streets at night, penniless, and probably in debt to a large
amount. The chocolate rooms in the neighborhood of Charing-cross,
Leicester-fields, and Golden Square, were the principal ‘hells’ of the
West end, and it was not far for ruin, disgrace and despair to find
oblivion in the bosom of the Serpentine, or the Thames. The coffee
houses, we are told, most notorious for gambling, were ‘White’s
Chocolate-house,’ for ficket or basset clubs, in 1724, ‘Littleman’s,’
for faro, which was played in every room; ‘Oldman’s,’ ‘Tom’s,’ ‘Will’s,’
and ‘Jonathan’s’ Coffee-houses, for ‘ombre,’ ‘picquet,’ and ‘loo.’ About
1730 the ‘Crown’ Coffee-house, in Bedford-row, became the rendezvous of
a party of whist players. Early in the century, although Swift mentions
it as a clergyman’s game, whist appears to have been less in vogue,
excepting with footmen and servants, among whom it kept company with
foot and all fours.
“From the frequent mention of it in Swift’s ‘Journal to Stella,’ we
should surmise that ‘ombre’ was in great fashion about 1710 to 1730, as
was crimp among the ladies, according to Steele, and, in 1726, we find
in ‘Gay’s Correspondence’ a letter to Swift, in which he alludes to the
favor in which the game of quadrille was then held: ‘I can find
amusement enough without quadrille, which here is the universal
employment of life.’ ‘Nay,’ cries honest parson Adams, in the ‘True
Briton,’ on January the 28th, 1746, ‘the holy Sabbath is, it seems,
prostituted to these wicked revellings, and card playing goes on as
publicly as on any other day. Nor is this only among the young lads and
the damsels, who might be supposed to know no better, but men advanced
in years, and grave matrons are not ashamed of being caught at the same
pastime.’
“The _Daily Journal_ of January 9th, 1751, gives a list of the officers
retained ‘in the most notorious gaming houses,’ showing how these
matters were then managed. The first twelve were:
“1. A commissioner, always a proprietor, who looks in of a night, and
the week’s account is audited by him and two other proprietors.
“2. A director, who superintends the room.
“3. An operator, who deals the cards at a cheating game called ‘faro.’
“4. Two crowpiers (croupiers) who watch the cards and gather in the
money for the bank.
“5. Two puffs, who have money given them to decoy others to play.
“6. A clerk, who is a check upon the puffs, to see that they sink none
of the money given them to play with.
“7. A squib is a puff of lower rank who serves at half-pay salary while
he is learning to deal.
“8. A flasher, to swear how often a bank has been stripped.
“9. A dunner, who goes about to recover money lost at play.
“10. A waiter, to fill out wine, snuff candles, and attend to the gaming
rooms.
“11. An attorney, a Newgate solicitor.
“12. A captain, who is to fight any gentleman who is peevish at losing
his money.
“The green-rooms of the theatres even, were the scenes of great doings
in the gaming way, and Miss Bellamy tells us that thousands were
frequently lost there in a night—rings, brooches, watches, professional
wardrobes, and even salaries in advance, being staked and lost as well
as money.
“It was in vain that essays, satires and sermons were written with a
view to checking this universal vice. Hogarth has depicted it in all its
horrors, whether in the scene where it first leads the idle apprentice
into sin, or in others, where it shows the young rake on the way to
jail. But its dreadful consequences were most forcibly placed before the
eyes of the infatuated town by Edward Moore, in a tragedy, first
performed at Drury Lane in 1753, and entitled the “Gamester.” How did
“the town” receive this lesson? The “New Theatrical Dictionary” says:
“With all its merits, it met with but little success, the general cry
against it being that the distress was too deep to be borne. Yet we are
rather apt to imagine its want of perfect approbation arose in one part,
(and that no inconsiderable one) of the audience from a tenderness of
another kind than that of compassion, and that they were less hurt by
the distress of “Beverly” than by finding their darling vice—their
favorite folly—thus vehemently attacked by the strong lance of reason,
and dramatic execution.”
But gambling in England has never been confined to the aristocracy. If
anything, it has been even more prevalent in the “Lower orders of
society.” The play in the “dens” frequented by them has been less
“heavy,” but none the less ruinous and far more productive of misery and
crime. Such resorts have thrived for centuries in every part of London,
and indeed, in every large English city. Many of them have been known as
“clubs,” as are those of to-day, which the police raid from time to
time.
In these places, as in those more aristocratic, hazard became the
favorite game immediately upon its introduction from Paris, early in the
century, and for a time almost superceded other gambling devices. St.
James street early became the center for aristocratic gambling, and in
no quarter of London were the third and fourth class “hells” so numerous
as in the section surrounding this district. After “Crockford’s” was
established and it became apparent that it was not only prospering under
the protection and patronage of the ennobled and wealthy, but was also
safe from police interference, the gamblers who designed to prey upon
the lower classes were not slow to conclude that nowhere in London would
they be so secure as in the same vicinity. Accordingly, in a short time,
scores of “clubs” sprung up in Leicester Square, the Quadrant, in Regent
street, and between Bennett and Jermyn Streets. The Quadrant was known
as “Devil’s walk,” getting the name because of the half dozen or more
“hells” which flourished on its North side, between the County Fire
offices and Glasshouse street, and because of the hundreds of abandoned
women who promenaded the pavement then, as now, during the closing hours
of the day and far into the night. It was a locality especially
favorable to these “dens.” The throngs of people were greater in its
vicinity at night than in any other part of London. Competition between
the different houses was so sharp that each had its messengers on the
street, mixing with the people, and thrusting into their hands cards of
invitation to their respective resorts. Even the courtesans solicited
for the dens at the time they solicited for themselves.
The Quadrant “clubs” have been the ruin of thousands of young men.
Finally, the scandal became so great and openly offensive that the
public revolted. Some young men turned over the cards of invitation to
their parents, the latter in turn passing the invitations to the police.
With the cards as a clue the authorities began a determined fight upon
the evil, and finally exterminated the infamous resorts. Their doors had
opened readily, day and night, Sundays included. Anyone, no matter how
high or low in degree and circumstances, was welcome, and all were
systematically plucked.
As late as 1844 there were no less than fifteen gambling houses, well
known to the police, in the parishes of St. James’, St. George’s, St.
Ann’s, and St. Martin’s-in-the-fields, besides the rooms of public
houses, billiard rooms and coffee shops, in which gambling was
conducted. These latter, known as “copper halls,” usually accepted the
lowest stakes, down to a penny or a ha’penny, and were patronized mainly
by clerks and servants.
Gambling establishments, pure and simple, and of the lowest order, have
generally “followed the races;” that is, have been opened during race
week in the town where the courses are located—such as Warwick,
Doncaster, etc. Allusion has been made already to the fact that betting
on horse races is a favorite species of gambling in England. That
subject receives due attention in another part of this work. Reference
is proper here, however, to the gambling by those who attend the races.
It was said of Doncaster in 1846: “The Eldorado, or grand source of
income and wealth to the proprietors, arises from the prolific revenue
of the play of gaming tables, of which there are usually six in constant
nightly operation during the racing week. The proprietors of the
Subscription Betting Rooms are not ostensibly connected in the co-
partnership of the banks, or in the business of the tables, but they
are, nevertheless, largely interested in the successful issue of the
week, as will be shown. In the first instance it should be stated that
the sum of £350 or £400 is paid down to them by the party contracting
for the tables, and for the privilege of putting down the banks. This is
all clear profit, paid for in advance, and without any contingency, and
in addition to this large sum so paid, for the mere privilege of finding
capital, there is a stipulation also on the part of the proprietors of
the room, that they shall receive a considerable part or share of the
clear profits or gains of the week, accruing from the tables, and this
without the risk of a single shilling by them under any unlooked-for
reverse of fortune.”
Doncaster, at an earlier period, often harbored fully thirty or forty
gambling establishments during race week, which were conducted in the
most open manner. Men were stationed in front to hand to passers by
cards bearing such inscriptions as, “Roulette, £1,000 in the bank.” A
former magistrate of Warwick certified that once during the races nearly
every house in a certain street was utilized for gambling purposes, and
that the windows were wide open so that those who were passing could see
what was transpiring within. Though the sporting gentry had usually to
pay large fees for the privilege of running race week “hells,” they
could well afford to do so in view of their enormous profits. The games
usual at such places were roulette and hazard. Both French and English
hazard were in favor, the latter to accommodate the older generation of
“sports,” with whom it was a favorite. French hazard is a quiet game;
English hazard a noisy one. In the former, the players have simply to
place their stakes in particular positions on the table; as they wish to
bet, and await the result of the cast. They need not utter a word. At
the English game, on the contrary, every player is usually shouting at
the top of his voice, and the scene is not unlike that in the wheat pit
of a Board of Trade or in the Stock Exchange in New York. “The caster’s
in for five pounds!” “done;” “I’ll bet fifteen to ten!” “What’s the main
and chance?” “Seven to five;” “I’ll take on doublets!” “The caster
throws before the five for ten pounds.” These are samples of the
exclamations made by those who are offering and taking bets. The players
in the English game bet against each other and not against the banks as
in the French game. Wranglings, disputes and hot words are frequent,
owing to misunderstandings and the efforts of sharpers to impose upon
those whom they take to be inexperienced and susceptible to bravado.
An English hazard game is superintended by a “groom-porter,” as he is
called, who presides at the table to regulate the bets made between the
“caster,” or thrower of the dice, and the “setter,” or person opposed to
him. The proprietor does not get a percentage of the money staked as in
the French game, but derives his profit from a stipulated amount from
all the players who are fortunate enough to throw on three mains, or win
three times successively. Such winnings, it has been estimated, occur
eight times an hour. Accordingly the proprietor gets about $40 an hour
for each table, or $400 a night on the basis of ten hours. Of course,
the amount varies with the number engaged in playing. But the amount,
whatever it is, is clear profit, for the use of the table only is
involved. The “groom porter” has very arduous duties to perform, and
must, of necessity, be quick and determined, in order to keep track of
all the bets made and to defeat the frequent attempts at fraud by knaves
and scoundrels who sometimes stake less than their proportion, or
endeavor to escape their “obligations.”(?) In return for this protective
vigilance he receives a gratuity of a guinea or more from every one who
throws six mains, or wins six times successively. When betting is large
his “doucers” are generally increased, and sometimes he receives as much
as five or ten pounds.
In these “dens” the roulette tables are usually more numerous than those
devoted to hazard, and they prove more remunerative to the proprietors,
as the percentage against the players is about five and a half, or more
than three times what it is in hazard. The profits during race week
averaged, some times, £2,500 each.
Of the low gambling resorts in London, early in this century, Fraser’s
Magazine, of August 1833, gives this interesting account: “On an
average, during the last twenty years, about thirty ‘hells’ have been
regularly open in London for the accommodation of the lowest and most
vile set of hazard players. The game of hazard is the principal one
played at the low houses, and is, like the characters who play it, the
most desperate and ruinous of all games. The wretched men who follow
this play are partial to it, because it gives a chance, from a run of
good luck, to become possessed speedily of all the money on the table.
No man who plays hazard ever despairs making his fortune at some time.
Such is the nature of this destructive game, that I can now point out
several men, whom you see daily, who were in rags and wretchedness on
Monday, and, before the termination of the week, they rode in a newly
purchased stanhope of their own, having several thousand pounds in their
possession. The few instances of such success, which unfortunately
occur, are generally well-known, and consequently encourage the hopes of
others who nightly attend these places, sacrificing all considerations
of life to the carrying their all (if it be only a few shillings) every
twenty-four hours to stake in this great lottery, under the delusive
hope of catching Dame Fortune at some time in a merry mood. Thousands
annually fall, in health, fame and fortune, by this mad infatuation,
while not one in a thousand finds an oasis in the desert. The inferior
houses of play are always situated in obscure courts, or other places of
retirement, and most frequently are kept shut up during the day, as well
as at night, as if unoccupied; or some appearance of trade is carried on
as a blind. A back room is selected for all operations, if one can be
secured sufficiently capacious for the accommodation of forty or fifty
persons at one time. In the centre of the room is fixed a substantial
circular table, immovable to any power of pressure against it by the
company who go to play, a circle of inlaid white hollywood is formed in
the middle of the table, of about four feet diameter, and a lamp is
suspended immediately over this ring. A man, designated the “groom
porter,” is mounted on a stool, with a stick in his hand, having a
transverse piece of wood affixed at its end, which is used by him to
rake in the dice, after having been thrown out of the box by the caster,
(the person who throws the dice). The avowed profits of keeping a table
of this kind is the receipt of a piece for each box-hand—that is, when a
player wins three times successively, he pays a certain sum to the
table, and there is an aperture in the table made to receive these
contributions. At the minor establishments, the price of a box-hand
varies from one shilling to half-a-crown, according to the terms on
which the house is known to be originally opened. If there is much play,
these payments produce ample profits to the keeper of the house, but
their remuneration for running the risk of keeping an unlawful table of
play, is plunder. At all these houses, as at the better ones, there is
always a set of men who hang about the table like sharks for prey,
waiting for those who stay late, or are inebriated, and come in towards
morning to play when there are but few lookers-on. Unfair means are then
resorted to with impunity, and all share the plunder. About eleven
o’clock, when all honest and regular persons are preparing for rest, the
play commences, the adventurers being seated around the table, one takes
the box of dice, putting what he is disposed to play for into the ring
marked on the table, as soon as it is covered with a like sum, or ‘set,’
as it is termed, by another person, the player calls ‘a main,’ and at
the same moment throws the dice, if the call comes up, the caster wins,
but if any other ‘main’ comes uppermost on the dice, the thrower takes
that chance for his own, and his adversary has the one he calls, the
throwing then continues, during which bets are made by others, on the
event, until it is decided. If the caster throws deuces or aces, when he
first calls ‘a main,’ it is said to be ‘crabbed,’ and he loses, but if
he throws the number named, he is said to have ‘nicked it,’ and thereby
wins. Also, if he should call six or eight, and throws double sizes, he
wins, or if seven be the number called, and eleven is thrown, it is a
‘nick,’ because those chances are ‘nicks’ to these ‘mains,’ which
regulation is necessary to the equalization of all the chances at this
game when calling a ‘main.’
“The odds against any number being thrown against another number varies
from two to one, to six to five, and consequently keeps all the table
engaged in betting. All bets are staked, and the noise occasioned by
proposing and accepting wagers is most uproarious and deafening among
the low players, each having one eye on the black spots marked on the
dice, as they land from the box, and the other on the stake, ready to
snatch it if successful. To prevent the noise being heard in the street,
shutters closely fitted to the window frames are affixed, which are
padded and covered with green baize. There is also invariably an inner
door placed in the passage, having an aperture in it, through which all
who enter the door from the street may be viewed. This precaution
answers two purposes, it deadens the sound of the noisy voices at the
table, and prevents surprise by the officer of justice. The generality
of the minor houses are kept by prize fighters, and other desperate
characters, who bully and hector the more timid out of their money, by
deciding that bets have been lost when in fact they have been won.
Bread, cheese, and beer are supplied to the players, and a glass of gin
is handed when called for, gratis. To these places thieves resort, and
such other loose characters as are lost to every feeling of honesty and
shame. A table of this nature in full operation is a terrific sight, all
the bad passions appertaining to the vicious propensities of mankind are
portrayed on the countenances of the players. An assembly of the most
horrible demons could not exhibit a more appalling effect, recklessness
and desperation overshadow every noble trait, which should enlighten the
countenance of a human being. Many, in their desperation, stripped
themselves on the spot of their clothes, either to stake against money,
or to pledge to the table-keeper for a trifle to renew the play, and
many instances occur of men going home half naked, after having lost
their all. They assemble in parties of from forty to fifty persons, who
probably bring on an average each night of from one to twenty shillings
to play with. As the money is lost the players depart, if they can not
borrow or beg more, and this goes on some times in the winter season for
fourteen or sixteen hours in succession, so that from 100 to 150 persons
may be calculated to visit one gambling table in the course of a night;
and it not unfrequently happens that, ultimately, all the money brought
to the table gets into the hands of one or two of the most fortunate
adventurers, save that which is paid to the table for box-hands, whilst
the losers separate, only to devise plans by which a few more shilling
may be secured for the next night’s play.
“Every man so engaged is destined either to become by success a more
finished and mischievous gambler, or to appear at the bar of the ‘Old
Bailey’ where, indeed, most of them may be said to have figured already.
“The successful players, by degrees, improve their external appearance,
and obtain admittance to the houses of higher play, where 2s. 6d., or
3s. 4d. is demanded for box-hands. At these places silver counters are
used, representing the aliquot parts of a pound; these are called
‘pieces,’ one of which is a box-hand.
“If success attends them, in the first step of advancement, they next
become initiated into pound-houses, and associate with gamblers of
respectable exterior, where, if they show talent, they either become
confederates in forming schemes of plunder, and in aiding establishments
to carry on their concerns in defiance of the law, or fall back to their
old station of playing chicken-hazard, as the small play is designated.
“The half-crown, or third rate houses, are not less mischievious than
the lower ones. These houses are chiefly opened at the west end of the
town, but there are some few at the east. In the parish of St. James, I
have counted seven, eight and nine, in one street, which were open both
day and night.
“One house in Oxenden street, Coventry, had an uninterrupted run of
sixteen or seventeen years. Thousands have been ruined there, while
every proprietor amassed a large fortune. The man who first opened the
house (G. S.) has resided at Kentish Town for years past, in ease and
affluence, keeping his servants and horses, although he rose from the
lowest of the low.
“Several others who have followed him have had equal success. The
watchmen and Bow street officers were kept in regular pay, and the law
openly and expressly set at defiance, cards being handed about, on which
were written these words: ‘Note, the house is insured against all legal
interruptions, and the players are guaranteed to be as free from
officious interruptions as they are at their own homes.’
“At another of these medium houses, known by the numerals ‘77,’ the
proprietor, (a broken down Irish publican, formerly residing in the
parish of St. Anne’s) accumulated in two years so much money that he
became a large builder of houses and assembly rooms at Cheltenham, where
he was at one time considered the most important man of the place,
although he continued his calling to the day of his death. ‘Alas! J. D.
K., hadst thou remained on earth thou wouldst ere this have been honored
with the title of Grand Master of all the Blarney Clubs throughout the
United Kingdom. Many a coroner hast thou found employ, and many a guinea
hast thou brought into their purses, and many a family hast thou cast
into the depths of sorrow.’ So runs the world. Fools are the natural
prey of knaves, nature designed them so, when she made lambs for wolves.
The laws that fear and policy framed, nature disclaims; she knows but
two, and those are force and cunning. The nobler law is force, but then
there’s danger in’t; while cunning, like a skillful miner, works safely
and unseen.
“The subject of these remarks was not only subtle, wily, and in some
measure fascinating, but most athletic and active in person. He was part
proprietor of No. —, Pall Mall, for many years, where he would himself
play for heavy stakes. And it was a favorite hobby of his to go into St.
James’ Square, after having been up all night, to jump over the iron
railings and back again, from the enclosure to the paved way.
“The average number of these third-rate houses in London, open for play,
may be calculated at about twenty-five. If there were not a constant
influx of tyro-gamblers this number would not be supported. Their agents
stroll about the town, visiting public house parlors, and houses where
cribbage-players resort, whist clubs, also billiard and bagatelle
tables, experience having taught them that the man who plays at one
game, if the opportunity be afforded him, is ever ready to plunge deeper
into the vice of gambling on a large scale. Junior clerks, and the upper
class of gentlemen’s servants are the men whom they chiefly attack.
“It is an extraordinary and uncomfortable fact that no set of men are
more open to seduction than the servants of the nobility, and the
menials of club-houses, an instance of which occurred a few months
since, in the case of a servant of the Athenæum Club, who was inveigled
into a house in the Quadrant, where he lost, in two or three days, a
considerable sum of money belonging to his employers.
“The sum annually lost by the servants of the present day may reasonably
be laid at one million and a half sterling. At most of the middle class
gambling houses, play is going on from three o’clock, p. m. to five or
six o’clock a. m. In the afternoon, from three to seven, it is called
morning play, being generally rouge-et-noir or roulette.
“As soon as the proprietor of a ‘crown-house’ amasses money enough to
appear on the turf, and becomes known at Tattersall’s as a speculator on
horse-racing, he is dubbed a gentleman. Associating now with another
class of men, a high ambitious spirit prompts him to open a superior
house of play, where the upper class of gamblers and young nobility may
not be ashamed of meeting together. All petty players are excluded. When
he has accomplished his object he deems himself in the high road for the
acquirement of a splendid fortune, being now master of a concern where
money and estate are as regularly bought and sold as any commodity in a
public market; one man of fashion betraying another—the most intimate
and bosom friends colleaguing with these monsters for the purpose of
sacrificing each other to the god Plutus, instances of which occur in
this viciated town as often as the sun rises and sets.
“It might be thought invidious to mention names by innuendo, but every
man of the world, or rather of the London world (which comprehends some
thousand swindlers intermingled with the same number of nobility and
gentry), must have a knowledge of those characters who have elevated
themselves from the lowest state in society by gambling, to associate on
terms of equality with nobles. One married his daughters to peers of the
realm, and was treated with respect daily at the table of those who
enact laws for the punishment of swindlers, and also of bishops who
expatiate daily against all kinds of vice, including that of gambling,
and the sin of countenancing those who promote it. Another, whose
confederate was executed for poisoning horses, to secure for himself and
his honorable employer a large sum of money, now stalks through the
halls of our proud Norman, but too susceptible aristocracy, with as much
freedom and nonchalance as one who could trace his ancestry back to
William the Conqueror, and was possessed of a pure and unblemished
reputation. When the history of this individual and that of six others,
who, to use their own phraseology, have rowed through life together in
the same boat, are before the world, scenes will be developed which will
stand as beacons to warn future generations against coming in contact
with such characters.
“In accordance with the reigning spirit of the day, such persons having
acquired money, no matter how, rank as gentlemen, and are qualified to
sit at the tables of the nobility. The company of fashionable or club
society is that of black-legs, and it would not be difficult for me to
name from twenty to thirty individuals at this moment who associate
with, and move among, persons of high life, who were, but a few years
back, in low vice and penury, and who have possessed themselves of a sum
of money certainly not less than from eight to nine millions sterling.
“Again, there are hundreds of others who have amassed from ten to twenty
thousand pounds each. Add to these the two or three thousand who
annually make smaller sums of money, or manage to keep themselves and
families in comfortable style by ‘hokey-pokey’ gambling ways, as Brother
Jonathan would say, some estimate may be made of the evil occasioned to
society by the movements of these men in it.”
One of the most deplorable phases of gambling in England is that women
have figured prominently. Incredible as it may seem, numerous instances
are recorded where the honor of wives and daughters has been staked in
the desperation of cowardly men. It may be believed that this occurred
only when all else had been swept away, and by persons from whom every
vestige of manhood had departed. Ethiopians, it is said, have been known
to gamble away their wives and children, and Schouten tells of a
Chinaman who lost his family in this manner. A similar story is told of
a Venetian, by Paschasius Justus, and in the wicked Paris of Louis XV,
debauched nobles played at dice for the favor of a notorious courtesan.
English literature contains many allusions to women gamblers. So far did
ladies of fashion carry the vice that certain nights for meeting were
set apart in their private mansions, at which young and old, married and
single, played with a desperation that must have made their husbands and
fathers tremble. Professionals, whose morals were not above reproach,
were engaged to conduct the games, and thus the women were thrown into
association with bad characters, and their names and reputations bandied
about in the mouths of the sporting gentry of London.
In 1820, James Lloyd, a harpy who practiced on the credulity of the
lower orders by keeping an illegal lottery, was arrested for the
twentieth time to answer for the offense. Lloyd was a Methodist
preacher, and on Sundays expounded the gospel to his neighbors; the
remainder of the week he instructed them in the gambling vice.
“In the same years,” says a writer of the time, “parties of young
persons robbed their masters to play at a certain establishment called
‘Morley’s Gambling House,’ in the city of London, and were there ruined.
Some were brought to justice at the Old Bailey, others in the madness
caused by their losses, destroyed themselves while some escaped to other
countries.”
To the games of faro, hazard, macao, doodle-doo and rouge-et-noir, at
this time, more than to horse-racing, may be ascribed the ruin of many
London merchants who once possessed fortunes and prosperous business.
Thousands upon thousands were thus ruined in the vicinity of St. James;
but this was not confined to youths of fortune only, but to decent and
respectable merchants, who were engulfed in its vortex.
Of the “South Sea Bubble,” a writer in the _Eclectic Magazine_ for May,
1885, says: “If not the earliest, at least the most remarkable instance
of this national spirit of gambling displayed itself in the last
century, and was the infatuation which led all classes to commit
themselves to the alluring prospects held out to them by the South Sea
Company. The public creditor was offered six per cent. interest, and a
participation in the profits of a new trading company, incorporated
under the style of ‘The Governor and Company of Merchants of Great
Britain trading to the South Seas and other parts of America.’ But,
whatever chances of success this company might have had, were soon
dispersed by the breaking out of the war with Spain, in 1718, which
rendered it necessary for the concoctors of the scheme to circulate the
most exaggerated reports, falsify their books, bribe members of the
government, and resort to every fraudulent means, for the purpose of
propping up their tottering creation. Wonderful discoveries of valuable
resources were trumped up, and, by the mystery which they contrived to
throw around the whole concern, people’s curiosity was excited, and a
general, but vague impression got abroad that one of the South Sea
Company’s bonds was talismanic, and there was no reckoning the amount of
profit it would bring to the fortunate possessor. The smallest result
expected from the enterprise was that in twenty-six years it would pay
off the entire amount of the National debt.
“How it was to be done no one knew, or cared to inquire, it was
sufficient to know that it was to be done. Trade and business of all
kinds was suspended, every pursuit and calling neglected, and the
interest of the whole nation absorbed by this enchanting dream. Money
was realized in every way, and at every sacrifice and risk, to be made
available in the purchase of South Sea stock, which rose in price with
the demand from £150 to £325. Fresh speculators came pouring in, and the
price went up to £1,000. This was at the latter end of July, but alas, a
whisper went forth that there was something wrong with the South Sea
Company. The chairman, Sir John Blunt, and some of the directors had
sold their shares. There was a screw loose somewhere, and on the 2nd of
September it was quoted at £700. An attempt to allay the panic was made
by the directors, who called a meeting on the 8th, at Merchant Tailors’
Hall, but in the evening it fell to £640, and next day stood at £540.
The fever had been succeeded by a shivering fit, and it was rapidly
running down to zero. In this emergency, the king, who was at Hanover,
was sent for, and Sir Robert Walpole called in, when the case was
desperate. He endeavored to persuade the Bank of England to circulate
the company’s bonds, but in vain. The stock fell to £135, and the bubble
burst. The duration of this public delirium, as Smallett has truly
called it, may be estimated when we state that the bill enabling the
company to raise the subscription received the royal assent on the 7th
of April, 1720, with the stock at £150; that the price subsequently ran
up to £1,000; and that, on the 27th day of September it had again sunk
to £150, and the delusion was over, and the nation in a state of panic,
with public credit shaken to its center. Investigations were now made
into the conduct of the managers of this marvelous fraud. A bill was
first passed through parliament to prevent the escape of the directors
from the kingdom, and then a Committee of Secrecy appointed to examine
into their accounts. It then came out that the books had been destroyed,
or concealed, entries erased and altered, and accounts falsified; that
the king’s mistress, even, the Duchess of Kendal, had received stock to
the amount of £10,000; another favorite, the Countess of Platen,
£10,000; Mr. Aislabie, Chancellor of the Exchequer, £70,000; Mr. Graggs,
father of the Secretary of State, £659,000; the Duke of Sutherland,
£160,000; Mr. Graggs, Jr., £30,000; and Mr. Charles Stanhope, Secretary
of the Treasury, two amounts, one of £10,000, and another of £47,000.
The manner in which these worthies, who were in the secret, could
anticipate and influence the markets, is obvious. Poor Gay had received
an allotment of stock from Mr. Secretary Graggs which was at one time
worth £20,000, but he clung fast to the bubble, refused to sell at that
price, and waited till it was worthless, when he found himself hugging
the shadow of a fortune. The amount of the company’s stock, at the time
of the inquiry, was found to be £37,800,000, of which £24,500,000
belonged to individual proprietors. As some compensation to these rash
and ruined speculators, the estates of the directors were confiscated.
Sir George Caswell was expelled from the House of Commons, and made to
disgorge £250,000; Aislabie, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was
expelled, and committed to the Tower; Sir John Blunt, the chairman, was
stripped of all but £5,000, and the excitement and popular resentment
was so intense that it is marvelous that they escaped with their lives.
“The South Sea frenzy was not sufficient to engross the gambling spirit
that it had generated, simultaneously there oozed up a crowd of smaller
bubbles, of which Malcom counted 156. The titles to some of them were
sufficient to illustrate the madness which had seized upon the nation.
There were companies for carrying on the undertaking business and
furnishing funerals, capital £1,200,000 at the ‘Fleece Tavern’ (ominous
sign,) Cornhill; for discounting pensions, 2,000 shares at the Globe
Tavern; for preventing and suppressing thieves, and insuring all
persons’ goods from the same (?), capital £2,000,000, at Cooper’s; for
making Joppa and Castile soap, at the Castile Tavern; for sweeping the
streets, for maintaining bastard children; for improving gardens and
raising fruit trees, at Carraway’s, for insuring horses against natural
death, accident or theft, at the Brown Tavern, Smithfield, another at
Robin’s, of the same nature, capital £2,000,000; for introducing the
breed of asses; an insurance company against the thefts of servants,
3,000 shares of £1,000 each, at the Devil Tavern; for perpetual motion,
by means of a wheel moving by force of its own weight, capital
£1,000,000 at the Ship Tavern,” etc., etc. The Prince of Wales became
governor of a Welsh Copper Company. The Duke of Chandos was Chairman of
the York Building Company, and of another Company for building houses in
London and Westminster.
“Many of these speculators were jealously prosecuted by the South Sea
Company, but they all succeeded, in a greater or less degree, in
spreading the general panic. The amount of capital proposed to be raised
by these countless schemes was three hundred million sterling—exceeding
the value of all the lands in England. The most amusing instance of the
blind credulity of the public was in the success which attended one wary
projector, who, well knowing the value of mystery, published the
following proposal:
“‘This day, the 28th inst., at Sam’s Coffee-house, behind the Royal
Exchange, at three in the afternoon, a book will be opened for entering
into a joint co-partnership for carrying on a thing that will turn to
the advantage of all concerned.’
“The particulars of this notable scheme were not to be revealed for a
month, and, ‘in the meantime’ says Smallet, he declared that every
person paying two guineas should be entitled to a subscription of one
hundred pounds, which would produce that sum yearly.’ In the forenoon,
the adventurer received a thousand of these subscriptions, and, in the
evening, set out for another kingdom.
“Some curious satires on these several schemes are preserved in the
British Museum, in the shape of a book of playing-cards. Thus, one is a
caricature of York-buildings, with the following lines beneath it:
‘You that are blessed with wealth by your Creator,
And want to drown you money in Thames water,
Buy but York-buildings, and the cistern there
Will sink more pence than any fool can spare.’
“A ship-building company is thus ridiculed:
‘Who but a nest of blockheads to their cost
Would build new ships for freight when trade is lost?
To raise fresh barques must surely be amusing,
When hundreds rot in dock for want of using.’
“The Pennsylvania Land Company comes in for a share of the satire:
‘Come, all ye saints, that would for little buy
Great tracts of land, and care not where they lie,
Deal with your Quaking friends—They’re men of light,
The spirit hates deceit and scorns to bite.’
“The Company for the insurance of horses’ lives against death, or
accident, is thus dealt with:
‘You that keep horses to preserve your ease,
And pads to please your wives and mistresses,
Insure their lives, and, if they die we’ll make
Full satisfaction—or be bound to break.’
“Smallett gives us a more dismal picture. ‘The whole nation,’ he says,
‘was infested with a spirit of stock-jobbing, to an astonishing degree.
All distinctions of party, religion, sex, character, and circumstances
were swallowed up. Exchange-alley was filled with a strange concourse of
statesmen and clergymen, churchmen and dissenters, Whigs, and Tories,
physicians, lawyers, tradesmen, and even with females. All other
professions and employments were utterly neglected.’
“It is not to be wondered at that various lottery schemes were started
and prospered immensely at a time when the public mind was in the state
indicated above. They were launched by the State, by private companies
and by individuals. These institutions played no small part in the
general debasement of the public mind and the ruin of fortunes and
families.” This will appear more fully in the treatment accorded to
lotteries elsewhere in this book.
The history of anti gambling legislation in England, and the various
efforts which have been made to suppress or regulate the vice forms an
interesting phase of the subject, and also suggests how the evil was
regarded from time to time in the public mind. The earliest legislation
on the subject appears to have been based on the idea, not that gambling
was immoral and degrading, but that it interfered with the usefulness of
servants and employes, induced idleness, and diverted attention from
archery. “The first statute (12 R. 2, c. 6) in England (1388)
prohibiting gambling, applied only to servants of husbandry, artificers,
and victuallers—not to servants of gentlemen—and commanded such to
refrain from ‘hand and foot ball, quoits, dice, throwing of stone
kayles, and such other importune games.’ The next statute (1409)
enforced the above, with a penalty of six days imprisonment for such
offence. The next act (17 Ed. 4, c. 3, 1477,) after naming in a preamble
the foregoing games, says, ‘Contrary to such laws, games called kayles,
half-bowles, hand-in-hand-out, and queckeborde, from day to day are used
in divers parts of the land,’ then provides that no occupier or master
of a house shall voluntarily permit any prohibited person to play at any
such game in said house, under pain of three years’ imprisonment and
forfeiture of £20 for each offense. No prohibited person could play
under pain of two years’ imprisonment and £10 default. Another act (11
H. 7, c. 2, 1494,) provided that no artificer, laborer or servant should
play any unlawful game except at Christmas, while the law (19 H. 7, c,
12) of 1503, absolutely prohibited certain persons named therein from
playing at any game. In 1511, (3 H. 8, c. 3) unlawful games were again
prohibited, and a still more stringent law enacted in 1535 (22 H. 8, c.
35).
“In 1541, (33 H. 8, c. 25) the manufacturers and dealers in archery
petitioned Parliament to prohibit all games and enforce the practice of
archery. Accordingly, in 1542, a most stringent act was passed, obliging
all able-bodied men, between the ages of 17 and 60 years, except
ministers and judges, to own bows and arrows, and to practice with the
same. Masters were required to see that their servants were provided
with bows and arrows and instructed in their use; if not provided, the
master must furnish the same, and was empowered to deduct the price from
the servant’s wages. This act repeals all other laws concerning gaming,
and then prohibits the keeping of any ‘common house, or place of
bowling, coytinge, cloyshe, cayles, half-bowle, tannys, dysing table, or
cardianage, or any other unlawful new game hereafter to be invented,’
under a penalty of 40s. for each offense. Magistrates, sheriffs,
bailiffs, constables, and head officers of cities, boroughs and towns,
were required and authorized to enter all such places, at any time, and
arrest offenders; they must also search at least once a month to
discover such places, and suppress the same under a monthly penalty of
40s. for every default.”
Section 16, of this act then provided that “No manner of artificer,
craftsman, husbandman, apprentice, laborer, servant at husbandry,
journeyman, or servant of artificer, mariner, fisherman, waterman, or
servingman shall play at the tables, tennis, dice, cards, bowles, clash,
coyting, logating, or any other unlawful game, out of Christmas, under
pain of 20s. for each offense.” At Christmas, this class could play only
in their master’s house or presence. This act made no game in itself
unlawful. It only became unlawful by being used by certain persons at
certain times, or certain places. The keeping of a common gambling house
for any unlawful game, for lucre or gain was prohibited, but no game was
made unlawful unless played in such common house. Faro and rouge et noir
were not then considered unlawful games.
In 1745, faro, bassett, ace of hearts, hazard, passage, roly-poly,
roulette, and all games of dice, except backgammon, were prohibited
under a penalty to the “setter-up,” of £200, and £50 fine for players. A
subsequent act repealed so much of the act of 1542 as prohibited
bowling, tennis and other games of mere skill.
Justices of the Peace, at their annual licensing meetings, were
empowered to grant license to persons to keep a room for billiards,
bagatelle-boards, and the like, but these were prohibited between the
hours of 1 and 8 A. M., and on Sundays, Christmas, Good Friday, or any
public feast, or Thanksgiving day. Gambling was not then indictable at
common law. In England, at common law, it was held, “a common gambling
house kept for lucre or gain, was per se a common nuisance, as it tends
to draw together idle and evil-disposed persons, to corrupt their morals
and ruin their fortunes, being the same reasons given in the case of
houses of common prostitution.” (King vs. Rogers and Humphrey.)
The following curious piece of evidence is probably an extract from the
Journal of the House of Lords, although there is no reference to the
subject in the published debates.
“DIE LUNÆ, 29 DEGREES, APRILIS, 1745—GAMING.”
“A bill for preventing the excessive and deceitful use of it having been
brought from the Commons and proceeded on, so far as to be agreed to in
the committee of the whole house with amendments, information was given
to the house that Mr. Burdus, Chairman of the Quarter Session for the
sitting and liberty of Westminster; Sir Thomas Deveil, and Mr. Lane,
Chairman of the Quarter Session for the County of Middlesex, were at the
door. They were called in and at the bar severally gave an account that
claims of the privilege of peerage were made and insisted on by Ladies
Mordington and Cassilis, in order to intimidate the peace officers from
doing their duty in suppressing the public gaming houses kept by said
ladies. And the said Burdus thereupon delivered the instrument in the
written hand of said Lady Mordington, containing the claim she made of
privilege for her officers and servants employed by her in her said
gambling house; and then they were directed to withdraw, and the said
instrument was read as follows: ‘I, Dame Mary, Baroness of Mordington,
do hold a house in the great plaza Covent Garden for, and as an
assembly, where all persons of credit are at liberty to frequent and
play at such diversions as are used at other assemblies, and I have
hired Joseph Dewbery, William Horsely, Ham Croper, and George Sanders as
my servants or managers under me. I have given them orders to direct the
management of other inferior servants, namely, John Bright, Richard
Davids, John Hill, John Vandevoren as book-keepers, Gilbert Richardson
as house-keeper; John Chaplin, William Stanley, and Henry Huggins,
servants that wait on the company of the said assembly, and all the
above named persons I claim as my domestic servants, and demand all
those privileges that belong to me as a peeress of Great Britain
pertaining to my said assembly. M. Mordington. Dated, 8th of January,
1744.’ Resolved and declared that no person is entitled to the privilege
of peeress against any prosecution or proceeding for keeping any public
gaming house, or any house, room, or place, for play at any game or
games prohibited by any law now in force.”
In the time of Queen Anne gambling ran riot to such an extent that it
commanded the attention of Parliament, and resulted in the following
act: “Whereas, divers low and dissolute persons live at great expense,
having no visible establishment, profession, or calling to maintain
themselves, but support these expenses by gaming only, it is hereby
enacted that any two justices may cause to be brought before them all
persons within their limits whom they shall have just cause to suspect
of having no visible establishment, profession, or calling, to maintain
themselves by, but do, for the most part, support themselves by gaming;
and if such persons shall not make the contrary appear to such justices,
they are to be bound to their good behavior for a twelve-months, and in
default of sufficient security, to be committed to prison until they can
find the same, and if security be given it will be forfeited on their
betting or playing for—at any one time—more than the value of twenty
shillings.”
This act was further enforced and its deficiencies supplied during the
reign of George I and George II, and the forfeiture under that act could
be recovered in a court of equity; and, moreover, if any man were
convicted, upon information or indictment, of winning or losing, at any
one sitting, ten pounds, or twenty pounds, within twenty-four hours he
forfeited five times that sum. Another statute also inflicted pecuniary
penalties as well upon the master of any public house wherein servants
were permitted to gamble, as upon the servants who were found in the act
of gaming. Nor were the statutes against their masters less severe.
During these reigns the games of faro and hazard were by law declared to
be lotteries, subjecting those persons in whose houses they were played
to the penalty of £200, and all who played at them to that of £50.
The records of Marlborough street police-court show that in 1797
information was laid against Lady Elizabeth Lutterell and others, for
having, on the night of the 30th of January last, played at faro at Lady
Buckingham’s house in St. James square, and a Mr. Martindale, then
living in Broad street, was charged with being the proprietor. The
defendants appeared by their counsel. Witnesses were called to support
this information, whose evidence went to prove that the defendants
charged had a game at their houses by rotation; that is, that they
played at faro, rouge et noir, etc., meeting at different houses upon
certain days of the week; that Mr. Martindale acted as master of the
tables, generally, and that they began to play about eleven or twelve
o’clock at night and continued to play until three or four o’clock in
the morning. Martindale’s penalty was £200 fine, as proprietor of a faro
table, and the Countess of Buckingham, Lady Lutterell and Mrs. Sturt
were fined £50 each for playing. A Mr. Mathias O’Brien was subsequently
brought in. He was also fined for participating in these same games.
In 1817 a prosecution occurred at Brighton which elicited a queer array
of facts, illustrating the gambling methods of that day. A warrant was
sworn out by one William Clarke against William Wright and James Ford,
on the charge of feloniously stealing one hundred pounds. But Clarke did
not appear to prosecute, and when the magistrate issued a warrant to
compel his attendance he hastily decamped. The prisoners were
discharged, but very shortly afterward Wright was summoned before the
magistrate to give evidence in an examination against one Charles
Walker, of the Marine Library, for keeping an unlawful gaming house.
Wright testified that Clarke engaged him about five weeks previously as
a punter, or decoy player, to a game called “noir, rouge, tout les
deux,” and that at the game was a gentleman who lost £125. Clarke asked
witness if he thought the gentleman was rich, and being answered in the
affirmative, told witness to invite the gentleman to dinner, let him
have all the wine he wanted, and to spare no expense to get him drunk.
This was done, and the gentleman returned to play again. As he had
nothing but large bills he was induced to go to London with witness to
change them, witness being enjoined to be sure to bring him back. One of
the firm, which was composed of Clarke, O’Mara, Pollett and Moreley,
gave the gentleman a letter to certain London Brokers to enable him to
change his bills. On their way back to Brighton witness told the
gentleman that he suspected the firm would substitute a false table
during their absence. However, the gentleman returned to play, and
witness and another decoy named Ford were given £100 each with which to
play and to lead the gentleman on, and if possible to fulfil the
expectations of the firm, which were to fleece the gentleman of five or
six thousand pounds. As they entered the library, Walker accosted them
and wished them better success, but he trembled visibly and seemed ill
at ease. The game was carried on in a room over the library, for which
the firm paid rent of twelve guineas a week. As the gentleman ascended
the stairs a porter locked the door, by Walker’s order, and when he came
into the gaming room he became alarmed at the appearance of the men
there, and hastily descending the stairs and giving a plausible excuse
to the porter, was allowed to pass out and thus escaped. Witness had not
returned the £100 to Clarke, and it was on that account that Clarke had
sworn out a warrant against him. Afterward Clarke had visited him and
offered him £100 if he would not tell what he knew to the magistrate.
Ford and the gentleman substantiated Wright’s testimony, and the latter
said that he went to Walker and demanded back the £125 which he had been
cheated out of at play at the start. Walker was very much confused and
nervous, and finally offered to return £100 of the sum, which offer was
refused; and thereupon he laid the whole matter before the magistrate.
Walker was found guilty and sentenced to several years imprisonment.
Messrs. Houlditch, the coach makers of Long Acre, had a traveling
salesman whom they sent to the Continent to dispose of their goods. Like
thousands of other employes, holding responsible positions of trust, he
fell a victim to the vice of gambling, and soon found himself a
defaulter and reduced to the utmost desperation. While in this frame of
mind he wrote the following letter to his employer, which was read in
subsequent court proceedings, and is given here to illustrate how
frightfully ruinous the passion for play becomes when once it gains
possession of a young man. The letter reads:
“_Sir_:—The errors into which I have fallen have made me so hate
myself that I have adopted the horrible resolution of destroying
myself. I am sensible of the crime I commit against God, my family and
society, but have not courage to live dishonored. The generous
confidence you placed in me I have basely violated. I have robbed you,
and though not to enrich myself, the consciousness of it destroys me.
Bankruptcy, poverty, beggary and want I could bear—conscious integrity
would support me; but the ill-fated acquaintance I formed led me to
those earthly hells, gambling houses, and then commenced my villainies
and deceptions to you. My losses were not large at first, and the
stories that were told me of gain made me hope they would soon be
recovered. At this period I received the order to go to Vienna, and,
on settling at the hotel, I found my debts trebled what I had
expected. I was in consequence compelled to leave the two carriages as
a guarantee for part of the debt, which I had not in my power to
discharge. I had hoped success at Vienna would enable me to reinstate
all to you, but disappointment blasted every hope, and despair, on my
return to Paris, began to generate the fatal resolution which, at the
moment you read this, will have matured itself to consummation. I feel
that my reputation is blasted, no way left of reimbursing the money
wasted, your confidence in me totally destroyed, and nothing left to
me but to see my wife and children and die. Affection for them holds
me in existence a little longer. The gaming table again presented
itself to my imagination as the only possible means of extricating
myself. Count Montoni’s 3,000 francs, which I received before you came
to Paris, furnished me the means—my death speaks the result.”
The legal aspects of gambling in London early in this century are well
treated in an article in Fraser’s Magazine for August, 1833, which says:
“The officers of justice are regularly kept in the pay of the
proprietors of the gaming houses, through whom timely notice is always
given of any information laid against the establishment, and the
intended attack guarded against. If this be doubted the same can be
attested on oath, and otherwise proved beyond disputation. The expense
of some of the gaming houses in London during the season (seven months)
exceed £10,000. What, then, must be the gains to support this advance
and profusion of property? Elegant houses are superbly fitted up, the
most delicate viands and the choicest wines, with every other luxury,
are provided to lure and detain those for whom the proprietors’ nets are
spread. It is almost an impossibility to convict these wicked men under
the present law; their enormous wealth is applied to the corruption of
evidence, always unwilling, because the witnesses expose their own
habits and culpability in attending these notorious dens of infamy. The
sleeping partners are ever ready to advance money to oppose
prosecutions, and often come forward to give evidence in opposition to
the witnesses’ and to blacken the character of those who offer their
testimony. Then there is always money to support those who may chance,
once in ten years, to be convicted. Many practicing attorneys, too, are
connected with these establishments, who threaten to prosecute for
conspiracies, and not unfrequently, fictitious debts are sworn to, and
arrests for large amounts made, to keep witnesses from appearing at
court on the day of trial. One professional man in the parish of St.
Anne has, to my knowledge, supported himself for thirty-five years by
lending himself in this way to the middle-rate gambling houses, at the
west end of town. His method is either to suborn or intimidate the
parties, by threatening to indict them for perjury or otherwise
persecute them to utter destruction.
“When it is considered that those who are competent to give evidence
calculated to produce convictions well know the characters with whom
they have to contend, and the phalanx of scoundrels there is always
arrayed against them, it is not to be wondered at that they should be
deterred from coming forward at the last moment, when even their persons
are not free from danger, particularly as all minacious tricks are
backed with a bribe, thus bringing fear and interest to bear against
their antagonists. As every one who comes forward to give evidence
against a gambling house must himself have been a participator in the
offence of play, no man who has been the cause of a conviction has ever
yet escaped ruin; no matter the motive which influenced him, whether it
be remorse, pique, or public good, the conspiracy against him will be so
powerful and ramified, through the leading men’s numerous emissaries and
dependants, that his future course in life will be tracked, and his
character blasted in every neighborhood where he may take up his abode.
In one instance a young man who had laid information against a house,
although no conviction followed, was hunted out of no fewer than eight
situations. The clique of gamblers he had made his enemies contrived to
find out in whose employ he was engaged, and then daily assailed his
master with anonymous letters, defaming the young man’s character to
such a degree that few could well retain him in their service,
especially as the fact of having himself gambled at a public table could
never be gotten rid of.
“When all other means of deterring a witness are exhausted, personal
threats are used by ruffians, who are employed to cross him in whatever
public company he may join, seeking every occasion to insult and quarrel
with him until he is intimidated, and all other would-be witnesses,
through fear of similar persecution, are prevented from offering any
obstruction to their establishments.
“By these confederacies, backed as they are with enormous capital,
notwithstanding the existing laws, houses have been kept open for the
indiscriminate mixture of all grades, from the well bred gentlemen, the
finished sharper, the raw and inexperienced flat, to the lowest
description of pickpockets and other wretches of public nuisance, and,
where all the evils the acts of Parliament were intended to annihilate,
have for years past been in full activity. But in no period of our
history have misery, distress—and crime, been so conspicuous, and the
cause so manifestly and decidedly traced to the gambling habit of the
community, as in the present day.
“As before observed, the incompetency of the magistracy, as now armed by
law, to oppose the growing evil, is mainly attributable to the
methodized system of confederacy and partnership concerns, wherein
capitals are embarked by a large number of individuals, who have, (with
a very few exceptions) sprung originally from the very scum of society.
Now suppose one or more magistrates, employed especially as guardians of
the public morality, whose peculiar duty it should be, acting on private
information, to direct their officers to adopt any lawful mode of
obtaining evidence to convict offenders against the law; could anything
be more easy than to send two well-dressed men, under the authority of a
magistrate, into the town with money in their pockets, who might in a
short time, with very little tact, mix with gambling characters, and in
a few weeks have free ingress and egress to all the hells in London, as
amateur players? Nor can the keepers of these places ever by possibility
guard themselves against this mode of attack, as the persons so employed
might always be kept behind the curtain, introducing others of their
friends, who could again, (as many as were needed) continue to introduce
others, until every player and keeper of a gambling house was
identified, and ample testimony for their conviction be prepared, when
the blow might be struck against all in one day, and the fullest penalty
of the law enforced on each offender.”
A writer in Bentley’s Magazine, speaking of the warfare that had been
made on the gambling houses in England in 1838, said: “Hence arose
appeals to the law and indictments against the parties which, in their
success, gave encouragement to similar proceedings by others, and in the
course of time this system was discovered to afford a fine source of
profit to the prosecuting attorneys in the shape of costs, and they
were, in consequence, frequently gotten up by some of the riff-raff of
the profession, in the name of fictitious parties and with the sole view
of extracting from the different houses large sums of money in
settlement of the matter, without proceeding to trial. This was finally
discovered, by the keepers of the houses, and after turning the tables
on the prosecutors, and, indeed, convicting several for perjury,
gambling houses went on again more vigorously than ever.”
The prosecution of gamblers and gambling house-keepers, in London, has
been more thorough during the last quarter of a century than ever before
and in these days there appears to be, on the part of the authorities, a
sincere desire to exterminate the evil of common gambling, so far as
they may be able to effect it. Every week, almost, the police raid one
or more of the “dens,” which, though run solely as gambling resorts,
assume to be “clubs,” in order to increase their chances of being
unmolested. Usually, the proprietors are fined heavily. Yet, these
“hells” resume business, or start up in a new place. The profits are so
large that the proprietors willingly take all risks of being prosecuted.
Gambling is indulged in, in the aristocratic west end clubs, but the
authorities assume to know nothing of it.
The noted Englishmen who were addicted to gambling are very numerous,
and many of the incidents related of them, in connection with the vice,
are most interesting. Sir Arthur Smithouse, once possessed of a very
valuable estate, and considerable ready money, lost everything at play
and died in extreme want. Sir Humphrey Foster lost the greater part of
his possessions, but by a fortunate run of luck, won them back, and
could thereafter never be induced to jeopardize them again. The
celebrated Mr. Hare meeting at Bath one day the well known Major
Brereton, who was an habitual and heavy player, asked how the world went
with him. “Pretty well,” replied Brereton, alluding to his success at
the gaming table, “but I have met with a sad misfortune lately, I have
lost Mrs. Brereton.” “At hazard or quine?” asked Hare. Major Aubrey was
not only a great lover of gaming, but was very skillful. He won and lost
three fortunes at play, and early in his career had the foresight to
place a comfortable annuity for himself beyond danger of being swept
away by any ill run of luck. He once lost £25,000 at billiards. It is
related that he was once heard to say: “Play is like the air we breathe;
if we have it not we die.” His life was a most eventful one. In early
life he went to India, and the ship took fire. He jumped overboard and
floated on a hen coop until picked up by another ship. “I was completely
surrounded by sharks,” he said, “just as I have been ever since.”
Lord Barrymore and Sir John Lade, who had fine estates, lost them to
sharpers. Mathias O’Brien, an ignorant Irish adventurer, yet a very
shrewd man, succeeded in gaining the confidence of the high-born
sportive gentry, of the latter part of the last century, to such an
extent that he dined at the tables of the great, and entertained them at
his own house in return. He boasted that he had at one time sitting
around his table, two princes of the blood, four dukes, three duchesses
and several counts, besides others of distinction of both sexes. One
night he won at picquet £100,000 from a titled gentleman. Knowing
perfectly well that his antagonist could not pay this immense sum, and
suspecting that if he could not pay it all he would not pay any of it,
he purposely allowed him to win back all but £10,000, which amount the
gentleman paid. This incident caused Mr. Hare to give him the name of
“Zenophon O’Brien,” on account of his “retreat with ten thousand.”
Fox, the celebrated statesman, was an inveterate and desperate gambler.
A few evenings before he moved the repeal of the marriage act, in
February, 1772, he went to Brompton on two errands, one to consult
Justice Fielding on the penal laws, and the other to borrow £10,000 with
which to continue his gambling. He was a most skillful whist and picquet
player, and one of his contemporaries said that if he had confined
himself to those games Fox could easily have won £4,000 a year. But he
could not let faro and hazard alone, and he almost invariably lost
heavily. He reduced himself many times to extreme want, and lacked such
small amounts as were necessary to defray little daily expenses of the
most pressing nature. He was often obliged to borrow a few shillings of
the waiters at Brooks’. He had lodgings in St. James street, close by
Brooks’ Club, at which he spent almost every hour that was not devoted
to the House of Commons.
It is said by Lord Tankerville that Fox once played cards with
Fitzpatrick, at Brooks’, from ten o’clock at night until near six
o’clock the next afternoon, a waiter standing by to tell them whose deal
it was, they being too sleepy to know. Fox once won about £8,000, and
one of his bond creditors, who soon heard of his good luck, presented
himself and asked for payment. “Impossible, sir,” replied Fox, “I must
first discharge my debts of honor.” The bond creditor remonstrated.
“Well, sir, give me your bond,” said Fox. The bond was produced and Fox
tore it in pieces and threw it in the fire. “Now, sir,” said Fox, “my
debt to you is a debt of honor,” and immediately paid him. Amidst the
wildest excesses of youth, even while a perpetual victim of his passion
for play, Fox cultivated his taste for letters, especially the Greek and
Roman historians and poets, and he found solace in their works under the
most severe depressions occasioned by ill success at the gaming table.
One morning, after he had passed the whole night with Topham Deauclere
at faro, the two friends were about to separate. Fox had lost throughout
the night, and was in a frame of mind bordering on desperation.
Deauclere’s anxiety for the consequences which might ensue led him to be
early at Fox’s lodging, and on arriving he inquired, not without
apprehension, whether he had risen. The servant replied that Mr. Fox was
in the drawing room. Deauclere walked up stairs and cautiously opened
the door, expecting to find a frantic gamester stretched on the floor
bewailing his losses, or plunged in moody despair, but he was astonished
to find him reading Herodotus. “What would you have me do?” said Fox, “I
have lost my last shilling.” Upon other occasions, upon staking all that
he could raise upon faro, instead of exclaiming against fortune, or
manifesting agitation natural under such circumstances, he would lay his
head upon the table, and retaining his place, but exhausted by mental
and bodily fatigue, almost immediately fall into a profound slumber.
Fox’s love of play was frightful. His best friends are said to have been
half ruined in annuities given by them as securities for him to the
Jews. “£500,000 a year of such annuities of Fox and his estates were
advertised to be sold at one time.” Walpole further notes that in the
debate on the 39 Articles, February 6, 1772, Fox did not shine, nor can
it be wondered at. He had sat up playing at hazard at Almack’s from
Tuesday evening the 4th, until 5 in the afternoon of Wednesday the 5th.
An hour before he had recovered £12,000 that he had lost, and by dinner,
which was at 5 o’clock, he had ended by losing £11,000. On Thursday he
spoke in the above debate, he went to dinner at half past eleven at
night, and from thence to White’s where he drank until seven the next
morning, thence to Almack’s where he won £6,000, and, between three and
four in the afternoon, he set out for Newmarket. His brother Stephen
lost £2,000 two nights afterwards and Charles £10,000 more on the 13th.
Monsieur Chevalier, Captain of the Grenadiers in the first regiment of
foot Guards, in the time of Charles II., was one of the most remarkable
gamesters known in history. He was a native of Normandy, and in his
youth was a page to the Duchess of Orleans. Going to England to seek his
fortune, he soon became an ensign in the first regiment of foot Guards.
He took to gaming and met with such success that he very quickly was
enabled to live in a style far above his station. He once won from a
nobleman a larger sum than the latter could pay down, and upon being
asked for time, granted it in such a courteous and obliging manner that
the nobleman, a fortnight later, wishing to show him that he appreciated
his kindness, went to him and told him that he had a company of foot to
dispose of and that, if it was worth his while, it should be at his
service. Chevalier gladly accepted it, and got his commission signed the
same day, well knowing that it was immensely to his advantage to have a
visible position and income, for without them, one who lives like a
gentleman and makes gaming his sole occupation would naturally be
suspected of not playing merely for diversion, if, indeed he was not
charged with resorting to sharp practices.
“Chevalier once won 20 guineas from ‘Mad Ogle,’ the Life Guardsman, who
understanding that the former had bitten him, called him to account,
demanding his money back, or satisfaction on the field. Chevalier chose
the latter alternative. Ogle fought him in Hyde Park, wounded him in the
sword arm and was returned his money. After this they were always good
friends.”
It is said that Chevalier was so skillful at “cogging” dice and throwing
that he could chalk a circle the size of a shilling on the table, and
standing a short distance away, could throw a die within it and have it
show an ace, tray, six, or whatever he pleased. Aubrey de Vere, Earl of
Oxford, had a consuming desire to rival Chevalier in dice throwing, but,
though he practiced for days and weeks, Chevalier always worsted him,
and won large amounts from him. Chevalier, it is said, was a thorough
sharper, and knew all the tricks of gaming, such as loaded dice, etc.
Occasionally he was detected, and was obliged to fight several duels to
square the injury done his antagonist. He was severely wounded a number
of times, and got so that he would avoid fighting whenever it was
possible to do so. How he did this on two occasions is thus related:
“Having once ‘choused,’ or cheated a Mr. Levingstone, page of honor to
King James II, out of fifty guineas, the latter gave the captain a
challenge to fight him next day, behind Montague House, a locality long
used for the purpose of duelling. Chevalier seemingly accepted the
challenge, and next morning, Levingstone, going to Chevalier’s lodgings,
and finding him in bed, put him in mind of what he was come about.
Chevalier, with the greatest air of courage imaginable, rose, and having
dressed himself, said to Levingstone, ‘Me must beg de favor of you to
stay a few minutes, sir, while I step into my closet dere, for, as me be
going about one desperate piece of work, it is very requisite for me to
say a small prayer or two.’ Accordingly, Mr. Levingstone consented to
wait whilst Chevalier retired to his closet to pray, but hearing the
conclusion of his prayer to end with these words: ‘Me verily believe
spilling man’s blood is one ver’ great sin, wherefore I hope the saints
will intercede with the virgin for my once killing Monsieur de
Blotieres, at Rochelle; my killing Chevalier de Comminge, at Brest;
killing Major de Tierceville, at Lyons; killing Lieutenant du Marché
Falliere at Paris, with half a dozen other men in France, so, being also
sure of killing him I’m now going to fight, me hope his forcing me to
shed his blood will not be laid to my charge.’ Quoth Levingstone to
himself, ‘and are you then so sure of me? But I’ll engage you sha’nt,
for if you are such a devil at killing men, you shall go and fight
yourself and be ——.’ Whereupon he made what haste he could away, and
shortly Chevalier coming out of the closet and finding Levingstone not
in the room, was very glad of his absence.”
When King James ascended the throne, the Duke of Monmouth raised a
rebellion in the west of England where, in a skirmish between the
Royalists and Rebels, he was shot in the back, and the wound was
believed to be given by one of his own men, to whom he had always been a
most cruel, harsh officer, whilst a captain of the Grenadiers of the
Foot Guard. He was sensible himself of how he came by his misfortune,
for when he was carried to his tent, mortally wounded, and the Duke of
Albermarle came home to visit him, he said to his Grace, “Dis was none
of my foe dot shot me in the back.” “He was none of your friends that
shot you,” the Duke replied. He died a few hours afterwards, and was
buried in a field near Philip Norton Lane, as the old chronicler says,
“Much unlamented by all who knew him.”
Monsieur Germain, born of low parentage in Holland in 1688, is
celebrated for having introduced into the gambling circles of London a
game called Spanish whist, by which those familiar with the tricks of
the game won great amounts. He was also noted for his expertness in
playing ombre, which Pope describes entertainingly in his “Rape of the
Lock.” Germain became intimate with Lady Mary Mordaunt, wife of the Duke
of Norfolk, whom he first met at a private gambling party. The Duke
obtained a divorce from her, in consequence, and thereafter she lived
openly with Germain until her death.
Tom Hughes was a London gambler whose life well illustrated the ups and
downs of the profession. He was born in Dublin and when a young man
became a London sport. He played heavily and skill and good luck enabled
him to win a great deal of money which he spent as fast as he made it,
chiefly at a resort for frail females in the Piazza, Covent Garden. He
was for a time proprietor of E. O. tables, in a house in Pall Mall, kept
by a Dr. Graham, and was often to be found also at Carlisle House, in
Soho Square. He once won £3,000 from a young man, just of age, who made
over to him a landed estate for the amount. Being admitted a member of
the Jockey Club, he was quite prosperous for a time but, his luck
changing, he fell into the clutches of “Old Pope,” the money lender, and
was obliged to give up to him the estate he had won. He fought several
duels over disputes arising at the gaming table and finally died in a
debtor’s cell leaving not enough to pay for his coffin.
It is narrated of Whig Middleton, who was wealthy, handsome and dressed
in extreme fashion, that, after losing a thousand guineas one night, to
Lord Montford, he was asked by the latter, in gambler’s parlance, what
he would do, or would not do, to get home? “My Lord,” said he,
“prescribe your own terms;” “Then” replied Lord Montford, “dress
directly opposite to the fashion for ten years.” Middleton accepted the
terms and lived up to them “dying nine years afterward,” as the narrator
expresses it, “so unfashionably that he did not owe a tradesman a
farthing, left some playing debts unliquidated; and his coat and wig
were of the cut of Queen Anne’s reign.”
Wrothesly, Duke of Bedford, fell amongst a party of sharpers, including
a manager of a theatre and Beau Nash, master of ceremonies, who had
conspired to bleed him. After he had lost £70,000 the Duke rose in a
passion and pocketed the dice, declaring that he intended to inspect
them and see if they were crooked. He then threw himself on a sofa and
fell asleep. The sharpers held a consultation, as to what they had best
do, and it was finally decided that they would cast lots to see who
should pick the Duke’s pocket of the loaded dice and put fair ones in
their place. The lot fell on the theatre manager, and he performed the
feat without being detected. The Duke examined the dice when he awoke
and, being satisfied that they were all right, returned to playing and
lost £30,000 more.
The sharpers had received £5,000 of the money they had won, and when
they came to dividing it got to quarreling. Beau Nash was so
dissatisfied that he went to the Duke and exposed the whole scheme of
robbing him. The Duke believed this was done purely through friendship
and, accordingly, made Nash a handsome present and patronized him ever
afterward.
Beau Nash, as is well known, was an immense favorite with the
aristocratic society of his time. He was both homely and clumsy, yet his
wit, flattery and fine clothes made him a pet of the ladies. “Wit,
flattery and fine clothes are enough to debauch a nunnery,” he was wont
to say. Nash was a barrister and lived in Middle Temple, where, when
still a young man, he organized and directed the grand “revel and
pageant,”—the last of its sort—upon the accession of King William. This
he did so successfully that the King offered to knight him, which Nash
declined, saying: “Please your Majesty, if you intend to make me a
knight, I wish it may be one of your poor knights of Windsor and then I
shall have a fortune at least able to support my title.”
It is said of Nash, that when he submitted his accounts to the Masters
of the Temple, this item was among them: “For making one man happy,
£10.” Being asked to explain it, Nash said that he overheard a poor man
declare to his wife and large family that £10 would make him happy, and
that he could not resist the temptation to give him the sum. He offered
to refund the money, if the item was not allowed. The Masters, struck
with such good nature, not only allowed the bill but thanked him for his
generosity and doubled the allowance.
Nash became subsequently Master of the Ceremonies, at Bath, then the
popular fashionable summer resort, where he ruled with such undisputable
authority that he was styled “King of Bath.” Gambling was deep and
furious at Bath, and, in consequence of disputes over the table, swords
were frequently resorted to in settling matters. Thereupon Nash
commanded that no swords should be worn at Bath, and the order was
obeyed. Nash’s later years were spent chiefly in gambling in a small
way. He died at Bath, in 1761, and was buried with great ceremony in the
Abbey Church, three clergymen preceding the coffin, aldermen acting as
pall-bearers, the Masters of the Assembly Rooms following as chief
mourners and the streets and housetops being thronged with people
anxious to do honor to him, whom they regarded as “the venerable founder
of the prosperity of the City of Bath.”
Richard Bennett is an example of a gambler, who, through a long life,
enjoyed almost uninterrupted prosperity. He was of the unscrupulous
sort, and rose from being a billiard sharper in Bell Alley, to be
partner in several of the aristocratic “houses” or “clubs” in St. James
street. He brought up and educated a large family. He was finally
indicted for keeping several gaming houses, and sentenced to
imprisonment until he should pay fines aggregating £4,000. He remained
in prison for some time, but managed to effect his release without
paying his fines.
A circumstance almost identical to the one related of the Duke of
Bedford, is told of another noble duke. “The late Duke of Norfolk,” says
the author of “Rouge et Noir,” writing in 1823, “one evening lost the
sum of seventy thousand pounds in a gaming house, on the right side of
St. James street, and, suspecting foul play, he put the dice in his
pocket, and, as was his custom when up late, took a bed in the house.
The blacklegs were all dismayed, until one of the worthies, who is
believed to have been a principal in poisoning the horses at Newmarket,
for which Dan Dawson was hanged, offered, for five thousand pounds, to
go to the Duke’s room with a brace of pistols and a pair of dice, and if
the Duke was awake to shoot him, if asleep to change the dice.
Fortunately for the gang the Duke ‘snored,’ as the agent stated, ‘like a
pig,’ and the dice were changed. His Grace had them broken in the
morning, when, finding them good, he paid the money, and left off
gambling.”
The Earl of March, better known as the Duke of Queensberry, who lived in
the middle of the last century, was one of the most famous and genial
“sports” that England ever produced. He was an adept, not only at all
card games, but also at dice and billiards. And in the mysteries of the
turf, and in all knowledge—practical and theoretical—connected with the
race course, he was perhaps never surpassed. He won 2,000 Louis ($8,000)
once of a German, at billiards, and time and again won thousands of
pounds betting on the races, his intimate knowledge of all horse flesh
and race track conditions giving him advantages which few possessed.
Dennis O’Kelly, if accounts of him may be credited, was a Napoleon of
the turf and the gaming table, devoting his whole time to the former by
day and the latter by night. He was accustomed to carry a great number
of bank notes, crumpled up loosely in his waistcoat pocket. On one
occasion he was seen turning over and over again a great pile of them,
and, being asked what he was doing, replied, “I am looking for a little
one—a fifty or something of that sort, just to set the caster.” At
another time he was standing at play, at the hazard table, when some one
opposite perceived a pickpocket in the act of drawing a couple of notes
from O’Kelly’s pocket. The alarm was given, and many wanted to take the
offender before a magistrate, but O’Kelly seized him by the collar and
kicked him down stairs, exclaiming as he returned: “He’s punished enough
by being deprived of the pleasure of keeping company with gentlemen.” A
large bet was once offered to O’Kelly at the gaming table and accepted,
whereupon the proposer asked him where lay his estates which would be
surety for the amount if he lost. “My estates?” cried O’Kelly, “Oh, if
that’s what you mean, I’ve a map of them here.” And he opened his pocket
book and showed bank notes to ten times the amount of the wager, to
which he soon afterward added the contribution of his opponent.
Dick England, one of O’Kelly’s associates, was also a notorious gambler.
These two and several others plundered a clerk of the Bank of England,
who robbed the bank of an immense sum with which to pay his “debts of
honor.” Dick England and fourteen others once conspired to beat a Jew at
dice, and upon their entry one of them laid a wager of £10, calling
“seven the main.” Six was the cast, whereupon the player with great
effrontery declared that he had called six instead of seven. After the
matter had been disputed for a time, it was agreed to leave it to a
majority of those present, whereupon Dick England and the twelve others
in the conspiracy declared in favor of “six,” and then they went out and
divided the plunder. This same Dick England, with two or three
associates, once made a bold attempt to plunder a rich young man named
D——, from the country, at Scarborough. They got into his company and set
to drinking with a view of getting him drunk so that he could be bled
more easily. They succeeded so well in this that the young man became so
stupidly drunk that he could not play at all. Not to be frustrated,
however, the conspirators played for a short time and then proceeded to
make out three “I. O. U’s.,” two of which read: “D—— owes me eighty
guineas;” and “D—— owes me one hundred guineas;” and the third, which
Dick England had, read, “I owe D—— thirty guineas.” The next day Dick
England and the young man met and the latter apologized for becoming
intoxicated and hoped he had given no offense. Dick assured him that he
had not and then producing the evidence of indebtedness, proceeded to
discharge it by handing the young man thirty guineas. The young man
declared that he had no recollection at all of playing, but finally took
the thirty guineas, and paid Dick a high compliment for acting in such
an honorable manner. Meeting the holders of the other papers shortly
afterward he renewed his apologies and again complimented Dick England
for having paid to him a bet which he had no remembrance of making. At
this juncture the two produced their papers which purported to show that
the young man owed them 100 and 80 guineas respectively. He was
astonished, of course, and protested that he did not think he had played
at all, but he had compromised himself by accepting his thirty guineas,
and finally, he decided to make the best of a bad matter by paying the
claims. Before he could do so, however, his friends interfered, and,
after a little investigation, exposed the whole fraud, and saved him his
money. At another time, Dick England won £40,000 from the son of an
Earl, who was so broken up at the loss, that he went to Stacia’s hotel
and shot himself, almost at the very hour that his father sent his
steward to pay the debt, though being convinced that his son had been
cheated out of the amount. Dick England is known to have fought eleven
duels and to have ruined about forty persons at play.
The Gentlemen’s Magazine published the following account of a tragic
occurrence in the life of Dick England.
“Mr. Richard England was put to the bar at the Old Bailey, charged with
the ‘willful murder’ of Mr. Rowlls, brewer, of Kingston, in a duel at
Cranford Bridge, June 18, 1784.”
“Lord Derby, the first witness, gave evidence that he was present at
Ascot races; when in the stand upon the race course, he heard Mr.
England cautioning the gentlemen present not to bet with the deceased,
as he neither paid what he lost, nor what he borrowed; on which Mr.
Rowlls went up to him, called him rascal or scoundrel, and offered to
strike him, when Mr. England bid him stand off, or he would be obliged
to knock him down, saying at the same time, ‘We have interrupted the
company sufficiently here, and if you have anything further to say to
me, you know where I am to be found.’ A further altercation ensued, but
his Lordship being at the other end of the stand, did not distinctly
hear it, and then the parties retired.
“Lord Dartrey, afterward Lord Cremorne, and his lady, with a gentlemen,
were at the inn at the time the duel was fought. They went into the
garden and endeavored to prevent the duel. Several other persons were
collected in the garden. Mr. Rowlls said, if they did not retire, he
must, though reluctantly, call them impertinent. Mr. England at the same
time stepped forward, took off his hat, and said, “Gentlemen, I have
been cruelly treated, I have been injured in my honor and character, let
reparation be made, and I am ready to have done this moment.” Lady
Dartrey retired. His Lordship stood in the bower of the garden until he
saw Mr. Rowlls fall. One or two witnesses were called, who proved
nothing material. A paper, containing the prisoners defense, being read,
the Earl of Derby, the Marquis of Hertford, Mr. Whitbred, Jr., Col.
Bishopp, and other gentlemen were called as to his character. They all
spoke of him as a man of decent gentlemanly deportment, who, instead of
seeking quarrels, was studious to avoid them. He had been friendly to
Englishman when abroad and had rendered some service to the military at
the siege of Newport.
”Mr. Justice Rooke summed up the evidence, after which the jury retired
for about three quarters of an hour, when they returned a verdict of
‘manslaughter’ The prisoner having fled from the laws of his country for
twelve years, the Court was disposed to show no lenity. He was therefore
sentenced to pay a fine of ten shillings, and be imprisoned in Newgate
twelve months.”
Dick England died in 1792 from a cold caught in jail, where he had been
sent in consequence of having been arrested at a gaming table.
The celebrated Selwyn was a devoted patron of the gaming table, and
often played high. In 1765 he lost £1,000 to a Mr. Shafto, and it is
said, was frequently the victim of sharpers. Late in life he gave up his
ruinous diversion. Lord Carlisle, who was second cousin of Lord Byron,
was a victim of the infatuation of play and his losses brought him to
financial straits. In his letters he reproaches himself deeply for
yielding to the vice and shows that he fully appreciated the degrading
effects of indulging in it. Like Selwyn he finally succeeded in
emancipating himself from his terrible master. Pitt, the celebrated
statesmen, was another eminent Englishman who, at one time, in his
career, was an inveterate gambler, and who subsequently reformed. “We
played a good deal at ‘Goosetree’s’”, wrote Wilberforce, “and I well
remember the intense earnestness which Pitt displayed when joining in
these games of chance. He perceived their increasing fascination, and
soon after abandoned them forever.” Wilberforce once lost 500 pounds at
the faro table. At another time he was at the club and, the regular
dealer being absent, a gentleman jokingly offered him a guinea if he
would take his place. He accepted the challenge and quit the table £600
winner.
“On my first visit to Brooks’” wrote Wilberforce, “scarcely knowing any
one, I joined, from mere shyness, in play at the faro tables, where
George Selwyn kept bank. A friend, who knew my inexperience, and
regarded me as a victim decked out for sacrifice, called to me—‘What,
Wilberforce is that you?’ Selwyn quite resented the interruption, and,
turning to him, said in his most expressive tone, ‘Oh, sir, don’t
interrupt Mr. Wilberforce, he could not be better employed.’” And again:
“The first time I went to Boodle’s I won twenty-five guineas of the Duke
of Norfolk. I belonged, at this time, to five clubs, Miles’ and Evans’,
Brooks’, Boodle’s, White’s and Goosetree’s.”
Sir Philip Francis, who many believe was the author of the famous
“Junius Letters,” was much addicted to gambling and was a boon companion
of Fox. The career of the Rev. Caleb C. Colton is an interesting one. He
was educated at Eton, graduated at King’s College, Cambridge, as a
Bachelor of Arts, in 1801, received the degree of Master of Arts in 1804
and held a curacy at Tiberton. He speculated heavily in Spanish bonds
and yielded to the ruling passion of gaming, and his financial affairs
becoming involved, he absconded. Subsequently, he reappeared in order to
retain his living, but he lost it in 1828. After some time spent in the
United States, he returned to Europe and became a frequenter of the
gaming resorts in the Palais Royal in Paris, where, it is said, he won
in a year or two £25,000. Part of his wealth he devoted to establishing
a picture gallery.
Upon Lord Byron’s death he composed and printed for private distribution
an ode on that event. Having become afflicted with a disease which
necessitated a painful surgical operation, he blew out his brains rather
than submit to it. This occurred at Fontainbleau in 1832.
Beau Brummell was even a greater gambler than was Beau Nash, and his end
was far more sad. He frequented “Wattier’s,” where the play was so high
that the club and almost every one connected with it, were ruined. One
night in 1814, it is related, Pemberton Mills entered the club just in
time to hear Beau Brummell, who had lost heavily for five successive
nights, exclaim that he had lost his last shilling and that he wished
some one would bind him never to play again.
“I will,” said Mills, and taking out a ten-pound note he offered it to
Brummell on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played at
White’s within a month from that evening. The beau took it, and for a
few days discontinued coming to the club, but about a fortnight after,
Mills happened to go in, and saw him hard at work again. Of course the
thousand pounds was forfeited, but his friend, instead of claiming it,
merely went up to him, and touching him gently on the shoulder, said,
“Well, Brummell, you may at least give me back the ten pounds you had of
me the other night.”
One night at Brook’s club, Alderman Combe, the brewer, then Lord Mayor
of London, was busily playing at hazard in company with Brummell and
others. “Come, Mash-tub,” said Brummell, who was the caster, “What do
you set?” “Twenty-five guineas,” answered the alderman. “Well, then,”
returned the beau, “have at the mare’s pony” (a gaming expression for
twenty-five guineas). He continued to throw until he won twelve ponies
of the Lord Mayor, and then, getting up and making him a low bow, whilst
pocketing the cash, he said, “Thank you, alderman; for the future I
shall never drink any porter but yours.” “I wish, sir,” replied the
brewer, “that every other blackguard in London would tell me the same.”
Brummell was concerned in an incident which occurred at Wattier’s club
one night which threw all present into consternation. One of the players
was a Mr. Bligh, whom every one knew to be a mad-man, but did not think
especially dangerous. The incident is thus told by Mr. Raikes:
“One evening at the maco table, when the play was very deep, Brummell,
having lost a considerable stake, affected, in his farcical way, a very
tragic air, and cried out, ‘Waiter, bring me a flat candle-stick and a
pistol.’ Upon this, Bligh, who was sitting opposite to him, calmly
produced two loaded pistols from his coat pocket, which he placed upon
the table, and said, ‘Mr. Brummell, if you are really desirous to put a
period to your existence, I am extremely happy to offer you the means
without troubling the waiter.’ The effect upon those present may easily
be imagined at finding themselves in the company of a known mad-man who
had loaded weapons about him.”
Brummell lost all of his money and a large amount beside, which he
succeeded in borrowing of the money-lenders on bills signed by himself
and several friends. Serious trouble over the division of one of these
loans caused Brummell to flee to France. He used to say that up to a
particular time in his life he prospered in everything, and that he
attributed his good fortune to the possession of a silver sixpence with
a hole in it, which a friend had given him “for luck.” One day he gave
it to a cabman by mistake and from that time nothing but disaster had
attended him in everything. One person to whom he told this asked him
why he did not advertise for his lost sixpence. “I did, and twenty
people came with sixpences having holes in them to obtain the reward,
but mine was not amongst them.” “You never afterwards ascertained what
became of it?” “Oh, yes,” he replied, “no doubt that rascal, Rothschild,
or some of his set got hold of it.”
Beau Brummell died at Caen, in 1840, at the age of 62, having long been
in great poverty, and for some time in a demented condition.
Tom Duncombe was one of the high-flyers of his day. He was heir to an
income of more than £12,000 a year but he anticipated the whole of it
before he was thirty. His father, at one time, intending to pay off the
debts contracted by his reckless son, caused a schedule of them to be
made and it was found that they aggregated £135,000. He increased them
to a still larger amount before he finished his career.
The cases of Lords Halifax, Anglesey and Shaftesbury, and hundreds of
others might be referred to were it necessary, to show how great havoc
the passion for play has caused in the English aristocracy. But it is
not necessary. Enough has been said to point a moral, it would seem,
that all cannot but heed.
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
GAMBLING IN THE NEW WORLD.
It may be questioned whether any other country on the globe affords a
more striking illustration of the prevalence and the power of the
gambling mania than does the great Republic of the North American
Continent. Nor are the reasons far to seek. Hereditary titles of
nobility are not recognized by the American constitution. In the general
scramble for position and power, wealth counts for more in the United
States than in any other land under the blue vaulted dome of Heaven.
At the same time it should not be supposed that an insane desire to
accumulate fortunes lies at the root of American gaming. The hard,
practical common sense of the average Yankee convinces him that he is
not likely to win a competence at the green cloth. A large majority of
American gamesters (_i. e._, local, as distinguished from professional)
gamble because their brains are in a constant whirl of excitement. Rest
has no charms for them; they seek recreation in the substitution of one
form of mental stimulant for another. The “operator” on the exchange,
whose days are spent in watching the rise and fall of commodities purely
speculative, finds the ordinary paths of life too quiet, too monotonous,
to elicit more than a passing thought. From the moment when he leaves
“the floor” until he returns to it next day, his brain is in a mad whirl
of excitement. What more natural than that he should seek relief for an
overtaxed mind through exchanging one avenue of activity for another?
The application of these remarks, however, cannot be confined to “stock-
jobbers” and manipulators of “corners.” The same spirit pervades all
classes of society. This accursed thirst for gold—_sacra auri
fames_—enters every American home, as the serpent insinuated his wiles
into the Garden of Eden, and destroys at once domestic happiness and
individual peace. The mechanic stakes and loses his week’s wages; the
clerk risks his month’s salary; the husband and father ventures upon the
turn of a card the money which should be devoted to the support of wife
and children. Yet, as has been said, this reckless improvidence cannot
be ascribed solely to a hope of acquiring rapid gains. The feeling of
dissatisfaction with his condition which lurks in the breast of the
average American, leads him, insensibly to himself, into all sorts of
rash excesses, among which is gambling at cards.
American gambling, however, presents some distinctively characteristic
features. In the first place it is mainly conducted on the floor of the
exchange, rather than in public gaming rooms. The Stock and Produce
Exchanges are sapping the very vitals of the country’s morality. For
“stakes” are substituted “margins;” for “winnings” read “profits;” while
the designation of “players” is changed into the more euphonious
appellation of “speculators.” With these changes in nomenclature, the
game is the same in principle; the same in the method of its
manipulation; the same in its demoralizing results. Even “suckers” are
known, but they are termed “lambs.”
Professional gamblers have not been slow to recognize this fact, nor
have they scrupled to avail themselves of it. From this circumstance has
sprung into existence the “bucket shops,” those preparatory schools for
the penitentiary in which the young, the poor and the unsophisticated
are incited to avarice, duplicity, embezzlement and actual theft. The
school boy, the artisan and the bootblack read or hear of colossal
fortunes, accumulated on the “floors” of commercial exchanges. To
operate a “corner” is beyond their means; but the conviction is not slow
in forcing itself upon their minds that they may at least follow humbly
in the footsteps of men whose faults the public is willing to condone in
view of their success. Herein lies the chief danger—to the perpetuity of
the Nation—in those marble halls wherein gambling is conducted upon a
scale in comparison with which that at Monaco and Monte Carlo is dwarfed
into insignificance, and where one man rides triumphantly into wealth
and power upon a sea whose bottom is strewn with wrecks.
Yet another form of gambling which prevails in the United States more
than in any other civilized nation on the globe is the mania for lottery
speculation and particularly for “policy playing,” by which latter
term—as is elsewhere more fully explained—is meant betting on the
particular numbers which will win a prize at any given drawing. These
forms of gaming are confined to neither sex, nor do they know the
limitation of age, occupation or social rank. The official list of
drawings is scanned with equal solicitude by the leaders of society and
the outcasts of the slums; by the reckless young “blood,” who “takes a
flyer” by day and leads the german at night and by the decrepted old
negro, who risks his last dime upon “4-11-44;” by the veteran and the
school-boy, by the philosopher and the proletaire. That the general
sentiment of the country as voiced by the exponents of public opinion
has uniformly and unhesitatingly condemned the practice is
unquestionable. While the vice is peculiarly American, in the number and
character of its devotees, it is totally _un_-American in so far as the
moral countenance of the Nation is concerned. Minor principalities of
Europe have sought to replenish treasuries drained by the extravagance
or debauchery of their rulers through the institution and legal
authorization of lottery schemes, whose world-wide advertisement might
draw to the country English pounds, French Napoleons and American
Eagles. It has remained, however, for the State of Louisiana to bring
disgrace upon the Republic by accepting, through her law-makers, a
direct pecuniary bribe to consummate her public shame. Even the new
State of North Dakota with its farmers crying for seed wheat showed the
moral courage to resist the fastening into its vitals of the delicate,
but deadly tendrils of the octopus which saps the morals of the
commonwealth which tolerates its embrace as does its physical prototype
the very life blood of the individual victim on which it fastens its
fangs. Louisiana prides itself on its cognomen of the “Pelican” State.
What a misnomer! While the pelican robs her breast to minister to her
young, her mistaken namesake robs her own young to feed the vulture
which first whets its appetite on her own offspring and later gorges its
distended veins and arteries on the very vital fluid of other States and
Territories. Out upon the indifference to public morals which
recognizes, in this matter, a mere question of sectional lines. Shame
upon the venality which would bring a nation into disrepute before the
whole world in order that a purchasable Syndicate of corrupt law-makers
might be enriched. The remedy for such a state of public morals is not
easy to find. It is idle for any given community to insist that their
chosen representatives do not represent the average morals of the
district which places the latter in positions of responsibility. And yet
the commonwealth of Louisiana would consider its character impugned
should the palpable inference be drawn. It remains to be hoped that the
legislators of the future may be able to devise some method by which the
escutcheon of this great State may be relieved of the shadow which just
now dims its brightness. This sort of dissertation, however, is hardly
in place in the present connection. Gambling on the exchange and in the
bucket-shops is discussed elsewhere. The history of the Louisiana
lottery, from its inception, is given in another chapter. Nevertheless
in an introduction to the general subject of American gambling, it is
impossible to avoid these allusions although they are, perforce, of a
somewhat desultory character.
What we are particularly considering in this section of the volume, Part
II, is gaming as practiced in the halls, the club room and private
houses in the United States. For those who, from poverty or other
causes, are unable to gratify their taste for public gambling in rooms
devoted to the purpose there is a multiplicity of devices, found upon
fair grounds and at various other localities at which large crowds are
wont to gather, which offer to the casual gamester an opportunity for
gratifying his thirst for excitement at an expense sometimes trifling
and sometimes costly.
At the gaming houses proper, the preference is given to what are known
as “banking games.” By this term is meant games where the deal never
passes from hand to hand, and where all players bet against one central
fund, known as the “bank,” which is owned and operated by the
proprietors of the resort. Of this class of games, faro, roulette and
rouge et noir, are by far the most popular, the star of the former being
decidedly in the ascendant. Another game of this description which holds
a high place in public favor is keno (a full explanation of which may be
found in Chapter IV) the popularity of which is due, primarily, to the
small capital necessary to play, and, secondarily, to the belief that
the legitimate percentage in favor of the bank is so great that the
temptation to fraud is reduced to a minimum, if not an infinitesimal
quantity.
Next to the banking games in the estimation of the bettors comes poker,
both “draw” and “stud.” The former is played according to recognized
rules, but the “house” exacts a percentage from the holders of certain
winning hands. This percentage is technically known as the “rake-off,”
and insures the proprietors of the establishment a handsome royalty on
all winnings. In “stud” poker the dealer always represents the “house.”
The players are never permitted to handle the cards. To quote Tennyson’s
poem of The Brook, the “man in the chair might say—
‘Men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.’”
In the public gambling rooms, also, many of the gaming devices seen upon
fair and circus grounds are to be found, notably the wheel of fortune.
These various contrivances are fully explained in subsequent chapters.
Public American gaming resorts are ordinarily classified under two
general headings—“square” and “brace.” Under the former caption are
included those where the “occasional player” is supposed to enjoy an
opportunity of laying a wager with some possible chance of winning.
“Brace” games, as the term is understood among the fraternity, are
veritable “hells,” into which a victim is enticed for purposes of
downright robbery under the pretence of a game of “chance.” The dupe who
enters a room of this character, seals his own doom by the mere fact of
entrance. The proprietors, from that moment, mark him as their own
peculiar prey. If he has but little cash, he is promptly and
incontinently relieved of it. If he is a “pigeon” whose future
“plucking” promises a rich harvest, his mentors are merciful, and he is
encouraged to “call again.” “Luck” appears variable, although, as a
matter of fact, in a “brace” house—otherwise yclept a “skin game”—“luck”
is dependent solely upon the will of the dealer.
In regard to American gambling houses generally, it may be remarked that
there exists a popular misapprehension as to the relative proportion of
“square” and “brace” resorts. It is unquestionably of no small value to
any resort that it should enjoy the reputation of being “square,” and it
cannot be denied that there are those where, under ordinary
circumstances, the “bank” contents itself with its legitimate (?)
percentage. Yet, as a matter of fact, it may be doubted whether there is
a “square” hell (what a contradiction in terms!) in the country which
has not conveniently at hand and ready for use, all the fraudulent
contrivances so dear to the heart of the “brace” dealer. Not always are
they brought into requisition, but, like the reserves of an army, are
always at hand, and always ready to be brought into action.
The fact that the statutes of nearly every State prohibit gambling,
necessitates a sort of _sub-rosa_ activity. At Monaco, Baden-Baden and
Monte Carlo gaming is carried on, not only under the very eyes, but even
under the sanction and patronage of the government. Not so in the United
States. The genius of American institutions has stamped upon gambling
the seal of its statutory condemnation. Two elements have combined,
incidentally, against any action which would enforce the will of the
people. The first is the half-heartedness of the war waged against
gambling by municipal authorities; the second is the assistance which
proprietors receive from outside confederates. The latter “goes without
saying.” Every habitue of a gaming house knows that there are “cappers.”
Equally thorough is the knowledge enjoyed by every proprietor that some
sort of satisfactory arrangement can be made with the municipal
authorities. What is the result? Each of the operating causes produces
its own effects. Guests at the hotels of every large town are persecuted
by solicitations to gamble, while the Mayor and Common Council of the
average city indulge in raids at a set time, for the simple reason that
the officers of the law exact and receive a percentage on the profits of
every game which they tolerate.
Outside of “banking” games, however, there is one which is almost as
peculiarly American as is base ball. “Poker” seems to be, for some
unexplainable reason, looming up as a National pastime. Some reference
has already been made to gambling at the fashionable club house and in
the family circle. Under such circumstances poker is the game _par
excellence_. Stakes ordinarily run high, no matter how small the
introductory ante may be. As a matter of fact there is scarcely a club
house in any prominent commercial center of the Union in which there is
not an apartment curtained from the vulgar gaze, where play is not
carried on for high stakes. And these very gentlemen who play a friendly
game rarely suspect that into their midst there is sometimes introduced
a professional, who not only wins a handsome stake for himself, but also
assists in recouping losses sustained by the gentlemen who introduced
him. This statement may seem incredibly absurd upon its face, yet the
author knows whereof he speaks.
There is still another distinctive feature of American gambling which
deserves notice. Men who know that they cannot be admitted as members of
any recognized club form an association by themselves, also known as
clubs, which are organized for gambling purposes, pure and simple.
Associations of this character are primarily conducted for the
convenience of players, yet the keeper of the room rarely fails to “earn
a profit” through selling liquid refreshments and the manipulation of
the “rake-off,” which is conducted in a manner similar to that followed
in public houses.
The interference by the municipal authorities with the “hells” is
regarded by the proprietors as a contingency too remote to be worth
seriously considering. There are various reasons for the excellent
understanding which usually exists between the gamblers and the “powers
that be.” Political influence sometimes lies at the bottom of the
friendliness. It is also a sad truth that too often the explanation is
to be found in actual venality on the one hand and corruption on the
other. Yet there is one circumstance which should not be lost sight of.
The “fraternity” not infrequently renders valuable assistance to the
officers of the law by disclosing the habits, haunts, and sometimes the
whereabouts of criminals who are being sought for by the authorities.
Not that they are anxious to serve the ends of justice, but that they
look upon the rendering of such assistance in the light of a _quid pro
quo_ for the “protection,” otherwise immunity, which they enjoy. The
reader who will thoughtfully peruse chapter X of this part of the book
will gather much interesting information on this point which will afford
him food for no little serious reflection.
Another pronounced feature of American gaming is the number of itinerant
gamblers who wander about the country, infesting railway trains and
steamboats, invading the summer resorts, and coming down upon country
towns after the manner of a wolf upon the sheep fold. These peripatetic
sporting men are adepts at all card games and thoroughly versed in every
fraudulent device. They combine the arts of the card sharp and the
confidence man. For them honor is a by-word and virtue a mockery. They
are destitute alike of conscience and of pity, and ill fares the
luckless wight who falls a victim to their blandishments.
Hitherto, except in a few comparatively isolated localities, legislation
has proved powerless to repress gambling in the United States. The
“Johnson law,” so called from the name of its author, the Hon. Charles
P. Johnson, of Missouri, making gambling a felony, operated to check it
in that State and brought about a positive hegira of the men who had
been thriving upon the gullibility of a too confiding public. Similar
results have followed its adoption and enforcement in other States. But
it is idle to encumber the statute book of any commonwealth with laws
whose enforcement is not demanded by public sentiment. The vice of
gaming, like its twin relic of barbarism, drunkenness, will be
suppressed only when an outraged nation rises in its righteous wrath and
forever stamps out of existence the viper which has buried its fangs
deep in the very vitals of the body politic.
CHAPTER II.
FARO GAMBLING AND GAMBLERS.
The general belief that cards were invented in the fourteenth century to
amuse the imbecile Charles VI. of France is one of those popular errors
which, despite the proofs arrayed against them by modern research, seem
destined to be perpetual truth, though booted and spurred, seldom
overtakes a plausible historical fable if the latter has the advantage
of a start of three or four centuries, and therefore the idea that cards
were originated by Gringonneur, a Parisian portrait painter, to tickle
the fancy of a royal idiot, will probably continue to exist in the
public mind for centuries to come. The public journals, in their answers
to correspondents, reiterate the same old stereotyped tale, which seems
destined to have an immortal lease of life.
The truth, however, is that cards, like chess, originated in the Orient,
and were first introduced into Southern Europe by gypsies toward the
close of the thirteenth century. How long they had been in use in the
East is a matter of conjecture, pure and simple, but there is ground for
the belief that they are as old as the Pyramids. This is a question for
archaeologists to settle, and the answer to it does not fall within the
scope of the present work. It is certain that they rapidly grew in
public favor. During the seventeenth century the passion for card-
playing became a veritable mania among the nobility and gentry, royalty
itself setting the example. Louis XIV., in whom were united the
incongruous characteristics of a gambler and a miser played nearly until
the day of his death. During the regency, and throughout the dissolute
reign of Louis XV., under the influence of Madame de Pompadour and the
infamous Dubarry, the court gambled from morning till night and from
night till morning, while the nation followed suit. So in England,
substantially the same state of affairs existed, Charles II., with his
courtiers and favorites, setting the fashion. In a word, all Europe was
card-mad.
America’s turn came later. With prosperity came a taste for sumptous
amusements—the legitimate offspring of wealth and leisure—and it may be
questioned whether there is any country in the world where card-playing
is so universal, or where so much money is staked upon the issues as in
the United States.
The origin of the game of faro, like that of most games of cards, is
obscure. There is a tradition that it emanated from the shores of the
Nile, and that its antiquity is as venerable as that of the pyramids.
Perhaps this rather fanciful theory has grown in favor from the fact
that its name is sometimes spelled “pharo,” the name of the founder of
the great Egyptian dynasty, whose head is said, in ancient times, to
have been depicted upon one of the cards. Be this as it may, it is
certain that centuries ago it was popular among the gamesters of France
and other countries of Europe, whence it crossed the channel to the
British isles and later was brought across the Atlantic to America. In
the United States, it is a game _par excellence_ at every gambling
establishment, being at once the most absorbingly fascinating to players
and the most profitable to the bank. Across the green cloth which
separates the former from the latter, fortunes are hourly lost and won.
The monotonous, droning call of the dealer, falling upon the ears of
players, whose interest is breathless in its intensity, has proved to
thousands the knell of doom to wealth, honor, integrity, and happiness.
With its allurement of excitement and its tempting bait of gain, it woos
its votaries to shipwreck equally certain and no less terrible than that
which befell the mariner of old, whose charmed senses drank in the
intoxicating music of the siren’s song. Faro has been happily likened to
the “tiger,” which, crafty, treacherous, cruel and relentless, hides
under cover waiting, with impatient eagerness, for the moment when it
may bury its velvet covered claws within the vitals of its unsuspecting
victim and slake its fiery, unquenchable thirst with his life blood.
The principles of the game as fairly played to-day do not materially
differ from those laid down by Hoyle a hundred years ago. Be it
understood, however, that this remark applies to modern faro, as played
in the “hells” of this year of grace, only in the abstract. The
principles (sic) upon which it is practically conducted by the dealers
of to-day are of a sort calculated to astound that eminent authority on
the doctrine of chances. In order, however, that the reader may
thoroughly comprehend to how great an extent the player is at the mercy
of the banker, it will be necessary to explain first the method of
legitimate playing (i. e., if any gambling can be properly called
legitimate) and then some of the devices whereby the dealer may
transform his naturally overwhelming chances of winning to a practical
certainty.
As preparatory to a discussion of the first branch of the subject, it
may be remarked that faro is pre-eminently a game of chance. Even when
played with absolute fairness, success or failure, fortune or
misfortune, depend—not upon the skill of the player, but upon the
caprice of blind chance. It is true that mathematical science has
attempted to reduce this chance to some sort of law, and has formulated
a theory as to the inherent probability or improbability of certain
events happening or failing to happen, and there are devotees of faro
who play upon what they believe—with a faith which approaches the
sublime—to be an infallible “system.” But the doctrine of chance is,
after all, but an approximation to accuracy, and the only certainty
about any system, however cunningly devised, is the certainty that at
the supreme moment it will prove a delusion and a snare.
[Illustration: faro hand]
But, to return to the method of playing: Any number of persons may
participate in the game, which requires a full pack of fifty-two cards.
The dealer acts as “banker,” and may, at his discretion, limit the sums
to be played for, according to the amount of his capital. At public
games, this functionary, assisted by one or more persons known as
“lookers-out,” whose duty it is to watch the table, the players and the
bets, with a view to seeing that the bank’s winnings are promptly
gathered in, and that the interests of “the house” are properly guarded.
In order to facilitate the making of bets, players purchase checks,
usually made of ivory or bone or composition, though sometimes of paste-
board, from the banker, who redeems them at the option of the holder.
Their value is denoted either by their color, or figures stamped upon
them. The banker usually limits the sums that may be bet in accordance
with his capital, and the limit may be of two kinds, known as the
_plain_ and the _running_ limit. The _plain limit_ is usually twice as
much for double, treble or quadruple cards as for single cards. That is
to say, if a player may bet fifty dollars on either or all of the
latter, he may bet $100 on all or any of the double. The _running limit_
is any sum named and its multiple of four. To illustrate, the running
limit may be 50 and 200; in that case, the player may bet fifty dollars,
and if he wins, may suffer the original stake and its increase (which
would amount to $100) to be where it is or move it to another place,
where he may win another $100, thus giving him with his first stake
$200, which is the limit. This is known as parleeing a bet, and if the
first bet is five, the second will be ten, the third twenty, the fourth
forty, and so on. Almost all bankers will allow a player to “parlee,” as
the percentage is largely in favor of the bank.
Each banker is provided with a “board” about three by one and one-half
feet in dimensions, which is placed on a table about four by two and
one-half feet. This “board” is covered with green cloth, on which one
suit of thirteen cards of the ordinary pack are portrayed in the order
shown in the foregoing illustration.
In the centre of the cut given above, the arrangement of the cards in
the “lay-out” is shown. The outer line of the parallelogram represents
the table. Letter “G” indicates the seat of the dealer; “I” that of the
“lookout;” “F” that part of the table on which the “case keeper” (the
use of which will be explained later) is placed; and “H” shows where
sits that important functionary who operates the “case keeper.” The
players sit or stand all around the table. “A” represents the dealing
box, and “B” and “C” the two piles into which the cards are divided as
they issue from the box. “D” shows the “check-rack,” or the apparatus
for holding the “checks,” and “E” shows the position of the money
drawer.
The ace, deuce, queen and king are called the big square; the deuce,
tray, queen and jack the second square, and so on; the six, seven and
eight are called the pot. The players select their cards upon which they
wish to bet, and lay upon them their checks.
All preliminaries being settled, before any bets are made the dealer
shuffles and cuts the cards and places them face upward in a metal box,
containing an aperture at the top, sufficiently large to allow the full
faces of the cards to be seen. Originally, the cards while being dealt,
were held in the dealer’s hands, and in Germany they are nailed to the
table and torn off one by one. For many years, however, it has been the
practice to deal from an uncovered metal box, a little longer than the
pack, in which are placed the “pasteboards” faces upward, so that the
top card is always exposed to view. Near the top of one end of this
receptacle is a horizontal slit, wide enough to admit the passage of a
single card, and at the bottom are four springs, which, pressing upward,
automatically force the pack toward the top of the box, thus keeping one
card always opposite the slit. The top card, called the “soda,” having
been seen, is not used for betting, and is laid aside. The card
immediately below is the banker’s card, and it wins for him all stakes
placed upon it in the “lay-out,” provided it has not been “coppered,” as
explained below. The next is the player’s card and wins for him in the
same manner. Each pair of cards taken from the box and exposed
constitute what is denominated a “turn.” It may happen, however, that
the player may wish to bet that a certain card may lose. In that case he
places a copper (which is provided for the purpose) upon the top of his
stake. This is called “coppering,” because originally old fashioned
copper cents were employed for this purpose instead of the wooden
checkers.
Whenever two cards of the same denomination appear in the same “turn,”
the dealer takes half the money found upon such card. This is called a
“split,” and is, in effect, a percentage taken by the bank. If a player
wins his bet and allows both stake and winnings to remain on the same
card for another “turn,” he is said to play a paroli or parlee. At the
end of a “turn” a pause is made, to permit the paying of bets already
determined and the making of new ones. And the same routine is followed
until the pack is exhausted, when a fresh deal is made and the process
repeated. It will be seen that there are twenty-five “turns” in every
deal. The dealer may close the game at the end of any deal when he may
see fit. The last card remaining in the box at the end of each deal
neither wins nor loses, although originally it was claimed by the
dealer, who took all the money staked upon that card. The bank thus had
the certainty of winning such stakes, with no possibility of loss;
hence, that card came to be called “hock” or “hockelty,” which means
certainty, and by that name it is known.
A player may avoid risking his stake on any particular turn by saying to
the dealer, “I bar this bet for the turn”—pointing to it—in which case
it can neither lose nor win, but remains barred until he says “it goes.”
Again, he may reduce his stake one-half, by saying to the dealer, “one-
half this bet goes,” and this, unless the order is revoked, will be
understood to be his intention until the close of the deal.
When there is but one turn left in the box, the player may “_call the
last turn_;” that is, guess the order in which the cards will appear. If
he guesses correctly, he receives either two or four times the value of
his stake, according to the advantage which he enjoys through the
character of the turn. If the three cards are three denominations, they
may come out in any one of the six different ways; if, on the other
hand, two of the three cards are of the same denomination, only three
arrangements are possible. Hence, in the former case, if he guess
correctly, the banker pays him four times the amount of his wager; in
the latter (which is technically called a “cat hop”) he wins double its
value.
As has been shown, there is a multiplicity of methods of betting open to
the player, but it remains to explain one of the most common, as well as
fascinating, modes in vogue among the patrons of the “green cloth,” a
method, too, which more than any other has been prolific of disputes. It
consists of placing bets not only upon any card or cards, but upon the
margin of the “lay-out.” These are called “string bets,” an explanation
of which would tend rather to confuse than to enlighten the
inexperienced reader.
It being of the utmost importance to both dealer and player that the
cards remaining on the box should be known, an effort is made to keep an
accurate record of the deal in such a way that its every phase may be
seen at a glance. For this purpose a printed card, known as a “cue
card,” is given to each player if he desires it, with the characters A,
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, J, Q, K, arranged in a perpendicular row,
“A” representing the ace, the numbers indicating the spots, and the
letters “J, Q, K” standing for the court cards. As each card is dealt
the player denotes the denomination on his “cue card” by placing in the
proper line a zero (0) if it lose, and a straight perpendicular mark (I)
if it wins, the last or “hock” card being indicated by a double dagger
([++]).
THE CHANCES OF THE GAME.
The following statement of the odds against winning any number of times
consecutively is applicable to faro or any other game of chance. The
computation is that of Mr. Hoyle, who, as an honest man, had not
forecast the devices of the modern sharper.
Champions of this game, however, claim that when fairly conducted, the
percentage of the bank against the player is less in faro than in any
known game; and it is probable that the fact of this belief being wide
spread accounts for its wonderful popularity in the United States. In
fact, when fairly dealt, the only percentages in favor of the game are
the “splits” and “calls.” Mr. Hoyle gives the following computation of
the odds at the game.
The chances of doublets vary according to the number of similar cards
remaining among those undealt. The odds against the player increase with
every “turn” that is dealt.
When only eight cards are remaining, it is five to three in favor of the
bank:
When only six cards, it is 2 to 1
When only four cards, 2 to 1
That the player does not win his first stake is an equal
bet.
That he does not win twice following, is 3 to 1
Three times following, is 7 to 1
Four ditto, is 15 to 1
Five ditto, is 31 to 1
Six ditto, is 63 to 1
Having briefly outlined the method of playing, and shown how even when
fairly played there is a very large percentage of odds in favor of the
bank, it remains to point out some of the practices resorted to by those
professional gamblers known as “advantage players,” “brace dealers,”
etc., to take advantage of the gullible and unwary, called among the
fraternity “chumps,” or by the still less euphonius term of “suckers.”
These practices may be grouped under three different heads: First, the
cards themselves; second, the dealing box; and third, a system of
confederates. These will be taken up in the order given.
1st. The cards themselves. The “skin gambler” never deals a game of faro
without making use of cards known as “strippers,” or “humps.” These may
be bought from dealers in gambling implements, or may be prepared by the
gambler himself by using “trimming shears,” a tool devised for this
special purpose, and costing from forty to seventy-five dollars per
pair. “Strippers” are ordinary playing cards of the same size and form
as the “square” ones used in dealing faro, from the edge of which a very
little “strip” has been trimmed, thus making them a fraction narrower at
one end than at the other. The “strip” cut off does not exceed one
thirty-second part of an inch at one end and runs to a point at the
other. These are used that certain cards may be reversed and known; that
is, the narrow ends of some turned with the wide ends of others. Thus,
the dealer may take all the cards under seven, and turn their narrow
ends with the wide ends of the rest of the pack, thus greatly increasing
the chances for “splits,” on which the banker wins half the stakes;
moreover, the cards are used more in bunches, whereby the odds in his
favor are still further increased. When the wide ends of such a pack are
all together, it is difficult to detect them; but when a part only is
reversed they are more easily distinguished, since if the pack be taken
by opposite ends all those turned opposite ways will easily come out if
pulled by the ends.
The cards just described are known as “side strippers.” Another variety,
which has some advantage over these is called “end strippers,” or
“rakes.” As their name implies, they are cut on the end instead of the
sides, but are arranged, sanded, and used as are the others. Before
making a deal, the cards are “pulled” and “run in” endwise, after which
they may be shuffled any number of times without changing their relative
positions. They will apparently change their positions, but owing to the
manner in which they are cut and their being sanded, they adhere in
pairs all through the pack. When the cards are trimmed on the side,
displacement during shuffling is unavoidable; hence, the advantage of
using “rakes.”
Other prepared cards are called “_hollows_” and “_rounds_.” These are
cut in plates made for the purpose, and a portion of the pack is wider
across the middle, and tapers a very little toward the ends. The rest of
the pack is hollowed out a little in the middle and broader at the ends.
Strippers of this sort are used for the same purpose as those first
described, but are used by taking hold of the pack at the middle and one
end instead of at both ends.
The very closest observation is necessary to detect cards prepared in
either of these ways, and soft, smooth hands are necessary to use them
advantageously. The advantages resulting to the skillful dealer from
their use, however, are too palpable to call for further elucidation,
except in connection with the explanation of fraudulent, or “fake”
dealing boxes, which will be given below. Sometimes the odd spot cards,
the jack and king are trimmed differently from the remainder and then
reversed. They are then “run in,” an odd against an even, and can be
told through the difference in their size. This stratagem insures, at
the pleasure of the dealer, the effectual bankruptcy of the man who
plays upon a “system.”
“Squares and rounds” are made in much the same way. They are cut to pull
from the ends like “rakes.” Like “hollows and rounds” they can be turned
around without producing any effect upon them; and, like both, when
properly “sanded” (which process is explained below), they can be
shuffled without changing their relative positions. They are used in the
same way as common “strippers.”
Another process to which the cards of the “skin” faro gambler are
subjected is the preparation of them in such a way that they will adhere
together. This is accomplished by rubbing them, sometimes with
sandpaper, sometimes with rosin and glass, and sometimes with pumice
stone. If, however, the surface be too much scratched, the abrasion will
become visible when the cards are held up to the light. To accomplish
the result desired most effectually, and at the same time with the least
possible risk of detection, a powder composed of fish bone and rosin is
sprinkled over them. When it is remembered that the dealing cards are
extremely thin and smooth, the ease with which this device can be
carried into successful operation can be imagined. Sometimes the backs
of certain cards are roughened and the faces of others; the adhesion is
then rendered very close and the added thickness so slight as absolutely
to defy detection. To facilitate the use of cards thus prepared, a
special dealing box, known as the “sand tell” box, has been devised, a
description of which may be found in its proper place.
Still another resource, however, remains to the dealer of a “fake” game.
He marks his cards along the edges on the faces, by which simple but
effective plan he can always tell, with approximate accuracy, the
denomination of any card below the top. This is accomplished by putting
dots on the edges and it is absolutely essential to the successful
operation of most of the “faked” boxes described below. Similar dots may
be seen along the left hand edge of the card shown in the accompanying
cut of the dealing box.
2nd. THE DEALING BOX.—When the dealing box was first introduced, more
than half a century ago, it was claimed in its behalf that it insured
absolute protection against fraud on the part of either dealer or
players. Practically, as years have passed and new features have been
engrafted upon it, it has become the most effective agency for unlimited
fraud that the most nefarious dealer could desire. Indeed it may be
questioned whether the original object of its introduction was not to
render more easy the task of completely stripping every man who should
venture to play against the bank. Hoyle points out that the odds, even
in legitimate play are always in favor of the banker, and it seems
hardly probable that he would himself suggest an innovation which might
in any degree lessen his chances. The first boxes were made of brass, a
very little larger than the pack, and about half an inch wider, with one
side left open for the admission of the pack. The side opposite had an
opening, close to the top, large enough to allow a single card to slip
out, and in the top of the case was another of sufficient size to permit
the insertion of the end of the finger to slip off the top card. At the
bottom were springs to keep the pack constantly pressed up to the top of
the box. That such a contrivance might be used with perfect fairness in
dealing faro cannot be disputed. The fact remains, however, that almost
every American gambling den to-day has at hand boxes which are cunningly
contrived devices to facilitate the fleecing of the ignorant, to convert
chance into certainty, to transform the unsuspicious player into the
victim and the dealer into the harpy.
In order to have a thorough comprehension of the following description
of some of the “fake” boxes now in use, it may be well that the reader
understand the object sought to be gained through them. The rules of the
game require that but one card shall be dealt at a time. To a dealer
determined to win, it is of the utmost importance to know, before the
card issues from the box, what that card is going to be. In this, he is
greatly aided by the preparation of the cards as described above. Still,
he needs some mechanical device through which he may put this knowledge
into practical operation, either by failing to deal any certain card at
a moment when its issuance from the box means loss to the bank, or by
putting out a card which is sure to win for himself. To give him this
advantage he uses a box so constructed that he can control its
operations at will. It will thus be seen that his cards and his box
supplement each other. To know the cards would avail him nothing unless
he might use those which he needed; to be able to deal fraudulently
would be of no possible advantage, unless he knew precisely which card
to deal. Taken together, they form a combination so strong as to be
impregnable to the dupe who fancies that he and his crafty opponent meet
on a fair field in open, even if not honorable, combat.
At the present time, the “fraternity” generally use one of three
varieties of boxes, known respectively as the “lever,” or “end squeeze
movement,” the “needle movement,” and the “sand tell” box. Of these, the
former is the most common, and the second the most expensive, while the
third is commonly employed for a special purpose, which will be
explained.
The accompanying cut shows the mechanism of the “screw box,” at one time
very popular with gamblers, and still used in some houses.
[Illustration: screw box]
The front side of this box, “A,” is provided with three thin
perpendicular plates, of which two are stationary, but all of which seem
to be solidly joined together. Between the stationary plates “B” and
“D,” whose inner surfaces are so highly polished as to reduce friction
to a minimum, slides another and invisible plate, marked “C,” and which
is adjustable and highly sensitive to the secret manipulation of the
practiced dealer. This centre piece “C,” when properly placed and at
rest, presents an upper edge a trifle above the two stationary plates,
leaving an aperture so narrow that the dealer can take but one card from
the box at a time.
“F” is a screw which operates a secret lever, “E C,” between the two
plates “B” and “D.” This lever hangs on a pivot, and by slightly
pressing the screw with the thumb the adjustable plate “C” quickly
responds, and drops until its edge is even with those of the stationary
plates “B” and “D,” thereby enabling the dealer to take two cards from
the box at one time without observation.
Upon removing the thumb pressure from the screw “F,” the adjustable
plate “C” rises to its original position.
There is a flat metal piece in the inside of the box at the bottom,
which, when pushed forward, instantly and securely locks the box,
preventing the discovery of its mechanism, should any of the players
request permission to examine it. Such permission is always cheerfully,
and usually courteously given.
Finally, inside of the box, as in all others, is a thin plate the size
of the cards, which is placed in a level or horizontal position, upon
which the cards rest, and which is supported by four steel springs, that
force the cards up to the top of the box so that they may always be
ready for dealing.
The “lever,” or “end squeeze” box—the one which is perhaps just now most
in favor among “skin” gamblers—is operated on the same principle as is
the “screw” box. The screw, however, is replaced by a mechanical
contrivance which enables the dealer to raise the middle plate (lettered
C in the illustration) by means of pressure or “squeezing” applied at
the end of the box. The “lever” box also differs from the “screw” in the
manner of locking the secret mechanism. In the essential principles of
the “fake,” however, the two closely correspond. The underlying fraud in
both consists of the manipulation of a concealed middle plate,
substantially in the manner already explained.
The “needle” movement box is so called from the fact that at one end, on
the inside, is a small spring, lying the thickness of three cards from
the top, and having a fine point, like that of a needle, which catches
on the edges of the cards. The dealer remembers which cards are
round—which, as has been said, may be the odd numbers or may be those
having a less number of spots than seven; the remainder of the pack is,
of course, cut hollow at the ends. By the aid of the spring, the dealer
is enabled to tell whether the first card is round or hollow, and also
what the second card is; as when the round card comes in contact with
the spring, it pushes it in, and as the latter slips it makes a slight
noise, similar to the grating of the finger nails. He can thus tell
whether it is for his interest to take the second card or not,
and—thanks to his previous preparation of the cards—it is as easy for
him to take one as the other. An incidental advantage of this box is,
that in case any of the players object to the apparently undue advantage
in favor of the bank, it is possible for the dealer to offer to permit
any player thus dissatisfied to deal in his stead, while he himself bets
against the bank. Should his offer be accepted and a player open a bank,
the latter, of course, not being acquainted with the secret spring of
the box, will derive no benefit from the grating noise even should he
notice it; while by reason of the professional dealer understanding the
sound made by the secret spring, the latter is able to tell very nearly,
if not absolutely, what card is coming next.
The “sand tell” box is particularly designed for the use of gamblers who
desire to induce a player to deal the game. As its name implies, the
cards used in it are “sanded,” while the “tell” consists of a small
extra perpendicular plate near the front of the box on the inside, a
trifle below its mouth, which causes the top card to stand slightly in
advance of the deck, so that the gambler can readily distinguish the
card underneath.
[Illustration: case-keeper]
A record of the game is kept by means of an implement known as a “case-
keeper,” which is usually placed in care of an employe of the
establishment. This device is a miniature “lay-out,” with four buttons
attached to each wire as shown in the illustration. These buttons run on
wires, one of which extends from the end of each card. When the deal
begins, all the buttons are shoved up close to the cards; as soon as a
“turn” is made, the two buttons opposite the cards dealt are shoved to
the opposite ends of their respective wires. This enables anyone around
the table to see, at a glance, how many cards of each denomination
remain in the dealer’s box. When all four cards of any one denomination
have been dealt, that is said to be “_dead_.” When three cards of any
one denomination have been dealt, the one remaining in the box is called
the “_case_,” or “_single card_.”
It may sometimes happen that the tally of a player will not agree with
that of the case keeper, owing to the fact that the dealer has withdrawn
two cards where he should have taken one. In such a case, a trick known
as the “put back” is employed. A confederate of the dealer attracts the
attention of the players while the extra card or cards taken from the
box are adroitly returned to it by the dealer. Of course, there must be
a perfect understanding between the latter and the case keeper, so that
when two cards are dealt at once a signal may be given showing the
denomination of the second card.
In case a player making a bet finds that he has been misled by the
incorrectness of the record kept by the cue keeper, the invariable rule
is that the bet must be determined by the cards remaining in the dealing
box, a regulation which is, to say the least, not at all to the
disadvantage of the bank.
But the cheating is not all on one side, and a device called a hair
“copper” is sometimes employed by players to guard against a possible
loss on a certain description of bets. This hair “copper” consists of a
piece of shoemaker’s wax, the color of the check, a horse hair, and a
string of rubber attached to a band around the wrist, secreted in the
sleeve. The wax adheres to the copper at one end of the horse hair,
which is invisible, the other end being fastened to the rubber string
which is extended in the hand to the tops of the fingers. Placing this
copper on a bet, if the turn comes in favor of the dealer the player
quickly and without observation loosens the rubber which jerks the
“copper” into his sleeve, causing the dealer to pay the bet he may have
fairly won.
Another scheme for beating the dealer is not infrequently resorted to by
professional gamblers. It is technically known among them as “snaking”
the card. This consists of “ringing in” upon the proposed victim of
certain prepared cards, which are placed among the other dealing cards
in some secret manner, and at a time when he is not aware of it.
Sometimes, when no other opportunity presents itself, the faro dealer’s
room is entered by false keys during his absence, and his cards are so
operated upon that the operator can, to a certainty, break the bank at
the first opportunity. There are gamblers who travel through the country
for the purpose of “snaking” games, seldom engaging in any other species
of gaming, and it often happens that many professionals are badly bled
through this means without suspecting it. Sometimes the services of some
person who is a stranger to the dealer are secured to play against the
bank in order to allay suspicion.
The modes of “snaking” are various. One of the earliest consists of
placing an extra plate in the dealing-box, in connection with a piece of
steel not larger than a cambric needle. The cards are then cut on the
edges in such a way that the appearance and disappearance of this piece
of steel tells whether the next card will win or lose. This steel point,
in the rapidity of its motion, was compared to a snake’s tongue, and it
is probable that the origin of the term “snaking” is to be found in this
fancied resemblance.
Another method of “snaking” cards is as follows: The deck is prepared.
Let us suppose that the “pot” cards—the six, seven and eight—are the
ones selected. A pack of cards is taken, and the sixes, sevens, and
eights sanded on the backs and the remainder of the pack on the faces.
Small dots are then made on the face of each card in the deck, near the
edge. The position of these dots is determined by measuring on the card
with the plate which belongs to the dealing box. Now, when a sanded deck
of cards is placed in a “sand tell” dealing box, every time a card is
taken from the box the card next to the one taken moves a little forward
in consequence of the card taken from the box pressing on the one
underneath it. But, with these “snaked” cards, the case is somewhat
different; while dealing with these cards, should a smooth one be next
to the one drawn from the box, it would be drawn a little forward, i.
e., if there is not one of these “sanded” cards underneath this smooth
one. If there should be one of the sanded cards under the smooth one,
the card left on the top, after making a turn, will be held back by the
sanded card which is underneath it, and it will not be pulled forward at
all. Now, when a card which is left on the top, after making a turn, is
pulled forward, these dots (above mentioned) are visible on the face of
the card, denoting that neither of the pot cards can lose on the first
turn; consequently the pot cards are played to win as long as this dot
is visible on the face of the top card. But, in case, after a turn is
made, the top card should not move forward, then the dot on the face of
the card underneath could not be seen, which shows that one of the pot
cards (which are the six, seven or eight) will certainly lose on that
turn; of course the pot is instantly coppered, that is, betting that
these cards will lose.
Another and simpler plan is to perforate all the cards of a certain
description, perhaps of either dark suit, from the two to the ten, with
an instrument known as the “card punch,” of which the accompanying
illustration will enable the reader to form a fair conception.
[Illustration: card punch]
It is made of the finest steel, and is employed to puncture cards at the
center. A “deck” thus prepared is substituted for that which the banker
intends to place in the box. Sometimes, however, in this “diamond cut
diamond” game, an entrance is effected to the dealer’s room and the
“punch” is employed on his own cards. The substitution of the prepared
pack for that of the banker is the fundamental point to be attained, and
occasionally resort is had to desperate expedients. A fight is raised,
and in the melee which ensues the dealer’s box is thrown upon the floor
and the substitution quickly accomplished.
This shameless trick is played by one gambler upon another without the
slightest compunction. What a commentary does this afford upon the
hollowness of the old adage regarding “honor among thieves.” The author
having never been guilty of larceny, as defined by either the common law
or the criminal code, cannot speak for “thieves” technically defined as
such. As to those greater thieves known as gamblers, however, he does
not hesitate to say that among them “honor” is a word as unmeaning as
the mirage of the desert is illusory.
But to return to the punctured cards. The holes made by the punch are so
small that the player is often “beaten” by it. Whenever a white surface
is seen through this small hole, the player is perfectly certain that
the card underneath is the deuce, four, six, seven, eight or ten, and
may accordingly back these cards to win for himself with absolute
certainty. If a colored surface is discerned, he is equally certain that
the next card will be of another denomination.
Yet another method is to sandpaper the edges of one-half the cards.
Then, as the edge of the under card is seen through the slit in the
dealing box, the outside player can tell in which half it belongs by
noticing whether it is bright or dull. Of course, to practice this
successfully, the player must remember correctly the cards making up
each half; but when the division is made upon a system, this is an easy
matter.
Besides the methods of cheating already described, which relate more
particularly to the preparation of the cards and the construction and
operation of the dealing box, there are other methods well known to
professionals, which may be employed with comparative immunity and great
success against the unsuspecting.
A favorite stratagem is to use a prepared deck containing fifty-three
cards, one more than the legitimate pack contains, known among the
fraternity as the “odd.” The odd card is never seen by the player; and
as the cues come out correct, there is nothing of which he can complain.
The advantage of its use to the gambler is that it gives him one sure
turn during each deal, and he usually prefers to employ it on the last
turn. In such a case, it is impossible for the bettor to win on the
call, and he is equally certain to lose on any bet which he may make on
that turn. The advantage of such a large additional percentage in favor
of the game is palpable. A large proportion of players are fond of
calling the “last turn,” because of the greater odds given by the bank;
they are also more disposed to bet high on single cards at this stage of
the deal, for the reason that a “split” is impossible. This is called
playing cases. The manner in which a deck of fifty-three cards may be
manipulated to the certain loss of such bettors may be best shown by
means of an illustration. The denomination of the extra card is a matter
of no importance, but we will suppose it to be an ace; its introduction
would then make five aces in the pack. All the cards are then sanded
except these five aces, which are marked on the edges with one or two
dots, so as to be instantly recognized. The deck, having been thus
prepared, is played in the following manner: The cards are first
shuffled a few times from bottom to top, the dealer not then knowing the
position of any card. The latter then commences finding the aces, which
is easily accomplished, inasmuch as they are the only cards not sanded
and are marked on the edges. While shuffling he places one ace on the
top of the deck, over this he places a card of some other denomination,
and on this another ace, and over this again yet another card. A false
cut (which is accomplished in various ways, and is really no cut at all)
is then given to the cards, which are next placed, faces upward, in the
dealing box, the arranged cards being of course now at the bottom. Let
us suppose that when the last turn is reached it consists of an ace,
king and queen. Of course there are really two aces in the box, though
only one is shown. If the dealer wishes to make the ace lose, all that
he need do is to turn one card and then take two cards instead of one,
through the aid of his “faked” box, the bottom one of these two cards
being one of the aces, this leaves one card in the box, as there should
be. Should he desire to make the ace win, he draws two on the first
pull, and only one afterward, which results in one of the aces never
being seen, making the cues on the last turn come out correct. Sometimes
the cards are cut fairly, and the extra card comes in the middle of the
deck; in such a case, when the dealer arrives where the aces are
arranged, he is aware of it and acts in the same manner as has been
already described when they are placed so as to fall in the last turn.
Sometimes two odd cards are added to the deck, making the pack consist
of fifty-four cards. When properly manipulated, the dealer has the
advantage of being able to manage two turns instead of one.
Even when both cards and dealing box are perfectly “square,” it is still
in the power of the professional gambler to take such advantages of
persons not posted as to be morally certain of winning their money. For
instance, should a player select certain favorite cards on which to bet
(as is often the case), on the next deal the dealer may easily cause
such cards to win or lose all the way through as he may desire, the
bettor never suspecting that the run was not a matter of pure chance. As
these favorite cards come out of the box, the dealer—at a moment when
the bettor is not observing—places them at the bottom at the end of the
deal, where they are not disturbed while shuffling. The deck is then
“run in” endwise, and these cards being separated, will either win or
lose throughout the game.
“Faked” dealing boxes are not always the “thing of beauty” and perennial
source of joy which their manipulators would like to see them. They
occasionally “get out of order;” a little sand works its way between the
plates, and even an expert “brace” dealer finds it more or less
difficult so to use the device that its employment cannot be detected.
At Laredo, Texas, a few years ago, a “professional,” who is now dealer
at a famous house in a Western city, encountered a difficulty of this
sort. He “pulled” two cards, but so clumsily that the “sucker” observed
it. “What’s the matter with your box?” the player asked. “O, it’s a
little old, and don’t work just right,” was the answer. “Well, see
here,” said the Texan, “that was an almighty short deal, somehow. Reckon
I’m going to lose money any way; but hadn’t you better go a little
slower and make one of them long deals? I’d like to take a little more
time.” The game progressed and the stranger rose from the table a loser
to the amount of three hundred dollars. “Look here,” he remarked to the
dealer, “I reckon you’d better give me back the money you’ve cheated me
out of.” The gambler, with an air of the utmost nonchalance, replied
that he would be blanked if he gave back any of it. “Well,” remarked the
countryman, as he drew down his slouch hat over his eyes and left the
room, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” No sooner had he left than one of
the employes of the establishment took the proprietor aside and advised
him either to return the money or close the place at once, if he did not
want the victim to return and shoot him “on sight.” The proprietor was a
capital “brace” dealer, but physical courage was not his chief
characteristic. He lost no time in acting on his subordinate’s
suggestion. Hastily raising the window he called out to the victim—whose
rapidly vanishing form was still in sight—“I say, you! Come back here a
minute; I want to see you.” The “sucker” came back; the gambler greeted
him cordially. “You old idiot,” said he, “can’t you take a little joke?
Of course I knew that you were ‘capping,’ (i. e. acting as ‘capper’) for
the game. Here’s your money old man.” He handed him a roll of currency,
which the stranger pocketed with a grim smile of satisfaction. But
subsequent events proved that the proprietor “had builded better than he
knew.” Sitting around the room were other men who had lost money and
seen a fellow sufferer receive back his losses, it did not take long for
the crowd to extinguish the lights, and in the darkness the unlucky
dealer was “held up” for every dollar that he had with him.
3rd. The third adjunct to success in a “brace” faro game is by no means
the least important. Confederates on the outside are considered _sine
qua non_ in every “skin” gaming hell. They are technically known as
“ropers” or “steerers.” This euphonious appellation sufficiently
indicates at once their character and the nature of the duties with
which they are charged. The man who for a percentage and under the guise
of friendship lures a man to loss is, if possible, morally lower than
the scoundrel who robs him.
To be a good “steerer,” a man should possess some education and be
endowed with a courteous and affable demeanor. The more polished his
manners, the greater the value of his services. Men of this stamp hang
about the depots, infest the corridors of hotels of every grade, and
patrol the streets with far more watchfulness than does the average
policeman. Their methods do not vary, in any marked respect, from those
employed by “cappers” and “steerers” in other games, which are fully
disclosed under other head lines. About the same qualifications are
expected of faro and “bunko steerers,” and those required of the latter
are plainly indicated in Chapter VIII.
There is, however, a class of “ropers” who do rather more than “dirty”
work. These men hang about the entrances to houses which are alleged and
believed to be “square,” turn out the gas in the stairway, and when a
would-be player presents himself, assure him that “the house is closed
for the night, but that they (or he) can ‘show him where a game is
running.’” Should the verdant dupe be sufficiently gullible to believe
the story, one of these miscreants “steers” him to a “brace” house, sees
that he is “plucked,” and then claims and receives his percentage on the
amount which the victim has lost.
Among broken-down gamblers who have lost the last vestige of self-
respect, another game is popular. Individuals of this sort will hang
about the side-walk in front of a “hell.” When a player goes up-stairs
into the rooms, they watch him. If they can gain access to the house
they watch his play; if they are too disreputable in appearance to be
allowed inside the doors, they await his return. In either event, they
ascertain whether he has lost or won. If the former, they promptly
present themselves before the proprietor and claim the usual percentage
paid to a “steerer,” and usually receive it. This sort of scamp is known
among the fraternity as a “gutter snipe.”
Once in a while one of them proves himself of some service. On a certain
evening, two young men had been playing faro at a “skin” house on the
Bowery, in New York. They had pooled their resources and one of them had
been doing all the betting. Their losses footed up about eighty dollars.
After coming down stairs they stood upon the corner, bewailing their
hard luck, when they were accosted by an individual who, although
decidedly seedy, presented the appearance of being the wreck of what was
once a gentleman. He told them that he had overheard their conversation
and asked them if they would like to get a part of their money back.
Being answered in the affirmative, he went on to say that he himself did
not dare to go up into the rooms, but that if the man who had not done
the betting would return alone and claim to have been acting as a
“steerer,” he would receive from the proprietor a “capper’s” percentage
of the house’s winnings. The advice was acted upon; one of the two again
mounted the stairs, entered the apartment, demanded his forty-five per
cent. of the money lost and received it without objection. The stranger
was made happy by receiving a five dollar bill, and the friends walked
away considerably wiser, if somewhat poorer, than when they first
entered the den.
While speaking of “steerers” there is one fact which should not be
overlooked. Not a few of the proprietors of the so-called “square”
houses run “brace” games at other localities, “on the quiet.” These men
keep “ropers” at the foot of the stairways leading up to their
respectable (?) establishments, whose duty it is to inform any
particularly verdant “sucker” that there is “no game being played here
to-night,” and then “steer” him to the place where he can be fleeced
with more ease and expedition. The same tactics are employed at times
when public sentiment compels the closing of the gaming hells. The
“reputable” gamblers shut their doors, and open a room either at a hotel
or in some out of the way location, whither their “steerers” guide
victims, thus partially at least, recouping their losses resulting from
the closing of their regular rooms. Where they do not open other places
they sometimes “stand in” with the keepers of “skin” rooms, to have
their employes “steer” their patrons to the latter resorts, the “square”
players, of course, receiving a percentage of the winnings.
The better class of houses of play close at about two o’clock in the
morning, when the cards, dealing boxes and other paraphernalia are given
a few hours rest. Others are open all night, and at Pueblo, Colorado,
there is a resort whose doors are never closed. At all establishments,
however, there are at least two sets of employes, known respectively as
the “day” and “night-watch.” The day men arrive about nine in the
morning, the dealer having the combination of the safe. He takes out the
money, chips, cards, etc.; the “house is ready for business,” or to
state it more accurately, the trap is set and baited for fresh game.
It is generally during the earlier hours of the day-watch that the game
is “thrown off,” if at all. This term is a bit of gambler’s slang, and
always means that some one is victimized through a gross breach of good
faith, in other words, the victim is “thrown” to a confederate as a bone
to a dog. The “throwing off a game” is usually worked as follows:
Suppose that A, B and C enter into partnership to conduct a gaming
house. A and B secretly agree to defraud C of the capital which he has
advanced. C closes the house at night and A opens in the morning. B
arranges with an outside party to come to the house in the morning while
C is absent, and by collusion with the dealer, A, “win out the roll,” as
it is technically termed, that is, win the money of the firm so that C’s
share may be divided among the two scoundrels. Of all dastardly
confidence games this may be probably set down as the meanest, and the
fact that it is ever done shows how far the maxim “honor among thieves”
applies to professional blacklegs.
A UNIQUE ESTABLISHMENT.
The establishment at Pueblo to which reference has been made above, is
probably the largest in the United States. It contains six faro tables,
four roulette wheels, four hazard tables, two “stud” poker tables, two
“draw” poker tables, one “short faro” table, one vingt-un table, one
hieronymus bowl, and one table for playing a game known as “high suit.”
They are all in one large room, which opens directly off the street,
without any pretense of concealment, and contains, besides, a bar and a
lunch counter. Back of this is an apartment in which occur two drawings
daily, and yet farther in the rear is a keno room, where a game is run
every night. This mammoth hell never closes its doors. Three sets of
employes relieve each other, each “shift” (a designation for the
alternate “watches,” borrowed from the phraseology of the Colorado
miners) being on duty eight hours. As may be imagined, the cost of
running such an establishment is enormous, and the fact that the
proprietors continue to prosper financially shows that dupes are found
in abundance.
There is one feature in the management of this Pueblo resort peculiar to
itself. It is a very common thing in all gambling houses for a player
who “has lost his roll” to ask a donation—or a “loan,” as he prefers to
call it—of a small sum, wherewith to get a drink, procure a meal, or pay
for a night’s lodging. Only in the lowest dives is such a request
refused. In the Pueblo den, however, a different system is pursued. The
proprietors never give money to any man, for the reason that they
apprehend that the beneficiary might use it in playing against the
house. At the same time no sober applicant (unless a chronic “dead
beat”), whether player or stranger, is ever refused a drink, a cigar, a
square meal, or a night’s lodging. Instead of cash, however, he is given
a brass check which, while not receivable at the tables as stakes, is
good at the bar, the lunch counter, or at a lodging house owned and run
by the establishment, for refreshments of whatever kind he may desire.
SHORT FARO.
This is a vastly simplified modification of the game of faro. The lay-
out consists of six cards—ace, king, queen, jack, ten, and nine. The
dealer commonly uses two or more packs, which he shuffles and usually
deals from his hand, though sometimes from a box. The first three cards
run off are for “the house,” and are dealt faces down and not exposed.
The second three cards are for the player and are shown. Bettors place
their stakes on the card or cards in the lay-out which they may select
before the deal begins. The mode of play may be best shown by an
illustration: Suppose a player wagers a dollar on the queen. If one of
the three cards exposed happens to be a queen he wins one dollar; if two
are queens he receives double the amount of his stake; if all three
should prove to be queens the dealer returns him his original stake
augmented by three times the amount; if no queen is shown the “house”
gathers in the stake. It does not require a particularly erudite
mathematician to discover that the odds at this game are enormously in
favor of the bank. In the first place the player can win only should one
of six cards out of fifty-two turn up. Moreover, of the six cards dealt
he is allowed to see only three, thus reducing his already insignificant
chances by one half. Even when fairly played the game, like roulette, is
little short of downright robbery by the dealer, and when to this
preponderance of chances one adds the numerous advantages which a
professional “brace” dealer has over a greenhorn it is easy to foretell
who will have the money at the end of the game.
POLICE PROTECTION TO GAMBLING.
The attentive reader will find, at various parts of this volume,
allusions to the tacit understanding which often exists between the
fraternity of black-legs and the police. The personal experience of the
author is referred to and the chapter devoted to local gambling is
replete with recitals of facts which afford food for reflection.
It may not be out of place here, however, to describe briefly the
methods adopted for rendering ineffective even a carefully planned and
honestly executed raid, if undertaken or managed by inexperienced or
incompetent officers. The latter on gaining entrance to a room do not
find any gambling in progress and are therefore unable to capture any
property or make any arrests. The outer doors of the resorts are usually
constructed of ponderous oak timbers, from four to ten inches thick,
fastened together by means of heavy iron bolts. Of late years steel has
been substituted for wood, and it is said that at one of the Chinese
gambling hells in San Francisco the doors are made of thick rubber,
resembling car springs in texture, the elasticity of which repels the
blows of a sledge hammer as a marble pavement gives a rebound to a
rubber ball. The object of making such doors is, of course, to prevent
forcible intrusion. It is not of the employment of violence, however,
that I am about to speak, but of those raids where the officers are
given admission. It should be added that not infrequently entrance is
granted, after a short delay, because the hospitable proprietors have
been privately warned of the intended visit.
A small aperture in the door enables the door-keepers, one of whom is
always in attendance, to inspect applicants for admission before undoing
the bolts. If the custodian is in doubt as to the character of the
callers, the proprietor is summoned. If the visitors are recognized as
officers, an electric bell sounds a note of warning, and a parley
between the blue-coats and the Cerebus at the portal follows. In the
twinkling of an eye the cards, boxes, chips, lay-out, case-keeper, and
money disappear into the safe. The table is at once transformed into an
ordinary round-topped affair, covered with a crimson cloth. Scattered
around the room are well dressed, quiet mannered gentlemen engaged in
reading the newspapers, in discussing politics, or in general
conversation. The police see nothing, and after apologizing for their
intrusion, withdraw. Often the proprietor accompanies them to the
stairway, and, cordially shaking hands, leaves in the honest (?) palm of
the one in command a substantial token of his readiness to “bury the
hatchet.” Scarcely have they reached the sidewalk before the table is
placed in position, the safe unlocked, the money and paraphernalia taken
out, the players resume their seats, and the game goes on as before. Is
it surprising that the man who witnesses such a farce as this should
entertain a contempt for the very name of law?
REMINISCENCES AND INCIDENTS.
From what has been said, some unsophisticated reader may be led to
suppose that running a faro bank is a short and easy road to fortune. No
more fatal mistake could be made. Professional gamblers, almost without
exception, die paupers. Nor is the reason far to seek. The gambler “on
the inside,” is likely to win, even if the game is fairly played; and
the skin dealer never loses, even by accident. But the curse of Heaven
seems to attach to money thus accumulated. The winners rarely keep it
long. The terrible fascination of the mania for gaming is no less potent
with professionals than amateurs. The author might multiply
illustrations, drawn from his own experience. A successful proprietor of
a faro game will often draw from his safe thousands of his nefariously
won money to drop it on the table in another house. Even Morrissey, the
gambling king of the country, twice a member of the New York State
Senate and later of the United States House of Representatives, owner of
the most luxuriously appointed gambling house of the American metropolis
and of the world famed “club house” at Saratoga, which vied with Monaco
and Monte Carlo in its elegance—even Morrissey, the “prince of good
fellows,” the idol of his friends, the once millionaire, died insolvent.
The history of American gambling abounds in incidents scarcely less
striking. Ephemeral success, debauchery, drunkenness, poverty, suicide
or death from violence—this is the epitome of the career of the average
blackleg. O! young men of America, you who are upon the very threshold
of life, you who are in doubt as to “which way” you will direct your
steps, you in whom are centered the fondest affections of so many
hearts, you before whom so bright a future is opening, you upon whom
depends the future of this great country, listen to the advice which
comes from a heart that would avert from you the pangs which it has
suffered. Believe one who has drained the cup to its very dregs, that at
the bottom you will find only a serpent!
William Close, one of the best known and most expert manipulators of a
brace box known to American gamblers, who won heavily and bet as freely,
died a pauper.
John Timmins, a successful dealer, “went broke” and in a fit of
desperation, ended his miserable existence with a bullet.
Sam Cade, a “faro bank fiend” and one of the best poker players known in
the “hells” was buried by a fund to which I was myself a subscriber.
These are but a tithe of the many instances that I might adduce in
corroboration of the truth of what has been said.
An illustration of the well-nigh irreclaimable depravity of the case-
hardened professional happened not many years ago in a St. Louis
gambling house. A well dressed young man entered, sat down at the faro
table, and in a very short time lost $500. His money gone, he hurriedly
rose and left the room without a word. After his departure one of the
“profession,” who was sitting in the room, looked toward the door and
remarked, “Well, he dropped his little roll rather sudden.” Then he
added, with a pensive air, “but it comes easy?” “What is he?” asked the
dealer. “Why don’t you know?” was the inquiry of the first speaker.
“He’s one of the finest ‘dips’ in the country.” “What’s a dip?” was the
next conundrum of the proprietor. “Why, you driveling idiot,” replied
his confrere, “a dip’s a pick-pocket.” “Well,” answered the winner, with
a yawn, “I don’t care. Glad he makes money so easily. Hope he’ll ‘dip’
some more. A dip’s money is just as good to run bank with as any other.”
And with this remark he wheeled about in his chair and was soon immersed
in the newspaper, awaiting the arrival of another victim.
I cannot close this chapter on faro without a passing reference to an
old gambler who at one time was a prominent figure all along the
Mississippi valley, and whose face was as familiar to patrons of the
river steamers as were the sand-bars which blocked the channel. I refer
to “Colonel” Charles Starr. His long yarns were proverbial. According to
his own story he owned half the plantations skirting the river.
Occasionally some one would “pick him up” by telling him that he (the
skeptic) was the owner of those broad acres. No such trifling
circumstance as this abashed the “Colonel” in the least. Like Banquo’s
ghost, he peremptorily and perennially refused to “down.”
Stories about him were as plentiful as “pickaninnies” about a negro
cabin. It is said that once, at an Arkansas watering place, he was
approached by an itinerant blackleg who asked for half a dollar with
which to get something to eat. The “Colonel” surveyed him leisurely,
from head to foot, before either granting or refusing his request.
Finally he said: “How long did you say it was, young man, since you had
anything to eat?” “Two days, Colonel.” “Well,” drawled Starr, “I reckon
I don’t want to give you a half a dollar, but if you go without eating
two days longer, I’ll give you a hundred dollars for your appetite.”
Starr was a gourmand, though a dyspeptic, and withal rather selfish. He
went into a restaurant in New Orleans one day and ordered a sumptuous
repast. A hungry, penniless gambler entered while he was eating, and
approaching him, said: “Colonel, I’m awful hungry and I’m dead broke.
Can’t you ‘stake’ me with some of that?” “Oh, no,” answered Starr, “you
see, I’m a capper for the house, and my play doesn’t go.”
He accumulated a fair competence, but gambling and dissipation reduced
him to poverty, and he died a pauper. The evening of the day preceding
his death he entered a fashionable restaurant and ordered a dinner
costing some seven or eight dollars. The proprietor called him on one
side, and told him frankly that he did not feel disposed to “carry” him
any longer, that he must pay cash for his order or it would not be
filled. Starr said nothing, but went out and borrowed five dollars from
a friend; returning, he threw it on a table and ordered the best meal
obtainable for that sum. When it was set before him he deliberately
turned every dish upside down upon the cloth, and walked out of the
place. The following morning he died.
CHAPTER III.
POKER AND POKER PLAYERS.
The game of poker is undoubtedly one of the “peculiar institutions” of
the United States and, like base-ball, may be called a “National game.”
It finds an abiding place alike among the pineries of the frozen
Kennebec and the orange groves of Florida, in the gilded _salons_ of
Manhattan Island, the backwoods of Arkansas, and the mining camps of
California. It numbers among its devotees men of letters and of the
proletariat, the millionaire and the shoe-black, the railway magnate and
the tramp. It recognizes no distinction of “age, color, or previous
condition of servitude.” It draws not the line at sex, and is equally at
home in the fashionable club house and the gambler’s den, the private
parlor and the cheap lodging house. Men who avowedly abhor it, play it
behind closed doors and drawn curtains, and ladies of culture and high
social position are among its most devoted and most skillful patrons. To
describe its fascination is as difficult as to account for it, yet the
undisputable fact remains that of the vast army of men connected with
mercantile pursuits in the United States, comparatively few can be found
who have not some knowledge of the game; and were the whole truth
disclosed, no insignificant number might reveal a tale of losses of no
little magnitude.
Gentlemen, who would not, for worlds, enter a gaming hell, and who are
apt to pride themselves upon their ignorance of faro, play poker at
their clubs and by their own firesides, without either compunction of
conscience or pretence of concealment. Intelligent, thoughtful men,
eulogize the game as far removed from vulgarity, as calling into
exercise some of the highest faculties of the human mind, and as
resulting in healthy, moral effects.
This enthusiastic laudation of the game is all very well, but the naked
facts remain, that whatever argument may be advanced against any form of
gambling, may be urged with equal force against poker; and that this
game sanctioned as it practically is, by the countenance of the
reputable men who never set foot within a gaming house, has done more to
weaken the moral sense of the country at large as to the general
question of gambling than any other single agency. Its growing
popularity and increasing prevalence constitute a menace by no means to
be ignored to the prosperity, the morals, even the perpetuity of our
people. A nation of gamblers is a nation whose course is already turned
towards the setting sun.
As in the chapter devoted to the game of faro, the game will be first
described as squarely and fairly played, after which the principal
tricks of “card sharpers” will be taken up.
_Foul Hand._—A hand composed of more, or less than five cards.
_Going Better._—When any player makes a bet, it is the privilege of the
next player to the left to raise him, that is, after making good the
amount already bet by his adversary, to make a still higher bet. In such
a case it is usual to say, “I see you, and go (so much) better,” naming
the extra sum bet.
_Going In._—After making good the ante of the age and the straddles (if
any) for the privilege of drawing cards and playing for the pool.
_Limit._—A condition made at the beginning of a game, limiting the
amount of any single bet or raise.
_Making Good._—Depositing in the pool an amount equal to any bet
previously made. This is done previous to raising or calling a playing,
and is sometimes called _seeing_ a bet.
_Original Hand._—The first five cards dealt to any player.
_Pat Hand._—An original hand not likely to be improved by drawing, such
as a full, straight, or flush.
_Pass._—“I pass,” is a term used in Draw Poker, to signify that a player
throws up his hand and retires from the game.
_Raising a Bet._—The same as _going better_.
_Say._—When it is the turn of any player to declare what he will do,
whether he will _bet_, or _pass_ his hand.
In the fair game, the deal is of no special value and anybody may begin.
The dealer, beginning with the person at his left, throws around five
cards to each player, giving one card at a time.
The dealer shuffles and makes up the pack himself, or it may be done by
the player at his left, and the player at his right must cut.
To begin the pool, the player next to the dealer on his left, must put
up money, which is called an “ante,” and then in succession, each
player, passing around to the left, must after looking at his hand
determine if he goes in or not; and each player deciding to play for the
pool must put in twice the amount of the ante. Those who decline to play
throw up their cards, face downward on the table, and per consequence in
front of the next dealer.
When all who wish to play have gone in, the person putting up the ante
can either give up all interest in the pool, thus forfeiting the ante
which has been put up, or else can play like the others who have gone
in, by “making good,” that is, putting, up in addition to the ante as
much more as will make him equal in the stake to the rest.
The players must throw away their discarded cards before taking up or
looking at those which they draw.
In poker, as fairly played, every player is for himself and against all
others, and to that end will not let any of his cards be seen, nor
betray the value of his hand by drawing or playing out of his turn, or
by change of countenance, or any other sign. It is a great object to
mystify your adversaries, up to the “call,” when hands have to be shown.
To this end it is permitted to “chaff,” or talk nonsense, with a view of
misleading your adversaries as to the value of your hand, but this must
be without unreasonably delaying the game.
When the drawing is all complete, the betting goes around in order, like
the drawing, to the left. The ante man is the first to bet unless he has
declined to play, and in that case the first bet is made by the player
nearest to the dealer on his left. But the player entitled to bet first
may withhold his wager until the others have bet round to him, which is
called “holding the age,” and this being considered an advantage, is
very frequently done.
Each bettor in turn must put into the pool a sum equal at least to the
first bet made; but each may in turn increase the bet, or “raise” it, as
it comes to him; in which case the bets proceeding round in order must
be made by each player in his turn, equal to the highest amount put in
by any one; the party who fails being required to go out of the play,
forfeiting his interest in the pool.
When a player puts in only as much as has been put in by each player who
preceded him, that is called “seeing the bet.”
When a player puts in that much, and raises it, that is called seeing
the bet and “going better.”
When the bet goes around to the last bettor, or player, who remains in,
if he does not wish to see and go better, he simply sees and “calls,”
and then all playing must show their hands, and the highest hand wins
the pool.
When any one declines to see the bet, or the increase of bet, which has
been made, he “lays down” his hand; that is, throws it up with the cards
face downwards on the table. If all the other players throw down their
hands, the one who remains in to the last wins, and takes the pool
without showing his hand.
To “bluff” is to take the risk of betting high enough on a poor hand or
a worthless one, to make all the other players lay down their hands
without seeing or calling you.
When a hand is complete so that the holder of it can play without
drawing to better it, that is called a “pat” hand. A bold player will
sometimes decline to draw any cards, and pretend to have a “pat” hand,
and play it as such when he has none.
A skillful player will watch and observe when each player draws, the
expression of the face, the circumstances and manner of betting, and
judge, or try to judge, of the value of each hand opposed to him
accordingly.
No one is bound to answer the question, how many cards he drew, except
the dealer; and the dealer is not bound to tell after the betting has
begun.
RELATIVE VALUE OF HANDS IN THEIR ORDER, BEGINNING WITH BEST.
1. _A Sequence Flush_—Which is a sequence of five cards, and all of the
same suit.
2. _Fours_—Which is four of the five cards of the same denomination.
3. _A Full_—Which is a hand consisting of three cards of the same
denomination and two of likewise equal denomination.
4. _A Flush_—Which is all five cards of the same suit.
5. _A Sequence_—Which is all five cards not of the same suit, but all in
sequence. [In computing the value of a sequence, an ace counts either as
the highest or the lowest card; that is below a deuce or above a king.]
6. _Threes_—Which is three cards of the same denomination, but the other
two of different denominations from each other.
7. _Two pairs._
8. _One pair._
When a hand has neither of the above the count is by the cards of the
highest value or denomination.
When parties opposed each hold a pair, the highest pair wins, and the
same when each party holds threes or fours.
When each party holds two pairs, the highest pair of the two determines
the relative value of the hands.
When each party holds a sequence, the hand commencing with the highest
card in the sequence wins; so, also, when two or more parties hold
flushes against each other.
That full counts highest of which the three cards of the same
denomination are highest. The two cards of same denomination help only
to constitute the full, but do not add to the value of the hand. When
hands are equal so far that each party holds a pair, or two pairs, of
exactly the same value, the next highest card or cards in each hand must
be compared with the highest card or cards in the other hand, to
determine which wins.
In case of the highest hands, (which very seldom occurs) being exactly
equal, the pool is divided.
TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN POKER.
_Age._—Same as eldest hand.
_Ante._—The stake deposited in the pool by the age at the beginning of
the game.
_Blaze._—This hand consists of five court cards, and, when it is played,
beats two pairs.
_Blind._—The ante deposited by the age previous to the deal. The blind
may be doubled by the player to the left of the eldest hand, and the
next player to the left may at his option _straddle_ this bet, and so
on, including the dealer, each player doubling. The player to the left
of the age, alone has the privilege of the first straddle, and if he
decline to straddle it debars any other player coming after him from
doing so. To make a blind good costs double the amount of the ante, and
to make a straddle good costs four times the amount of the blind. Each
succeeding straddle costs double the preceding one.
_Call._—When the bet goes round to the last bettor, a player who remains
in, if he does not wish to see and go better, simply sees and calls, and
then all those playing show their hands, and the highest hand wins the
pool.
_Chips._—Ivory or bone tokens, representing a fixed value in money.
_Chipping, or to Chip._—Is synonymous with betting. Thus a player,
instead of saying “I bet,” may say “I chip” so much.
_Discard._—To take from your hand the number of cards you intend to
draw, and place them on the table, near the next dealer, face downwards.
_Draw._—After discarding one or more cards, to receive a corresponding
number from the dealer.
_Eldest Hand, or Age._—The player immediately at the left of the dealer.
_Filling._—To match, or strengthen the cards to which you draw.
The following descriptions of what are known as “jack-pots,” a
modification of the game of draw-poker, is taken from “Trump’s American
Hoyle,” which Blackbridge pronounces the standard authority on this as
on all other card games:
When all the players pass up to the blind hand, the latter allows his
blind to remain in the pot, and each of the other players deposit a
similar amount. The blind now deals, and any player _in his regular
turn_ may _open_ or _break_ the pot, provided he holds a pair of jacks
or better, but a player is not compelled to do so, this being entirely
optional.
Each player in turn, commencing with the one at the left of the dealer,
declares whether he can and will open the pot; if he declines to open,
he says, “I pass.” If he has the requisite hand, and elects to open, he
says, “I open.”
If no player opens the pot, then each player deposits in the pool the
same amount that was previously contributed, and the deal passes to the
next player. The same performance ensues until some player holds the
necessary cards, and is willing to break the pot.
A player may break the pot for any amount within the limits of the game
and each player in turn must make the bet good, raise it, or pass out.
After all the players who determined to go in have made good the bet of
the player who opened the jack-pot, and the hands have been filled, then
the opener of the pot makes the first bet.
If all pass, up to the player who broke the pot, the latter takes the
pool, and can only be compelled to show the jacks, or better, necessary
to break the pot.
One of the most vital adjuncts to poker games as played in the many
“club-rooms” scattered throughout the United States is technically
termed the “take off.” It is an amount taken by the proprietors out of
the pots as a percentage due the “house” on every hand “called,” and
shown down; a pair of aces and another pair, and you must “go to the
hole” with a check. The “hole” is a slot cut in the middle of the table,
leading to a locked drawer underneath, and all checks deposited therein
are the property of the keeper of the place. At other resorts the house
“takes off” for each pair of jacks or any better hand shown on the call,
while at others the percentage is exacted for any two pairs shown. It
will be readily seen, by any intelligent reader, that it is only a
question of time when all the player’s chips will go into the “hole.”
The exaction of the “take off” is justified on the score of incidental
expenses, lights, etc., but a compound interest note, on which interest
is computed quarterly, will not take away your money more surely or more
rapidly than this innocent looking “hole.”
In “stud-poker” the dealer attends to the “take off.” He is supposed to
take one check for every pair in sight, and for every “call,” but owing
to a manual dexterity acquired through long practice he is enabled
considerably to exceed the stipulated limit, and it is but a short time
before all the money played against the game is in the table drawer.
Having briefly outlined the principles of the fair game of poker, and
explained the relative value of the hands of cards which may be held by
players, it is next in order to explain the various advantages obtained
by professional gamblers over those whom they propose to fleece, such as
stocking the cards, employing marked cards or cards previously prepared,
“crimping,” “ringing in cold decks,” “holding out,” false shuffles and
cuts, “convexes” and “reflectors,” &c., &c.
First will be described the simplest of all known methods of stocking
the cards, viz.:
STRIPPERS.
Prepared cards are either “Strippers” or “Briefs.” In preparing
“Strippers” the professional selects from the pack two hands, which may
be either “Fulls,” “Flushes,” or “Fours.” The sides of the remaining
cards are then prepared so that they shall be a little narrower than the
hands selected. The cards withdrawn for stripping are then cut slightly
convex on the sides, somewhat after the manner of strippers prepared for
faro.
The number of cards taken out varies according to the character of the
hand to be made up. If the sharper wishes to deal flushes he will
require ten cards of the same suit. If full hands are desired he picks
out two sets of three of a certain denomination together with four
smaller cards of a kind. The object of this selection is to give variety
to the hands to be dealt. The manner of conducting this scheme of fraud
is substantially as follows: As the gambler shuffles it is not difficult
for him to feel along the sides of the pack with the fingers of his
right hand; he then draws out the wider cards, which he places upon the
top of the pack. When he has succeeded in getting the wide cards on top
he next divides the pack, then taking each portion by the outer ends, he
places the two halves evenly together and then, with comparative ease,
so shuffles them in that no two cards of the same size shall lie
together, but instead shall alternate over and under each other
throughout the whole deck.
The reader who will carefully study the foregoing explanation will see
that the cards will run off “Four-handed;” that is that they will fall
to the hands of opposite players.
In the practice of this trick the professional finds the services of a
partner of great value to him. If, however, he have none, when he deals
he places one card above the hands which he has set up in order that his
antagonist may receive one of the arranged hands while he takes the
other. Let us suppose that the hands have been arranged as “Flushes.” If
the dealer finds that in his hand he has not an ace, as a matter of
course he refrains from betting. If, however, the hands be “Fulls,” the
professional’s acquaintance with the arrangement enables him to know
which is the better hand, and he bets, or refrains from betting, as he
knows is best.
It is also possible to employ strippers in a two-handed game. In the
latter case the dealer strips the pre-arranged hands, but does not mix
them as in a four-handed game, preferring to “shift” on his own deal and
allow the cards to run without cutting on that of his antagonist.
Sometimes in using strippers in a four-handed game the dealer will place
a “Jog,” that is a hand, over them and allow his confederate to cut the
pack down to the prepared place. At first sight the employment of cards
thus prepared may appear rather difficult, yet the professional blackleg
finds it comparatively easy after a little practice. “Full” hands and
“Fours of a kind” may be set up without difficulty. The swindler knows
which the ten strippers are, and in taking up his five cards he is, of
course, well informed as to the value of the five cards which his
opponent has, and guides himself accordingly. To illustrate: Suppose
there are ten strippers made up of four fives, three aces and three
kings, and that the sharper secures three aces and two kings. Naturally
he refuses to bet, being well aware that the four fives and the king
must be held by his antagonist.
BRIEFS.
The “Brief,” which is a card used not only in poker, but also in various
other games, is a card nicely trimmed on the sides to such a width that
it can be readily distinguished by the dealer’s touch.
The advantage of using such a card is that it enables the party knowing
of its existence to cut at the point where it lies. Sometimes the
“brief” is placed on the top of the prepared hand and the confederate of
the dealer uncovers the pre-arranged cards by making precisely the
correct cut.
STOCKING.
By far the most common description of frauds employed by professional
gamblers in playing poker, however, is that of “stocking” the cards.
Four varieties of “stocks” are employed by the fraternity, commonly
known as the top stock, the bottom stock, the jog stock and the palm
stock.
THE TOP STOCK.
Of all these, perhaps the one most ordinarily employed—possibly because
the one most easily accomplished—is the top stock. In preparing the pack
for the perpetration of this fraud, the dealer selects a pair and places
between the two cards as many others as there are players at the table,
less one. Thus, if there are four persons playing he inserts three cards
between the two constituting the pair; if five, he places four; and so
on, as the number of players is greater or less. His next step is to
place above the pair thus arranged, the same number of cards which he
has placed between them, the result being that when he deals, the two
cards which he desires must necessarily fall to his own hand. A partner
is also a desirable adjunct in this case, as he ordinarily sits at the
right hand of the dealer, in order that he may either give the cards a
false cut, or allow them to run. If, however, the dealer has no partner,
he ordinarily has to resort to the device of “shifting the cut” (a trick
which will be explained below), in order that the arrangement of the
pack may not be disturbed. If the sharper can manage to get hold of the
three cards of the hands which are thrown up, he may sometimes find it
practicable to arrange “threes of a kind” in this way, as well as a
pair.
BOTTOM STOCK.
In executing the bottom stock the tactics employed are substantially the
same as in the top stock, by that the pair are placed on the bottom of
the pack instead of on the top. The dealer takes great care in shuffling
that he shall not disturb the lower part of the pack. The point at which
the deck is cut makes considerable difference in the success of this
maneuver. If, after cutting, it is found that all of the pack, except
the cut, is necessary to supply the players with the requisite number of
cards, then the pair will fall to the hand which has the last card, for
the reason that the player who receives the bottom card must necessarily
have also received the other; but if the dealer sees that the bottom
card is not destined to fall to himself, when he reaches the last two
cards he “shifts” them, that is, reverses the order of dealing so that
the party who should receive the top one receives the lower, while that
uppermost falls to the next player. It may be readily perceived that by
this trick the dealer has separated the pair, one falling to one hand,
and the other to the player seated immediately upon the dealer’s left. I
have already stated that the point at which the deck may be cut plays no
unimportant part in the successful accomplishment of this maneuver. In
fact, in order to succeed it is essential that the sharper have a
partner at his right who will cut so near to the bottom of the deck that
the lower cards will have to be run off. It is immaterial to the two
scoundrels which of them receives the pre-arranged pair, inasmuch as the
winnings are to be divided between them, consequently the bottom stock
affords a double chance for the perpetration of fraud.
Occasionally a blackleg who has no partner, but who observes that some
particular player is in the habit of cutting the pack very deep, will so
arrange matters that he may sit next to him, this renders an innocent
party inadvertently an accomplice to his nefarious practices. When two
sharpers sit in a game with honest players and have resort to the use of
the bottom stock, especially if to this be added “signing up,”—by which
is meant “signaling” to one’s confederate the cards which one has—it is,
however, a moral impossibility for the unsophisticated to beat the
combination of the sharpers.
Should the trick be suspected the sharp rogues will place the remainder
of the pack on top of the cut, suffering a “jog”—which will be explained
later—to lie over it, by which means they are enabled to deal from the
entire pack, which usually tends to counteract suspicion. Sometimes,
after the pair has been placed on the bottom of the pack another card is
put underneath, the result being that the player who receives the next
to the last card will receive the pair. This very simple trick has been
found most efficacious in puzzling a suspicious player, who is
ordinarily greatly surprised to find that the hand into which falls the
last card has not received the prepared pair. Sometimes two, or even
three cards are placed on the bottom, the principle being the same,
although in this case it is necessary that the dealer should carefully
remember the number of cards so placed, in order that he may know
precisely when he reaches the lower card of the pair.
THE JOG STOCK.
The “jog” stock is a device which it is absolutely impossible to execute
without the aid of a confederate, yet it is regarded by professionals as
one of the most effectual means of defrauding an honest player. As in
the case of the top and bottom stocks, a pair is arranged by the dealer,
who places upon it a sufficient number of cards to make the pair fall to
his own hand. He next shuffles the pack once or twice in such a manner
as to keep the arranged cards on the top, after which he slides a
portion of the deck over the pair, leaving a narrow break or jog along
the side, thus separating the hand which he has put up from the
remainder of the pack. His confederate, it should be remembered, always
sits on his right, then takes that part of the deck which rests upon the
top of the stocked hand, with the thumb and finger of his right hand
grasping them by the ends. Then with the thumb and middle finger of his
left hand he seizes, in the same manner, the pre-arranged cards
underneath; he draws out the latter and places them on top of the
others, leaving them in precisely the same position as they were before
his confederate offered them to him to cut.
An expert sharper, after winning once through these means, on his next
deal so arranges the pack that the pair shall fall to his partner, with
whom he bets, and to whom he apparently loses money. After this the
cards are permitted to run naturally for one or two hands, when the
second scoundrel repeats the same tactics.
The reflecting reader will readily perceive that this device is far less
likely to arouse suspicion than the employment of either the top or
bottom stock, and for this reason is more popular with experts than
either of the other two.
In playing this trick many sharpers have resorted to the use of glazed
cards. Usually the backs have been previously prepared by slightly
roughening them with very fine sand-paper. The object of doing this is
to cause the cards to adhere together and prevent them from slipping
about during the process of shuffling. This enables the dealer to place
the pack to a very fine break, which renders the cutting more easy and
attracts less attention. I have known experts who were able to set up
“three of a kind” in this way as easily as a single pair, although for
the successful accomplishment of this it is necessary that the two
confederates should understand each other thoroughly. In such a case the
partner sitting on the dealer’s right observes what pair the latter has,
and, if possible, either by cutting the third card into his own hand or
from the hands thrown down, and turns it to his confederate with the
proper number of cards beneath. If the dealer allow the hand to pass to
his partner, the latter, if he wins and deals, passes the cards on to
the bottom, in order that the hand may run out on the bottom stock.
PALM STOCK.
No little dexterity is required to manipulate the “palm stock.” I have
seen professionals attempt its execution and come to no small grief
through its being detected in consequence of their clumsiness. In order
to execute this maneuver effectually, the party intending to employ it
must be on the left of the dealer. He obtains possession of a high
pair—perhaps kings or aces—and while he is holding one in each hand in
such a way that neither can be perceived, he asks that he be allowed,
after the shuffling and cutting, to cut the deck again. Permission
having been granted, he seizes the pack in his right hand, places one of
the cards which he has withheld in his hand on top of the pack, and as
he cuts he leaves as many cards on the table as may be necessary to
intervene between the pair in order that they may be “Put up.” Then as
he grasps these cards with his left hand he places the other card of the
pair on the top and throws them on top of the pack. It is not difficult
to see that the result of this maneuver is to place the two cards which
he has “palmed” in such a position that they will inevitably fall to
himself. Of course it is not possible to practice this trick frequently
without exciting suspicion, but I have, myself, by employing it
judiciously, managed to win no inconsiderable sums. As a rule, after
executing the “Palm Stock,” the black-leg “goes a blind,” and the trick
is rarely attempted unless there is a large “ante.”
FALSE SHUFFLE.
Another favorite practice among the black-legs is the “False Shuffle.”
Almost all sharpers have their own individual methods of shuffling; but
perhaps the one which is most approved is that known among the
profession as “the intricate shuffle.” It is executed substantially as
follows: The cards are “ripped,” that is, the deck is divided into two
halves, which are pushed entirely through each other, after which they
are drawn out at the ends, and the half which was previously on top is
replaced in the same position. Some professionals shuffle only the lower
half of the pack, not disturbing the top, but concealing the upper cards
by means of keeping three or four fingers over the end of the pack which
is towards their antagonist. Sometimes a very quick shuffle is employed
which does not disarrange the cards on the top, and after this the pack
is given a double false cut, by means of which the cards originally
uppermost are retained in the same position. The device, which, if
rapidly executed, appears to the unsophisticated player a perfectly fair
shuffle, only a practical acquaintance with the operation of the trick
enables the verdant amateur to detect this trick when executed adroitly.
FALSE CUTS.
Besides false shuffles, professionals also have resort to false cuts. Of
these, there are but two varieties in common use, known respectively as
the “over hand” and “double” cut. In the former about one-third of the
pack is taken with the right hand, while one-half the remainder is
concealed in the left. The party cutting brings the left hand towards
him, that portion of the deck which is left on the table is then covered
by the dropping of the cards held in the right hand, the hand still
being kept over them, while those in the left hand are thrown over and
beyond the others; the maneuver is completed by placing the cards in the
right hand on the top.
In the execution of the “double” cut, the middle of the pack is drawn
out at the end with the thumb and middle finger, after they are brought
to the top of the deck, the cards originally uppermost are caught by the
lower part of the thumb and three fingers, drawn out at the end and once
more placed on the top. In either case the pack is left in precisely the
same position as it was before the seeming cut had been made. The object
is the same in the case of both false shuffles and false cuts; that is,
to leave the pre-arranged pack in precisely the condition in which the
dealer wished it to be.
Sometimes, when a perfectly fair cut is made by an honest player, the
professional finds it desirable to “shift” the cut, or, in other words,
to replace the two sections of the pack in the same condition in which
they were before they had been offered for cutting. The methods of
executing this trick are multiform. Ordinarily, however, the operator
finds it desirable to have a partner on his left; in fact, in draw-poker
it is difficult to execute the maneuver without some assistance. Three
of a kind having been placed on top in the shuffle, the cut is left on
the table, and the professional deals from the remainder. The deal being
completed, removed from the table with the right hand, the cut
“shifted,” and the pack dropped into the left hand ready for his
partner’s draft.
This piece of chicancery, if successfully performed, is almost
impossible of detection by a greenhorn, and even the professional
gamblers are not infrequently deceived by its dexterous manipulation.
[Illustration: “TIPPING THE HAND.”]
The accompanying illustration affords a view of two “skin” gamblers
engaged in victimizing a “sucker” by means of a trick familiarly known
among the fraternity as “tipping” or “signing the hand.” Large sums of
money have been won through this means, not only from verdant dupes, but
even from professionals who prided themselves upon their astuteness. In
order to work it successfully, marked cards are indispensable, and at
least one of the confederates, who act in unison, must be an expert at
the use of “paper,” as marked or “advantage” cards are called among the
gamblers.
The cut shows the method in which the trick is carried on. Player number
3 represents the “sucker;” player number 2 the swindler who has induced
him to play on the promise of “tipping” the “hand” of number 1, who is
in reality the partner of number 2, although, of course, this latter
fact is unknown to number 3. The method of playing this nefarious
confidence game may be best shown by an illustration. Number 2 always
faithfully signals number 3 precisely what cards are in the hands of
number 1. The latter being an expert marked card player, of course,
knows with absolute certainty what cards are held by number 3. Let us
suppose that number 1 holds a pair of sixes and number 3 a pair of
fives. Number 2 signals to number 3 that number 1 has in his hand a low
pair. Number 3 is naturally in the dark as to whether the pair in
question is of a lower denomination than his own, and in the hope that
it may prove to be makes his bet. Number 1 immediately “raises” him, and
this is continued as long as the victim can be induced to wager, or
until number 3 has “staked” his “pile.” The hands being “shown down,” of
course number 1 takes the stakes.
RUNNING UP TWO HANDS.
Perhaps one of the most successful feats accomplished by the
professional gambler is that known as “running up two hands.” Under such
circumstances the game is no longer a contest, but a certainty. It is
sometimes played with a partner, sometimes without. If the operator have
no partner, he usually selects his seat on the right of the man whom he
considers the most verdant of the players. When he observes that his
left hand neighbor has a prospect of winning, he immediately “passes,”
and taking up the pack prepares the hand as follows:
He selects the individual to whom he proposes to give, let us say, three
tens; also, the one upon whom he intends to bestow the larger set of
threes, say three kings; in putting up the hands, however, he commences
with his own, and while the cards face him for the reason that he knows
that when the pack is reversed for the purpose of dealing the uppermost
card facing him will be the last one dealt, and as he sits on the right
of the dealer, it will of course fall to him. Having selected a king
(the face of the pack being uppermost) he places as many cards below as
there may be players on his right between himself and the person to whom
he wishes to give the three tens. Below these he places another ten, and
underneath that as many cards as there are players between himself and
the player who is to receive the tens. In the same manner he arranges
the other tens together with the kings, so that the three tens may be
brought to the bottom. This being done the pack is turned over and as a
matter of course the ten placed on the bottom now becomes the top card.
His next move is to place as many cards over these as there are players
on the left of the dealer, between the latter and the unfortunate
individual who is destined to receive the tens.
This explanation may not be as clear to the reader as some of those
which have preceded it, yet to go into full details would require more
space than can be afforded to a description of the trick. The
preparations having all been arranged, the expert very rapidly gathers
in the cards as they are thrown down, placing them underneath the pack.
He then begs to be permitted to shuffle before the regular dealer. If
the request be granted he takes care so to shuffle as to not disturb the
hands which he has arranged with so much care. In fact he usually has
recourse to the device which has been already described as a “false
shuffle.” Sitting on the dealer’s left, of course the cut falls to him,
and he either gives the deck a false cut, or says “let them run.”
The consequence of this maneuver is that the blackleg receives the three
kings, while one of the other players obtains the three tens. The three
tens being considered a safe hand upon which to bet, it is not a
difficult matter to induce the verdant player to stake a considerable
sum, which the expert invariably wins. The sharper, however, finds it
far more easy to accomplish his nefarious end if he has a partner. The
latter individual, after the cards have been stocked, gives a “false
shuffle.” Professional No. 1, who sits at his partner’s right, gives the
deck a false cut, and professional No. 2 runs the cards off. It may seem
incredible to the average reader that men will sit around a poker table
and permit such dallying with the pack.
After long experience, however, I must say that the cases are
exceptional in which a smart operator may not manage to arrange three or
four such hands in the course of an evening’s play. Sometimes two
sharpers, acting as partners, manage to keep the deal between them for
two or three consecutive times; meanwhile they arrange the cards on the
bottom by degrees, and when everything has been completed the bottom of
the pack is transferred to the top. Sometimes hands are arranged in this
way and dealt in the same manner as from the bottom stock, which has
already been explained, the confederate, as a matter of course, being
fully aware which is the best hand.
The ease with which even those hands which at first sight appear most
difficult to arrange, may be prepared in this way, is almost
inconceivable to the novice. “Flushes” seem an intricate hand to
arrange, yet in fact they are among the easiest. A detailed explanation
of their arrangement, however, would hardly be either intelligible or
interesting to the average reader.
CRIMPING.
A favorite method of cheating at poker is that known as “crimping” the
cards, which is effected in one of either two ways: The former is when
the player is at the left hand of the professional dealer, in a four-
handed game, or his opponent in a two-handed game.
The second method is when the sharper deals himself. In the former case
the player so stocks a hand that it shall fall to himself, after which
he “crimps” or bends down the sides of the cards of which it is
composed. This having been done, after the shuffle has been made the
sharper may readily cut to the hand prepared, since there will be a
hardly perceptible space between it and the cards above it. If the
dealer shuffles “over-handed,” the hand will rarely be broken. If
crimping is to be resorted to on one’s own deal, the expert usually
waits until he has secured a high hand, when he bends it down, as above
described. He then places it on the bottom of the pack, and shuffles in
such a way that it shall not be disturbed. After dealing, he lays down
his own cards as quietly as possible, close to the deck; then, with his
left hand, he draws the “crimped hand” from the bottom, and with his
right places the remainder of the pack on the top of the hand which he
had originally received. He then shoves them aside, and at the same
moment lifts from the table the prearranged hand, which is thus
substituted for the one which he has secretly discarded. In order to
guard against detection, the moment when the other players are engaged
in examining their hands is the one usually selected by the blackleg for
the execution of this maneuver.
COLD DECKS.
The use of “cold decks” in almost all card games has become so common,
among the professionals, that the term, “ringing in a cold deck,” has
achieved a recognized place in the vocabulary of American slang. Almost
every one knows that the expression refers to a substitution of one
thing for another, yet not every one knows whence the phrase has its
origin.
A “cold deck” is a pack previously prepared, in which the hands of the
dealer and all the other players have been carefully arranged. To “ring
in” such a pack, is to substitute it for the one which has been fairly
shuffled and cut. There are many ways of accomplishing this
substitution. Sometimes a bill is dropped on the floor, and while the
dealer is engaged in looking for the greenback the “cold deck” is
raised, the original pack being secreted. This method, however, has
become ancient, not to say effete. The most approved method now-a-days,
is to place the prepared pack in the lap, to raise it nearly to the line
of the table with the left hand, and, after the true deck has been cut,
draw the latter to the edge of the table with the right hand directly
above the “cold deck;” at the same time the latter is raised, the
discarded pack is simultaneously dropped into the lap, where it falls
into a handkerchief previously spread in order to receive it. The deal
having been made, the sharper folds up his handkerchief and places it in
his pocket.
MARKED CARDS.
Marked cards are among the favorite and most profitable “tools” of the
professional blackleg. Among the fraternity they are technically known
as “paper.” When successfully used every element of chance is eliminated
from the game, and the play is practically reduced to a cut-throat
contest, in which the professional alone carries the knife. In a two-
handed game no honest player can ever hope to win against a gambler who
employs them. They are usually marked so as to indicate not only the
suit, but also the denomination of each card in the pack. As he deals
the professional reads and remembers the hand of his opponent, and bets
only when he knows that he has the advantage. At the same time it is
sometimes deemed expedient to place a wager even upon an inferior hand,
lest suspicion be excited by the too pronounced uniformity in winning.
It is hardly necessary to point out the tremendous percentage of profit
which is bound to accrue to one using cards of this character. Marked
cards may be bought, from all dealers in what are known as “gambler’s
goods,” but some experts prefer to purchase cards which are entirely
“straight,” and mark them themselves. The sight of the name of a well-
known manufacturer of playing cards, whose reputation is unblemished,
will usually prevent or disarm suspicion on the part of a greenhorn.
In a two-handed game the cards thus prepared are usually marked to
indicate only the size, the suit being a matter of comparative
indifference. The method of using them in a four-handed game differs
somewhat from that employed where one party plays against a single
antagonist, but the reader may readily imagine that in either case the
advantage in favor of the professional is simply enormous. A detailed
explanation of the method in which they are employed would hardly prove
profitable reading to the general public, and for this reason the
subject is passed over somewhat lightly. Some are marked with a
representation of the American eagle (what a travesty on the emblem of
equality and fraternity!), and during the war thousands of the brave
boys who took their lives in their hands in defense of the “old flag”
were defrauded of the scanty pittance paid them by the government,
through the machinations of unscrupulous scoundrels, who cheated them at
poker through marked cards on whose backs was depicted a mimic
representation of the standard for which they fought. Satire could not
well go farther, inasmuch as the government which they had sworn to
defend, tolerated the rascally proceedings even under the very folds of
the starry banner itself.
Besides the “stamped” cards—_i. e._, those on which the secret marks are
printed—professional blacklegs use others. An ordinary pack may be
prepared by an “artist in coloring” in such a way that he may read the
backs as easily as the faces. For this purpose a paint composed of
chloroform, alcohol and some pigment is applied with a camel’s hair
brush. The pigment may be of any hue—ultramarine, vermillion, etc.—the
color selected being always the nearest approximate shade to that of the
backs of the cards played with. Card sharpers who are expert marked card
players (and it must be remembered that not every professional gambler
possesses the necessary qualifications) always travel with a full outfit
of packs. On steamboats they will buy out the entire stock of the bar
keeper, furnish him with a fresh supply gratuitously, and even pay him a
bonus to handle their goods. The result is that when any player on the
boat wants a fresh pack, he finds himself compelled to buy the cards
whose backs the professionals can read. In towns these manipulators of
the pasteboards will either secure the introduction of their cards at
the gaming houses through the payment of a percentage, or will see that
they are placed on sale at some jewelry, drug, stationery or cigar store
near the locality where the game is to be played. The next move is to
introduce them at the card table, which is sometimes found to be a very
easy matter. In some of the succeeding paragraphs of this chapter the
reader will find related some of my own experiences in this direction
which may not prove uninteresting.
A favorite method of “ringing in” these cards—as gamblers term their
introduction—is as follows: Two sharpers act in concert. One goes to a
town and selects a victim, who is usually a country youth who has money.
He tells his dupe that he is “dead broke,” perhaps because of sickness,
perhaps for some other reason; that he is a professional gambler and can
teach any man how to win at cards. The cupidity of the young man from
the rural districts is aroused. The gambler shows him some marked cards
and teaches him how to read the backs. Then he sends for his
confederate. When the latter arrives the first swindler professes not to
know him, and pretends to make his acquaintance for the first time. He
then tells the selected victim that he has found a “soft mark,” (which
in the vernacular of the profession means a particularly gullible dupe),
and offers to introduce him, so that the countryman may win his money
through the marked cards. The game is begun; of course the supposed
“stranger” is as familiar with the marks as is the greenhorn, besides
being master of innumerable other arts of the blackleg, of which the
greenhorn knows nothing. The result is a foregone conclusion; the
sharper wins all the money which the verdant young man can be induced to
bet.
Sometimes it happens that the dupe becomes discouraged at his poor
success and declines to play further. In such a case, if the rascals
believe that he has any more money, the first confederate will secretly
offer to “tip off” the new comer’s hand, a device which rarely fails to
prove successful under such circumstances, and an explanation of which
has been already given.
PARTNERSHIPS.
As a rule, professional gamblers who travel through the country with a
view to defraud the unsophisticated by means of poker-playing,
ordinarily work in partnership. Sometimes two—sometimes more—players
compose the traveling combination, and divide the proceeds with more or
less equality. A thorough understanding among the confederates is, of
course, absolutely essential. But this having been once attained, the
advantages of the partnership are obviously very great. They convey to
each other surreptitious information across the table as to the nature
of their respective hands, so that only the one who has the better
chance may “go in.” I have already explained how they may co-operate
with one another through means of false shuffles and false cuts. They
may also prove of material assistance to each other in holding out, and
in various other ways, to such a degree that the verdant individual who
supposes that he is enjoying a “fair show” for the amount of money he
has wagered, is, as a matter of fact, absolutely at their mercy.
At the same time the members of such a dishonest firm have little
confidence in one another, but watch each other as though they were
enemies rather than confederates. Yet on one point they are at perfect
harmony and act in absolute unison; that is, in the fleecing of
greenhorns; and woe betide the unlucky wight who finds himself between
the upper and nether mill-stones of such a combination.
DOUBLE DISCARD.
Yet another device of the professional poker-player is known as the
“Double discard.” The blackleg does not discard until after he has made
a draft. He separates the cards which he wishes to discard from the four
which he nominally proposes to retain, holding the former in his left
hand and the latter in his right, ready for a fraudulent discard, in
case he sees fit. Calling for four cards, he drops those which he has in
his right hand immediately in front of him. Next, he lifts the draft
with his left hand, the odd card of course coming on top; if now he
finds in the draft one or more cards which he perceives will, with the
aid of the four cards lying in front of him on the table, improve his
chances, he retains that, and again discards the four cards. He then
drops the one which he has retained, upon the four originally rejected,
raises the hand, and of course is prepared to wager, with an approximate
certainty of success.
FLUSHES, FULLS AND FOURS.
These hands are more difficult to arrange than either “pairs” or
“threes,” although an expert blackleg is soon able to reduce the art to
a science.
The manner of setting up a “flush” differs from that of arranging a
“full” or “fours.” In preparing flushes ten cards of any suit are first
selected, and being placed face uppermost before the operator, are so
arranged that the highest card shall be either the second, fourth,
sixth, eighth or tenth in order. The ten cards are then put on the top
of the deck, which the sharper takes in his left hand. He uses the fore-
finger and thumb of his right hand in shuffling, placing the former on
top and the latter underneath, and drawing one card from the top and one
from the bottom at each “pull.” These he throws upon the table in pairs.
The same tactics are repeated ten times, each two cards, as drawn off,
being laid over the preceding pair. The rest of the cards are then
similarly treated, but thrown on the table at a short distance from the
twenty first drawn. The sharper then places the latter upon the larger
half of the pack, and a false shuffle and false cut are made.
If the player sitting on the left of the blackleg happens to be the
dealer, (and in no other case can the trick be successfully worked as
here described), the professional who has arranged the cards will always
receive the higher flush, and the player sitting at the dealer’s left,
who is of course directly facing the blackleg, is bound to receive the
smaller one.
The method of arranging “fulls” is very similar to that described above.
The hands, however, are first made up singly, the highest threes being
put in alternately as the second, third, fourth and sixth, counting from
the top of the pack as it lies face uppermost before the operator. The
latter then “strips” one card each from the top and bottom
simultaneously, as in the preparation of the flush. The hands fall to
the players in the same manner, the larger one falling to the dealer’s
right and the smaller on his left.
In stocking the cards for a hand containing “four of a kind,” the hands
are put up separately, the higher four being so arranged as to be
second, fourth, sixth, and eighth, from the top of the pack as it faces
the manipulator. The latter draws a card from the top and bottom at the
same time, as in the arrangement of the “flushes” and “fulls,” but
instead of drawing ten cards he pulls eight. The result in all three
cases is precisely the same, that is, the larger hand will invariably
fall to the player on the dealer’s right—(that is, the sharper)—and the
smaller one to the individual facing him, who sits at the dealer’s left.
HOLDING OUT.
Of all the practices of a dishonest gambler at poker, “holding out” is
perhaps the most frequently resorted to. It consists of abstracting one
or more cards from the pack, which are secreted either about the person
of the player, or beneath the table. It is most commonly employed upon
the blackleg’s own deal. Several cards may be “held out,” provided that
the number is not sufficient to attract notice by perceptibly
diminishing the size of the pack. The object of course is that the
sharper may have desirable cards ready to produce when a favorable
opportunity offers. If the person to be deceived is especially verdant
the cards withdrawn from the pack are sometimes concealed behind the
collar, or under the joint of the knee or may be laid upon a
handkerchief in the lap.
Professionals, however, usually prefer either the vest or the sleeve as
a place of secreting them. Different sorts of apparatus are also
employed to facilitate the operation; now-a-days nearly all
professionals employ some one of the four mechanical contrivances which
are described below.
I. THE BUG.
[Illustration: the bug]
I. THE BUG.—This instrument is very simple in its construction, and
although sold by dealers in “fake” goods, is often made by gamblers
themselves. Its mechanism is shown in the accompanying cut. “B”
represents a piece of watch spring which is fastened to the table by
means of an awl “A” in such a way that the point may curl over. The awl
is pressed into the under side of the table, just far enough from the
edge to permit the placing of a card. The watch spring snaps up against
the bottom. The method of using it is as follows: Some high card, for
example, the king or an ace, is slipped under the bottom of the table,
the watch spring holds it firmly in place. As soon as the party
receives, in the regular course, a card, or perhaps a pair of the same
denomination as the one which he has secreted in the “bug,” he puts his
hand over the edge of the table, under which he puts his thumb, he then
deftly raises the card which he has concealed, at the same time taking
an inferior card from his hand and placing the latter in the “bug”
instead of the one which he has taken out. It will be seen that he thus
obtains a high pair, or possibly three high cards of the same
denomination.
[Illustration: the sleeve hold out]
II. THE SLEEVE HOLD OUT.—This apparatus consists of a leather band,
(lettered A in the illustration) fastened around the right arm, beneath
the coat sleeve, near the elbow, to which is attached a spring, pressure
upon which works a rod which connects with a plate (lettered B in the
cut). The method of using this device is shown in the illustration. The
cards which are “held out” are placed beneath the plate B, which holds
them in position. When the player wishes to draw them from his sleeve,
he presses his arm against his body, thus setting in operation the
spring which works the rod and throws forward the concealed cards from
behind the plate, as shown in the cut.
[Illustration: the table hold out]
III. THE TABLE HOLD OUT.—As are the three other contrivances above
described, so is this a device for concealing cards abstracted from the
pack during the progress of a game of poker. It differs from the others,
however, in that it is permanently attached to the table, instead of
being carried about by the player himself. The illustration shows the
plan of its construction. A card may be seen protruding above the
surface of the table, directly where the cloth covering joins the wooden
border. This card is forced up through a concealed slit at the will of
the gambler, by means of a hidden mechanism. The dotted line running
from the slit to the foot of the table’s leg represents a wire which
operates a spring whereby the card is forced upward, or lowered, through
the slit, at the option of the manipulator. “A” is a point at which is
inserted a small knob, or button, pressure upon which works the spring.
By pressing with his foot at “B,” the player accomplishes the same
result. The method of its use is as follows: The abstracted cards are
placed in the slit, the player holding his hand of cards in front of it;
they are then drawn down and retained beneath the table until the moment
arrives when they are to be used. Pressure at either “A” or “B” forces
them up, and the sharper takes them in his hand, at the same time
discarding an equal number of cards from his hand into the slit.
[Illustration: vest hold out]
IV. VEST HOLD OUT.—Some gamblers prefer this contrivance to any other,
for the reason that it permits the holding out of an entire hand if the
player so desires. The accompanying illustration shows the method in
which it is worked. “A” indicates the location of that part of the
mechanism which holds the abstracted cards; “B” is a piece of catgut
attached to that part of the apparatus concealed beneath the vest, and
running underneath the clothing to the heel, where it is fastened either
to the shoe or the clothing. The cards selected to be “held out” are
placed inside the clamp underneath the vest. When the player stretches
out the leg along which runs the catgut, the plate inside the vest comes
forward and the cards may be easily withdrawn; when the heel is drawn
back beneath the chair the tension on the catgut is increased, and the
clamp recedes behind the vest.
CONVEXES, OR SHINERS.
Of all the devices for defrauding at poker, the “shiner,” or “convex” is
perhaps the most simple and the most effective. They are of various
forms. At first a circular piece of silver highly polished and convex in
form, about the size of a five-cent piece, was used. The player
employing it places it on the table in front of him, using the utmost
pains to conceal it from observation. The advantage resulting from its
employment is its power of reflecting whatever is held above it at any
angle, thus enabling the dealer who used it to read the face of each
card as it was taken, face downward, from the pack. Of late years,
however, the makers of these implements have greatly improved the
process of manufacture. Looking glass has been substituted for silver,
the reflection being much more brilliant. Modern convexes are also
considerably larger than those of former days. Some players attach them
to the knee, some to the thigh—as shown at point “C” in cut illustrating
the “Vest Hold Out”—and some fasten them to the coat. In one description
of the convexes, a slender bar is attached to the article at its end, a
joint containing a spring being fastened to the other extremity of the
bar. In using this contrivance the cheat places it on top of a few bank
notes, and then with the other bills entirely conceals it from view. In
dealing he apparently carelessly rests his hand upon the joint, in doing
which he necessarily brings pressure to bear upon the spring; this in
turn forces the convex to fly upward toward the dealer, and enables him
to see the face of each card as it is dealt. Occasionally magnifying
glasses, technically known as “reflectors,” are used. The blackleg
places one of these on his lap, or attaches it to the table in such a
way that he may cause it to drop by means of a spring. The forms of the
“reflectors” are numerous, and no good purpose can be served by
describing any further varieties. It may be observed, however, that new
shapes are being constantly invented, as well as new contrivances to
enable cheats to use them without detection.
I have seen a convex employed upon a Mississippi steamboat with
remarkably confusing effect. Two professionals were each trying to take
advantage of the other, supposing him to be an amateur. For a time
neither gained any advantage. At length, one of the sharpers temporarily
excused himself. Going to his state room, he returned with his “shiner.”
Meantime his antagonist had arranged a “cold deck,” which he proceeded
to “ring in” on his own deal, much to the betterment of his finances.
Thus emboldened, he bet wildly on his adversary’s deal, the result being
that the caller recouped his losses, with interest.
Once at the Mound City Hotel, in St. Louis, I had succeeded in bringing
two “skin” gamblers together. I had told each that I intended to “throw
off” the other to him, consequently I felt certain of receiving my share
of the winnings, no matter which of the pair succeeded in fleecing the
other. One of them had prepared a table which he could take apart and
carry with him. On the top of it was a box about a foot square, inside
of which was a “shiner” made of looking-glass. Half of the side facing
the operator was a slide which was raised, when occasion required, by
means of a string which passed down the leg of the table to the foot. As
the game progressed and the excitement increased, the foot of the
operator accidentally slipped from the pedal. The result was that
instead of the cover returning quietly to its place, it fell with a
sharp click, which attracted the attention of his opponent, who quickly
springing to his feet ran around the table and asked, “what’s that?” and
then realizing its meaning, laughingly remarked: “Say, the tail piece of
your wagon just fell out. What’s that dog-house you’ve got on the table,
anyway?”
THE “NAIL PRICK” OR “SECOND DEALING.”
[Illustration: nail prick]
This is a device practiced by professional gamblers with great success.
In order to play the “second” effectively, the operator trims the thumb
nail on his left hand to a fine point, as shown in the accompanying cut
at letter “A.” Sometimes, instead of trimming his nail he attaches to
the ball of the thumb, by means of a small piece of kid and a little
shoemaker’s wax, a fine needle point, lettered “B” in the illustration.
As the game progresses, he gradually pricks the aces and kings on the
face in the left hand corner of each, which, when they are turned over,
becomes of course, the right hand corner. The cards are dealt from the
end, the dealer seizing them by the corner with the thumb of the right
hand. When one of the pricked cards is felt, the dealer slips it back
and deals from under it until he comes to himself, when he secures it
for his own hand, thus gradually obtaining a pair of aces or kings,
sometimes two pairs, and occasionally three of a kind. When this trick
is successfully performed, the professional is usually able to “clean
out” a greenhorn with the utmost ease and dispatch. It is a favorite
mode of swindling at poker, inasmuch as it requires no partner, no
stocking of cards, and admits of their being fairly shuffled.
THE “TELEGRAPH.”
By the word “telegraph” as employed in gamblers’ parlance, is by no
means meant the ordinary electric wire through which are transmitted
messages upon which depend not only men’s safety and lives, but even the
welfare of nations and the peace of the civilized world. The gamblers‘
“telegraph” is used for entirely different purposes. It consists of a
wire running from a poker table to some point of vantage, usually behind
a “peep-hole,” by means of which one confederate advises another when to
bet. Of course collusion between two is essential. The man at the peep-
hole, which is not infrequently in an upper room, sees through the aid
of a magnifying glass the hands of all the players. He controls one end
of the wire, the other extremity of which is attached to the clothing of
his partner. A pre-arranged system of signals conveys to the latter all
the information necessary to enable him to place a wager with the
absolute certainty of winning. On its face this species of fraud appears
so disreputable that the average reader will question whether the device
may not have originated in the author’s brain. Alas, for human nature!
The telegraph is an actual fact, no less deplorable because its
existence is assured. The number of saloons which employ it is “legion,”
and it may sometimes be found in places which would be considered most
unlikely. The only safe plan to be pursued is _never_, under any
circumstances, to sit down to a game of poker, no matter how trifling
the ante.
A SURE HAND.
Reference is made elsewhere to the advantage taken by professional
gamblers and confidence men of the cupidity, venality and dishonesty of
a certain class of “suckers.” It is not an uncommon experience with
black-legs to be invited by some man of good repute in the community in
which he resides, to visit the town with a view to fleecing some moneyed
friend of the latter individual, the gain accruing from the execution of
the rascally enterprise to be equally divided between the confederate
scoundrels. This is known in gambler’s slang as “throwing off a sucker.”
Under the present title will be explained one of the most effective
methods by which the scheme is executed. The author can best illustrate
it by recounting a bit of his own experience:
In a certain western town once resided a man whom we may call Mr. X—--,
who had an intimate friend—a man of some means—who will be referred to
in this connection as Mr. Y——. Mr. X—— conceived the idea of winning
some money from his friend, and appealed to me to assist him in the
enterprise. At that period of my life I was little troubled with qualms
of conscience, and I lent a willing ear to the suggestion. I went to the
city in question, and in due course was introduced to Mr. Y—— by Mr. X——
as a verdant sort of an individual, almost too green to be attractive to
a bovine quadruped, but with plenty of money. Mr. X—— proposed to his
friend that they should engage me in a little game of “draw;” that he,
Y——, should sit behind me and “tip off” my hand, a knowledge of which
was certain to enable X—— to win all my cash. Mr. Y—— was nothing loth,
and readily consented to become a party to a transaction which was, on
its face, a bold scheme of fraud. Undoubtedly he was a “sucker,” but it
is a question whether sympathy would not be wasted upon him.
The plan worked admirably. X—— and myself met at a pre-arranged
“trysting-place,” and sat down to play poker. Y—— dropped in and took a
seat where he could over-look my hand. A “cold deck” had been
prepared—need I say by whom?—and after I had lost a few trifling stakes
X—— proceeded to “ring it in” on me, in accordance with his previous
understanding. Regarding the operation from a “professional” standpoint,
I may say that I never saw a trick more clumsily performed. Had I been,
as Y—— supposed, a mere tyro, I could hardly have failed to detect it,
so bunglingly was it done. However, I preserved a stolid demeanor, and
proceeded to examine my hand. I found a pair of queens with three nines.
Mr. X—— had a “full”—three jacks and a pair of tens. Of course this
latter was a strong hand. He bet; I promptly “raised” him one thousand
dollars, putting the money on the table. Naturally, he professed to
regard my “raise” as a mere “bluff,” and asked his friend, Y——, to lend
him enough money to “see” me. Y—— rose from his chair, and, walking
around the table, looked at X——’s hand. Seeing a “full house,” with
jacks at the head, as against a smaller one, “nine full,” he willingly
loaned the money. With a tolerable simulation of tremulous excitement,
Mr. X—— contrived to display his cards. I promptly called for two cards,
discarding a like number, and received, as I knew I should, two queens,
thus securing “four of a kind,” which always wins against a “full.” The
reader who has perused the explanation of the fair game, as given above,
will, of course, perceive that in his intense anxiety to win a dishonest
$500, Mr. Y—— had overlooked my right to “draw,” although he was
satisfied that on the hand which he had seen me hold, I was morally
certain to be content with the cards which I had. Yet, cupidity often
over-reaches itself in a similar way.
Of course I won and pocketed the stakes, although, in justice to myself,
I may add that I divided my winnings fairly with Mr. X——, who received
exactly one-half of the money out of which his friend had been cheated.
If the inexperienced, unsophisticated reader will carefully peruse the
foregoing paragraphs, he will have but little difficulty in reaching the
conclusion that playing poker is about as hazardous as “encountering the
tiger in his lair.”
STUD POKER.
Another variety of poker in great favor among the gambling fraternity is
called “stud poker,” a stud poker table being now considered a necessary
adjunct to every first-class gambling house. The necessary outfit for
the game consists of checks, cards and a table large enough to seat 10
or 12 persons. Regular dealers are employed and usually four or five
“pluggers” (by which term are designated men who play for the house and
with money belonging to the proprietors). The game is very simple, and
any one acquainted with the value of draw poker can play, and lose his
money as easily and rapidly as he could possibly desire. The game may be
illustrated as follows: Suppose four persons, whom we will designate as
A, B, C and D, sit down to play. In some games, in fact usually, each
player puts up one check as an ante. This having been done, the dealer
deals the first card, face downward, to each player, beginning with the
one who sits immediately on his (the dealer’s) left; another card is
then dealt around with the face exposed, as must also be the other three
cards in case a hand of five is dealt. Let us suppose that A’s exposed
card is an ace, B’s a queen, C’s a nine spot, and D’s a ten. It is then
A’s first bet because he has the highest card in sight. He can wager any
amount he chooses, and the others can throw away their cards or “stay
in,” by putting up an equal stake to that of A’s. If B, C and D should
throw down their cards, the checks in the “pot” belong to A, and the
dealer shuffling, begins another deal. Should either B, C or D “see” A’s
bet or “raise” him, the dealer, deals off another card, face upward,
when the player who has the highest cards in sight, has another
opportunity to “pass” or bet, while the others have the choice of
throwing away their cards or “seeing” the bet, and so on until five
cards are dealt, when the players must guess at each other’s buried
card, or “hole card” as it is technically called.
Sometimes at stud poker an instrument known as “The Buck” is used. This
is employed where all the players do not “ante.” Any article may be used
for this purpose. Sometimes an ivory chip with a string running through
it; sometimes a circular piece of leather, its material and form are
unimportant. It passes in rotation, one to another, the player in front
of whom it is placed being required to “ante” a chip and receiving the
first card dealt. The game then proceeds as already described. The
chances for “crooked work” at this game are legion. In a word nearly
every fraudulent device employed in “draw” poker may be utilized in
“stud” poker. “Stocking,” “palming,” “holding out,” “false cuts,”
“paper,” “partnerships,” etc., etc., are just as useful in one case as
in the other.
INCIDENTS AND REMINISCENCES.
The vicissitudes of the life of a professional gambler are numerous and
shifting, and perhaps the ups and downs of a poker player’s career are
as varying as those which attend the checkered experience of any other
description of gambler.
I remember some rather startling experiences of my own in this
direction. I was once traveling in partnership with a man named Enyert.
At a town in Missouri we fell in with a mule-buyer named Brown. Enyert
was cursed with one of the most violent tempers that falls to the lot of
man. So also was Brown. Both of them were known as “dangerous” men, _i.
e._, ready with the pistol. I was dealing marked cards and my knowledge
of Brown’s character made me extremely nervous. I knew that if he
detected any cheating my life would be exacted as a forfeit. An expert
marked card player always needs his wits, and my nervousness prevented
me from using mine. On the other hand, I knew that if my partner
(Enyert) did not win he would accuse me of “throwing him off” to Brown,
_i. e._, of playing in collusion with the latter, in which case I was
quite as likely to be shot by him. To use a slang expression, I was too
badly “rattled” to be of any use as a dealer and brought the game to a
close as soon as possible.
This man Enyert shot the son of the Mayor of Ottumwa, familiarly known
as “Billy” Orr, and would, on one occasion, have carved up my anatomy
with a bowie knife, had I not dissuaded him by showing him the muzzle of
a six-chambered navy revolver. Brown’s son inherited his father’s
disposition. Having some trouble with his wife’s parents, he emptied
both barrels of a shotgun into them, killing Dr. Parish, his father-in-
law, and seriously wounding the Doctor’s wife. He was tried, convicted,
and sentenced to be hanged. His wife visited him in his cell and
contrived to convey to him, secretly, a dose of poison. They mutually
agreed to end their lives at an appointed time. The hour fixed fell in
the night preceding his execution. When it arrived the woman blew out
her brains with a pistol, but Brown lacked the physical courage to carry
out his part of the contract, and was publicly hanged on the following
day after making an impassioned appeal to the crowd in behalf of his
son. He and his devoted wife were buried in the same grave.
I was once playing marked cards with a Boston “drummer,” whose name need
not be mentioned. At the time I had a partner. I had instructed the
traveling man in the art of reading the cards by their backs and
proposed to him that I would “throw off” a “sucker” to him. He assented,
and I introduced my partner. We practised the same game which we had
worked together many times before. I began to “hold out” cards and did
it so clumsily that any one might detect it. My partner waxed furious at
the fraud and I was promptly “barred out,” leaving the drummer and my
confederate to play single handed, which was precisely what we wanted.
The commercial traveler rose from the table a loser to the amount of
$400. I condoled with him; and inasmuch as we were supposed to be acting
in unison probably I ought to have stood half the loss but I still owe
him my share.
One more narrative of my experience with marked cards, and I have done.
While traveling in partnership with a man named Sam Martin, whom I have
mentioned in my autobiography, we were going down the Mississippi in a
steamboat. Martin had placed a number of packs of marked cards with the
bar-keeper, with instructions to “ring them in,” that is, to sell them
to customers asking for playing cards. We wandered about the boat,
separately, looking for victims. At length I formed the acquaintance of
a tall, handsome man, who suggested a game of euchre for the cigars. We
had not played long when the stranger proposed poker for a small ante. I
said that I was not accustomed to playing for money, but that if he
would promise not to expose me if I lost I would chance a few dollars.
Martin was in the cabin waiting for me to give him a signal to approach.
On receiving it he drew near the table and I accosted him with: “Well,
stranger, will you join us in a game for a small ante?” He answered that
he would if my friend had no objections, although it was near his bed
time. We played a few games and quit losers. We knew that our “mark” was
going to Memphis, and that we would have an abundance of time in which
to win our money back. The next morning we resumed play. I lost fifty
dollars (which of course was won by Martin), and said that I would have
to withdraw from the game unless they would consent to place stakes
against a draft. [In those days I always traveled with a liberal supply
of worthless checks.] I left the table and Martin and the stranger (who
gave his name as Walton) played single-handed, which was precisely what
the former wanted. They were using the marked cards which my partner had
placed with the bar-keeper. It was not long before Martin had won all
the stranger’s money—some $800—besides a valuable gold watch and chain.
At the conclusion of the game the winner invited his dupe to take a
drink at the bar, which invitation was accepted. As they were drinking
Walton looked at Martin and said: “You are a very lucky man. I believe
that you might fall overboard without getting wet, and I certainly
should expect to see your body floating up stream. You have all my
money, and I don’t mind telling you, now, that I was cheating all the
time. I was ‘holding out’ and playing the ‘double discard’ from the
beginning, and I don’t see how you managed to come out ahead.” “Well,”
said Martin, “since you have been so frank I will be equally so. I am an
expert marked-card player, and each pack that we played with was one of
mine. I knew that you were cheating, but didn’t care. My ‘percentage’
was too strong for you. Here is your watch and chain and fifty dollars
for a ‘stake.’ But I can tell you right here that you won’t ever have
any show against an artist who can read your hand at sight, and remember
it.” And there is no doubt that “Sam” was right. Yet if an accomplished
card sharp like Walton can be thus taken in, even while practicing his
professional tricks, what possible chance remains to a greenhorn?
[Illustration: card game]
CHAPTER IV.
SHORT GAMES.
The name “short” games is applied among gamblers to those which require
comparatively little time in which to determine the issue of the hazard.
In the present chapter, those best known and most commonly played in
gaming houses will be described and the methods of trickery employed by
those who conduct them will be pointed out.
Chief among games of this description are “rouge et noir,” “roulette,”
“keno” and “rolling faro.” These will be taken up in the order
indicated.
----------
ROUGE ET NOIR.
As played in this country, this game differs materially from the mode of
playing in vogue on the continent of Europe. In foreign gaming
houses—particularly at the more famous resorts, such as Monte Carlo or
Baden-Baden—the game is probably conducted fairly. In other words, the
proprietors are satisfied with the revenue which they can derive from
the legitimate percentage which accrues in their favor under the
operation of the ordinary laws of chance. In this country, however, not
only is the method of play vastly simplified, but it has degenerated
into a mere scheme of robbery. The players are utterly at the mercy of
the manipulators of the machine.
[Illustration: rouge et noir layout]
The game is always played with the adjunct of a “lay-out,” which is
depicted in the accompanying cut. The outer line, as shown in the
illustration, represents the outer edge of the table, which is covered
with a green cloth. The middle line serves no special purpose, but adds
one more striking feature to the device. The inner line serves to mark
off that portion of the table on which are depicted the representation
of the four jacks found in every pack of cards. At the two ends of the
table and on the right hand side are blank spaces. Those at the ends are
colored—the one at the top red, the one at the bottom black. The space
on the right hand side is for the placing of wagers.
Any number of persons may play.
Bets may be made in either one of the four ways—on the red; on the
black; on either jack, or on any one of the four jacks. In the two cases
first mentioned the bettor places his wager on the color which he
selects. If he wishes to bet on any particular jack (that of hearts,
clubs, diamonds or spades), he lays his money on that one which he
chooses. If he prefers to bet that some jack (without indicating which)
will win, he lays his venture upon the blank space at the right hand
side of the table, as shown in the diagram.
If he bets on the winning color, the bank pays him an amount equal to
the sum staked, which latter, of course, he receives back. If he selects
a particular jack and the one on which he has placed his wager happens
to win, his stake is returned to him, together with an increment of ten
times the amount. If he places his wager on the blank space to the right
he is understood to have bet that some one of the four jacks will win,
and if his hazard prove successful, his gains are measured by a sum
twice that of his original bet.
The bets having all been made and placed, the play commences. The banker
places a full pack (fifty-two cards) in a dealing box, similar to those
used in playing “faro,” which have been already described, but with this
variation: In “faro” the cards are inserted and dealt face uppermost,
the opening being large enough to afford a clear view of the card; in
rouge et noir they are inserted and dealt face downward, and the
aperture in the box is only large enough to permit the dealer to run
them off readily with the index and second fingers of the left hand.
The first two cards, after being withdrawn from the box, are laid upon
the table, faces downward, and the third is turned over. This
constitutes a “run,” and the gains or losses of the players are
determined by the color (and sometimes the denomination) of the third
card. If it happens to be red the bank pays all bets placed on the space
at the upper end of the table, marked “red,” and gathers in all other
wagers placed upon the table. If it chance to be a jack, and any player
has placed his money on the representation of that particular jack upon
the “lay-out,” the fortunate individual wins ten times the amount which
he ventured. If a player has bet upon “jacks,” without naming any
particular one—placing his money in the space at the right hand side of
the table—and a jack of any suit is turned up, he is given, as his
winnings, double the amount of his wager.
On the other hand, if the bettor has laid his stake either upon “jacks”
or on any particular jack, and no jack turns up, he loses.
Even when fairly played, the chances in favor of the bank are large
enough to satisfy any banker whose greed for gain is not abnormal. But
as in all other games, the rapacious sharks who operate it are not
satisfied with even the most extraordinary percentage of chances. What
they seek is absolute certainty, and in the game of rouge et noir, as
conducted even in so-called “square” houses, they have contrived to
secure it.
In dealing the cards, resort is had to many of the same tortuous devices
which are employed in “faro,” an explanation of which may be found in
the chapter devoted to that game.
“Faked” boxes, similar in construction to those used in “faro,” are
employed, and the cards are “stripped” and “sanded” as in that game. The
“strippers,” however, are arranged on a somewhat different principle.
The red and black cards having been separated so that the pack shall be
divided into two lots, one-half being red and the other black, the
narrower ends of the two colors are placed opposite each other. The
dealer then takes the red cards in one hand and the black in the other.
Through long practice he is able to put the two packs of cards together
in such a way that a card of one color shall rest directly upon a card
of the opposite color all the way through the pack. The cards are then
pressed together, so that the entire pack shall lie, one card upon the
other. The reader will perceive that, owing to the use of the
“strippers,” the end of each card is a trifle narrower than the end of
the one directly above it. The manipulation of the pack in the box is
practiced in the same way as has been already explained under “faro.”
The result of this arrangement of cards is that the dealer knows
perfectly well the color of the card under his hand at any given moment.
If he considers it worth his while to change the color before exposing
the card to the view of the players, the “sanding” and “stripping” of
the cards, in connection with the “faked” box, enables him to draw two
cards instead of one through the aperture, thus reversing the run of the
colors.
The usual method in which bets are made upon this game is as follows:
A player having laid a wager on either the black or red, and having
lost, naturally supposes that if he suffers his money to lie upon the
table long enough, the color on which he has made his bet must win
before the entire pack shall have been run out of the box. Accordingly,
if he has a wager of one dollar on the black and the first run shows
that he has lost, he doubles his stake and awaits the result of the
second run. If he finds he has lost again, he doubles his stake once
more, and continues playing in this manner until the entire pack has
been run out of the box. If he is a loser when all the cards have been
dealt, he may, if he choose, continue to double his stake as long as his
funds will permit.
The reader can scarcely fail to perceive how soon this sort of play will
bankrupt the unsophisticated gamester. Every time he doubles his stake
he is offering the bank enormous odds. It requires a very short time,
for a bet of one dollar under such circumstances, to run up to a wager
of $128, $256, $512, etc. As a matter of fact, the player, under such
circumstances, is offering the bank odds amounting, sometimes $4,000 to
one. Thus, if a player starts in, with a wager of one dollar, and
continues to double it as he loses until he has risked $100,000 or more,
he is still actually betting that enormous sum that he will eventually
win the trifling sum of one dollar. If he should continue to play for
seventy-two consecutive hours on the same principle, and the doubling of
his stake run up into the millions, all that he could possibly hope to
win at the close of the play would be a dollar.
But there is another device known to the manipulators of this game which
is even a more bare-faced robbery than the use of “strippers” and
“faked” boxes. When a “soft mark” is playing at the table and has
repeatedly doubled his stake, and begins to see the bottom of the pile
of money which he has brought with him, he very frequently asks the
dealer how long he will be permitted this mode of play. The dealer,
after estimating in his own mind the amount of money which the dupe may
have in his possession, tells him that the doubling must quit on either
the second or third run. As soon as the proprietors are satisfied that
the unfortunate victim has staked his all, the dealer turns a jack, and
remarks that “this is the only percentage that the bank has,” whereupon
he at once gathers in the player’s entire stake without any sign of
shame or compunction of conscience. Should the player manifest any
unwillingness to continue doubling his wager, the banker informs him
that if he loses at the end, his money will be returned to him, less
five per cent. Relying upon this assurance, and always hoping that his
luck will turn, the poor fool keeps on, only to be confronted at the end
by the turning of a jack and to be assured that this entire venture has
been incontinently swept away.
“Steerers” or “ropers” are invariably employed by the proprietors of
this game. Their duty is to select victims and guide them into the
resort where this knavery is carried on. They are paid the usual
percentage allowed “cappers;” that is, forty-five per cent, of the
bank’s winnings from the dupe whom they may allure.
While a rouge et noir table is considered a necessary adjunct to the
outfit of every American gaming house, the game is not so popular in
this country as in Europe nor is the method of play precisely the same
in both continents. An explanation of the devices used in the old world
may be found in Part I.
ROULETTE.
[Illustration: roulette]
Roulette, as will be seen from the illustration, is played upon a table
in the form of an oblong square, covered with green cloth, at one end of
which is a round cavity, around the sides of which, equi-distant one
from the other, are arranged several metal bands—usually of
copper—which, commencing at the top, descend to the extremity of the
machine. The cavity is movable, and in its centre is a circular bottom
containing thirty-nine holes to which the bands are attached, and upon
which are painted, alternately, in black and red, thirty-six numbers,
running from 1 to 36, besides (0), a (00), and a picture of an eagle or
the word itself printed thereon. In the middle of the cavity, are three
or four little metal prongs, centering at “D,” which are used in
imparting a rotary motion to the bottom. The revolution of the ball is
checked by slender metal plates (indicated on the diagram by the letter
“B”) about two inches in length and rising about one-quarter of an inch
above the lower surface.
The remainder of the table is laid out as shown in the cut. The figures
are arranged in three columns, and above them in two divisions nearest
the Roulette wheel, are single and double 00 respectively. The figures
are painted black or red, to agree with the corresponding color of the
numbers on the wheel. At the head of each column there is a compartment
for placing a stake which is made on the column. On each side of the
foot of the columns of figures are three spaces, each of which contains
the number twelve. These are known, respectively, as the 1st, 2nd and
3rd twelves. Stakes placed on the first space are considered to be bets
on the numbers 1 to 12; the second space is for bets on numbers 13 to
24; the third space for numbers 25 to 36, all inclusive.
The space on either side of the entire length of the columns is divided
into three parts. The upper left hand division is for bets on numbers 1
to 18; the corresponding right hand division is for numbers 19 to 36.
The large division in the middle of the left hand side, lettered “B” in
the illustration, is for bets on the black; the similar one upon the
right, marked “R,” is for wagers on the red.
The lower division on the left hand is for bets on even numbers; the
division opposite on the right is for odd numbers.
There is a banker and several assistants; an unlimited number of persons
may play.
One of the assistants sets the machine in motion, at the same instant
throwing an ivory ball into the cavity in the opposite direction to the
movement which he has given to the movable bottom. The ball makes
several revolutions with great rapidity until its momentum being
exhausted, it falls into one of the thirty-nine holes formed by the
copper bands. It is the hole into which the ball falls that determines
the gain or loss of the numerous chances which this game affords to
players.
If the reader will examine the cut showing the lay-out, he will perceive
that there are numerous chances to be played for: Single and double (0);
the “eagle;” black and red; the three columns; the first and last half
of the numbers, respectively, consists of 1 to 18, and 19 to 36
inclusive; the three 12’s, consist of 1 to 12, 13 to 24 and 25 to 36;
odds and even; and lastly, the numbers, either single or in small
groups.
Stakes bet on black or red; the first or last half of the numbers; also
on odd and even, are called single stakes. Stakes on either of the three
12’s, or on either of the three columns, win double the amount. Stakes
on any single number, or on either of the (0’s), or the eagle, are paid
thirty-five times their amount if they are successful.
Bets may be made on groups of not over six consecutive numbers, and win
as many times the amount of the stakes as the grouping is contained in
thirty-four, omitting all fractions; so that a bet on any four
designated consecutive numbers would win eight times the amount of the
stake, provided any one of these numbers comes out.
It has already been stated that the space occupied by thirty-six numbers
are all either red or black; and as the numbers are equally divided
between the colors eighteen to each, a stake on either color is a single
bet. The 0’s and the eagle are painted green, and if a zero or eagle
turns up, bets on either black or red are lost by the players.
It is only of late years that the majority of roulette wheels contain a
picture of an eagle, a similar picture being painted upon the cloth.
Bets on the eagle, if won by the player, are paid in the ratio of 35 to
1.
The legitimate percentage of chances in favor of the bank in this game
is enormous. Out of thirty nine chances, the bank runs eighteen of
losing and has twenty-one of winning, or three additional chances in its
favor, which is equivalent to fully 5½ per cent. in favor of the bank in
all cases, even where a bet is placed upon either of the zeros or the
eagle. In the latter case, the bet on either zero or on the eagle is
paid 35 to 1, the same as on any single number.
Here the bank has thirty-five chances out of thirty-nine of winning, and
only one of losing, or four more chances in its favor than the payments
warrant, thus yielding the same 5½ per cent.
It follows that the odds against the players in the various chances may
be expressed as follows:
Upon a single number, 37 to 1
Upon any twelve numbers, 13 to 6
Upon two numbers, 18 to 1
Upon three numbers, 11⅔ to 1
Upon four numbers, 17 to 2
Upon six numbers, 16 to 3
Upon odd or even, red or 10 to 9
black,
In the case of a bet on the first or last eighteen numbers, the odds are
ten to nine, the same as on odd or even, or red or black.
When, however, a stake is laid on all the numbers, and the bank only
pays the winner thirty-five times his stake, it clears four; thus,
supposing thirty-nine dollars to be a stake, and that the ball is thrown
twice in a minute, the gain of the bank, without incurring the slightest
risk, would be eight dollars per minute, or $480 per hour. Although, in
whatever way a player may bet, the chances are always in favor of the
bank, still the latter’s risk varies in proportion to the number of
chances which are not filled up. To illustrate, if only ten numbers are
filled, and the ball were to enter one of them, the bank would, in that
case, lose thirty-four dollars, and only win eight; whereas, when all
the numbers are filled, it wins four without risking a cent.
From what has been said, as to the chances in favor of the bank, it
would seem to be hardly necessary to use any additional means of
swindling, inasmuch as the percentage in its favor is so large that the
game is very seldom beaten, even if “played on the square.” An old
gambler once remarked in my presence, that the percentage of the game
was forty per cent. worse than stealing. However, despite this fact, the
gambler is not satisfied, and has succeeded in devising schemes, whereby
he may win every bet made against him, if he sees fit.
The first method of cheating which I will describe, is as follows: The
roulette is manufactured for the purpose, the machinery being entirely
concealed from view. The gambler who manages the game can cause the ball
(A) to fall in a red or black number, as he may think proper. After
throwing the ball he watches it closely, and if it should fall in the
red, when he wished it to go into the black, while still revolving, its
course can be quickly changed to the desired color. This is accomplished
by means of a lever attached to the circular wheel, and connecting with
one of the legs of the roulette. This leg has the same appearance as
others, but is a trifle shorter, not quite touching the table on which
the roulette rests. The gambler has only to touch this leg while the
wheel is revolving, and in a second the ball is changed from one color
to another, as he may prefer. In fact, so quickly can the ball be
changed, that it is difficult to detect the motion after one has been
shown how it is managed, unless the wheel is turned slowly. This is one
of the most ingenious contrivances in use.
There is yet another kind of roulette, which is made in the following
manner: One-half of the small pieces of metal which form the pockets for
the ball are made a trifle longer than the others, lettered on the
diagram E E E. After the stakes have been placed, if the proprietor
wishes the ball to fall in a red color, it is necessary for him merely
to throw the ball around to the right hand, and if he wishes it to fall
in the black, he casts the ball toward the left. The players may observe
that he throws the ball in a different direction on different occasions,
but the action appears to be so trivial that it excites no suspicion.
Another fraudulent contrivance used in playing this game consists in the
gambler’s having two centers to a wheel, apparently identical, one of
which, however, is “square” and the other “faked.” This device is known
to the members of “the profession” as the “double center.” The “square”
wheel is used at first, and, at an opportune moment, the “fake” is
substituted, after which the sharper has everything his own way. This
wheel is operated on very much the same principle as the “needle wheel,”
for the construction of which the reader is referred to the chapter
containing a description of that device. A system of levers radiating
from the centre of the apparatus is operated by a rod terminating at the
edge of the table. By bringing to bear the requisite pressure, these
levers cause fine needle points (lettered C C C on the diagram) to rise
through the cloth, one coming up in front of each alternate compartment
on the rim, thus obstructing the entry of the ball and causing its
course to be so changed that it shall fall into one of the next adjacent
divisions, as in the case of the “needle wheel” above referred to.
It is easily perceived that the players can have no possible chance when
playing against such roulettes as these, and there is a large number of
them in use all over the country.
KENO.
This game is a favorite one with nearly all non-professional gamblers,
not only because the risk of loss involved is not large, but also
because of the popular impression that it is always played “on the
square.” As a matter of fact, it usually is conducted fairly, although,
as will be explained, sometimes bare-faced swindling is resorted to by
the proprietors.
[Illustration: keno]
The game very closely resembles the children’s pastime of “lotto.” Any
number of persons may play. Each one desiring to participate in the game
buys a card on which are three horizontal rows of five numbers each,
arranged altogether without regularity. The price paid for a card is
commonly twenty-five cents, although sometimes the stakes are
considerably higher. None of the cards contain a higher number than
ninety-nine. The conductor of the game—who is known as the
“roller”—takes his position, usually upon a raised platform, in full
view of the players. Before him is placed a globe containing ninety-nine
balls, numbered consecutively from one to ninety-nine, to correspond
with the figures on the players’ cards. The balls having been thoroughly
mixed, the “roller” presses a spring at the bottom of the globe, opening
an aperture just large enough to permit one ball to drop at a time. As
soon as the first one has fallen, the aperture is closed and the
“roller,” in a loud voice, calls out the number inscribed upon it. If a
player finds the number in either of the three horizontal rows on his
card he places a button over it. When any player has all five, numbers
in any one of his rows thus called out, he exclaims “keno,” after which
the “roller” takes no more balls from the globe. His card is then
inspected by one of the “collectors”—of whom there are usually two—and
if his tally is correct he is given the entire amount of money paid by
all the players (which is called “the pot”) less a discount of fifteen
per cent., which is retained by “the house” as its “percentage.” Thus,
if there are a hundred players, each of whom has paid twenty-five cents
for a card, the winner receives twenty-one dollars and twenty-five
cents, the bank reserving to itself three dollars and seventy-five cents
as “percentage.”
Matters having been thus arranged, fresh stakes are advanced by those
wishing to play again, the balls put in the globe and the game is
resumed.
It may be readily seen that the “bank” incurs no risk whatever, and its
sure percentage on the stakes is large enough to satisfy the cupidity of
most gamblers. Fortunes have been won by the proprietors of these games,
one concern alone in St. Louis having made $190,000 thereby. Still, the
instinct to cheat is strong in the breast of the professional sharper;
and sometimes a confederate of the proprietor plays in the game and wins
the “pot,” through the co-operation of the “roller.” The latter
withholds from the globe several balls, which he substitutes, from time
to time, for the ones which he should have taken from the globe. The
numbers on these withheld and substituted balls correspond to those
necessary to fill out one of the horizontal rows on the confederate’s
card and the latter is thus enabled to win through fraud.
ROLLING FARO.
This game is similar in its general principles to those of the “squeeze
spindle,” “needle wheel,” and “corona,” which have already been
described. It is a favorite game upon fair-grounds, as are the others,
but it is frequently found in resorts which are known as “first-class”
gambling houses. There is scarcely a “hell” in the city of Chicago in
which this apparatus cannot be found. This circumstance, in itself,
affords a striking commentary upon the principles which underlie the
management of what the uninitiated are wont to call “square houses.”
[Illustration: rolling faro]
The accompanying cut shows the device used in playing the game, not only
as it appears to the outsider, but also with the “fake” element exposed.
A circular ring of wood, about three inches broad, is attached to a
square board which is placed upon a table. At four points in the ring,
equi-distant from each other, are the painted representations of four
jacks. Between each pair of jacks are eight blank spaces, each one of
which is usually numbered, the numbers running from one to thirty-two,
consecutively. Sometimes ordinary playing cards are substituted for the
numbers. Each of the four blocks of numbers is painted a distinct and
separate color. In the centre of the inner circle is placed a metal
arrow, having a pointed quill attached to the smaller end, the whole
swinging upon a central pivot. Prices are placed at intervals upon the
numbered squares. When the game is played at gambling houses, the only
prizes offered are sums of money, varying in amount, and between these
the numbers are left blank. When the device is operated upon a fair-
ground, there are no blanks, articles of jewelry of trifling value being
placed between the money prizes.
The mode of play is usually different upon fair-grounds from that which
is followed in the regular gaming houses. In the former case, players
pay twenty-five cents each for the privilege of swinging the arrow, and
take the prize opposite the quill point when it stops revolving. At
regular gaming houses players place their stakes upon whatever number or
color they may select, and if they win the bank pays them the amount due
them. The bets may be made either upon any one of the four jacks or on
either of the four colors. If the player stakes his money upon a jack
and wins, the proprietor pays him ten times the amount of his stake. If
he lays his wager upon any given color,—if he is playing upon a fair-
ground,—he receives simply his original stake, together with an equal
sum. If, however, he is playing in a house, and names the lucky color,
he receives two for one.
The chances having been bought or the bets laid, some one—either one of
the players, or the proprietor, or a bystander—sets the arrow in motion.
When the pointer comes to rest, if any player has laid his bet upon the
number at which it stops, he receives either the prize thereon placed or
the amount of his winnings in cash.
The “fake” element, as has been said, is shown in the illustration.
There is a wire rod running from points B and C to the central pivot. As
in the “squeeze spindle,” they are sunk into the table and concealed by
the cloth covering. That which runs to point B is manipulated by
pressure with the hand; that which terminates at point C is operated by
pressure from the hip. When the operator pushes against either of these
rods, he checks the revolution of the arrow by creating friction at the
pivot, and brings the pointer to a standstill at any part of the circle
which he may desire.
Very little reflection is necessary to show the reader how great is the
legitimate percentage in favor of the bank, even were this game played
without any resort to trickery. There are four colors and four jacks
upon which a player may bet. It follows that the odds are seven to one
in favor of the house against any individual player naming the winning
color or card. And when to this percentage against the players there is
added the absolute certainty of winning which the bank gains through the
operation of the fraudulent device above explained, it is apparent that
no one can possibly win except through the consent of the proprietor of
the machine.
A rather striking illustration of the utter lack of good faith which
characterizes gamblers in their dealings with one another, and their
general moral perversity is furnished in the following narrative, for
the truth of which the author vouches. Two itinerant sharpers, each with
a rolling faro outfit were traveling on a Missouri river steamboat. The
year was 18—, and the season was autumn, when county fairs were at full
blast and men of that ilk were reaping a rich harvest. Both men were
destined for the same point, and each had been anxious to secure a
monopoly of the “privilege” of running his machine at the fair in
question. One of them discovered that his business rival had forestalled
him, and that—to use a colloquialism—“his cake was dough.” The gambler
who had succeeded in obtaining his license retired early, serenely
confident that the following day would witness not only the discomfiture
of his rival but also his own success. But he had reckoned without his
host. Scarcely had he fallen asleep before the form of his wily
antagonist might have been seen prowling among the freight upon the main
deck. Stealthily he moved in and out among the piles of stuff until he
discovered the wheel of the licensed monopolist. Then followed a dull,
grating sound, as of some one drawing a heavy box across a floor; then
came a sudden splash, and to this succeeded silence. The gambling
machine of the enterprising gamester who had secured the license, had
sunk beneath the waters of the Mississippi, to be seen no more by mortal
eyes. The next morning there was a brief season of pandemonium. The
situation, however, was simple. There was but one fair, one license and
one outfit, yet there were two gamblers. One of them had a license, but
no paraphernalia; the other had paraphernalia, but no license. There was
but one solution; the two found themselves compelled to “pool their
issues.” In other words, the man who had thrown his rival’s wheel
overboard forced the man who had owned it to divide his profits with him
in consideration of being permitted to use the only wheel available.
The author was himself present at the fair where these two men operated
the wheel to which reference has been made. On the way back a fearful
scene was witnessed. A quarrel over “privileges” had arisen on the
grounds and was continued on the boat. A gambler familiarly known as
“Curley” the hog driver, a bulldozer, when heated by passion and liquor,
was raising a terrible disturbance when another sporting man, Sherman
Thirston, interfered to restrain him from mischief. “Curley” drew his
revolver and fired three shots at Thirston, one breaking a spittoon
which he held in front of him, and one grazing Lone Wolf’s forehead.
Thirston advanced upon “Curley” and disarmed him.
HIGH BALL POKER.
This game derives its name from the fact that balls are used instead of
cards, and that bets may be “raised” as in poker. In fact, “bluff” is
resorted to in both games in about the same ratio. The method of play is
exceedingly simple. All that is necessary is a cloth-covered table
(usually about six feet long by three and one-half feet broad), a
leather bottle, one hundred wooden or ivory balls, numbered from one to
one hundred consecutively, and some “chips.” The latter are sold to the
players by the proprietor at five or ten cents each. Those wishing to
indulge in the game put down their “ante,” as in straight or draw poker.
The “ante” is usually one chip. The person conducting the game then
takes the bottle, in which the balls have been placed, in his hand, and
throws them from its open mouth, one to each player. The latter then
examine the little spheres which they have received and either forfeit
the chips which they have already laid down or make their bets in the
same manner as in playing poker. Precisely the same tactics are employed
in both games. When the “call” is made the player holding the ball on
which is inscribed the highest number wins the bet, by which is meant
all the stakes which have been placed upon the table.
This is a favorite game in many gambling houses, especially those of an
inferior class. The “house” always takes a percentage, or “rake-off,” as
it is frequently called. This percentage consists of either one or two
chips, as may be agreed upon. It follows that the proprietors run no
risk, being absolutely certain of winning something each time that the
balls are thrown. In “skin” gambling houses, however, the owners are not
content with this percentage of profit. A “capper” is called into the
game, who usually sits at the end of the table toward the banker’s left
hand. The latter finds it necessary to be very cautious in collecting
the balls from the players, lest some one who had received a high number
might withhold it in order to bet upon it on the next throw.
Accordingly, he examines each ball as it is returned to him. This
affords him ample opportunity for holding out some high number in his
hand, which he throws to his confederate the next time, thereby enabling
him to bet with approximate certainty of winning everything in sight.
These cappers are commonly known as “pluggers,” and are paid a stated
_per diem_, being looked upon as regular employes.
CHAPTER V.
VARIOUS CARD GAMES.
“SEVEN UP,” OR “OLD SLEDGE.”
The game, sometimes called Old Sledge and Seven-Up, is played with a
full pack of fifty-two cards, which take rank as at Whist—the Ace being
the highest and the Deuce the lowest.
The players cut for deal. The dealer then gives six cards to each
player, three at a time, and turns up the thirteenth, if there be two
players, and the twenty-fifth if there be four. The turn-up is the
trump.
The non-dealer then looks at his hand, and determines whether he will
hold it for play, or beg. If he is satisfied with his hand, he says, “I
stand;” but if he is not satisfied with his cards, he says, “I beg,” in
which case the dealer must either suffer his adversary to score one
point, saying, “Take one,” or give each three more cards from the pack,
and then turn up the next card, the seventh, for trumps; if however, the
trump turned up be of the same suit as the first, the dealer must go on,
giving each three cards more, and turning up the seventh, until a change
of suit for turn-up takes place.
After these preliminaries have been settled, if two only are playing,
the non-dealer leads a card, and the dealer plays a card to it; these
two cards constitute a trick.
The player who plays the highest card of the suit led, or trumps, wins
the trick, and has the next lead. The play proceeds in this way until
all the tricks are played.
Each player must follow suit, if he can, unless he chooses to trump.
The points that may be scored are herewith given in their order of
precedence.
High.—The highest trump out; the holder scores one point.
Low.—The lowest trump out; the original holder scores one point, even if
it be taken by his adversary.
Jack.—The Knave of trumps. The winner of the trick containing it scores
one point.
When the Jack is turned up for trump, it counts one point for the
dealer, and in that case takes precedence of every other point in the
score.
_Game._—The greatest number that in the tricks gained, can be shown by
either party; reckoning for
Each Ace four towards game.
” King three ” ”
” Queen two ” ”
” Jack one ” ”
” Ten ten ” ”
The other cards do not count towards game; thus it may happen that a
deal may be played without either party having any score for game, by
reason of holding neither face cards nor tens.
When the players hold equal numbers, the dealer’s hand scores the point
for game.
One card may count all “fours;” for example, the oldest hand holds only
the jack of the trump suit, and stands his game, the dealer, having
neither trump, ten, ace nor court card, it will follow that the jack
will be at once high, low, jack and game.
The game consists of seven points, and the player who first scores that
number wins the game. If the non-dealer is dissatisfied with his hand,
he may “beg,” _i. e._, ask the dealer to “give” him one point on his
score. If the latter refuse, he must “run the cards,” by which is meant,
turn down the trump, deal three cards each to his antagonist and
himself, and turn another card. If the latter happen to be of the same
suit as that previously turned, it is turned over, and the “running for
trumps” is continued until some card of a different suit is turned.
In four-handed Seven-up the parties usually decide who shall be partners
by cutting the cards, the two highest and the two lowest playing
together. The four players divide themselves into two sets, each player
sitting opposite his partner, as at whist. The first deal is decided by
cutting the cards, the highest cut having the deal, but afterward it is
taken by each player in rotation.
The _dealer_ and the player on his _left only_ are permitted to look at
their cards, previous to the latter deciding upon his hand, and in case
he begs, the other parties must not raise their cards until the dealer
announces whether he will “give one” or “run the cards” for another
trump.
There can be little question but that the popular game of seven-up had
its origin in the United States, although whether in the East or West is
a question, the answer to which is shrouded in obscurity.
Half a century ago the wild frontiersman of Indiana and Illinois were
accustomed to while away their nights by playing “High, Low, Jack,” with
a greasy pack of cards, upon the head of a whiskey barrel, never
quitting the game until they had consumed the contents of the barrel.
Fully as long ago the stalwart lumbermen of Maine sat down upon
improvised seats in the pine woods, and devoted Sunday to the same
amusement. In these early days the game was, if anything, more popular
than at present, for the reason that fewer games of cards were known to
the great masses of players.
Occasionally matches, which might nowadays be euphoniously designated as
tournaments, were held. In the simple language of those times they were
generally referred to as “bouts a keards.” It is probable that even then
more or less fraud was practiced by the players, since deception seems
to have been a prominent characteristic of the human family since the
days of the “fall,” and when cards are played for money the temptation
to cheat seems to be, to a certain class of men, irresistible. “Wet
groceries” were the favorite stakes of the rough Western farmers and the
Eastern lumbermen, yet play was not confined to these. Money earned by
long and patient toil of the hardest sort was piled upon barrel heads or
laid upon the ground, and it is doubtful whether the losers bore their
losses with any more equanimity than do the same class of players to-
day. But it has remained for the blackleg of these latter days to
introduce into the game those finer arts such as the “half stock” and
the “whole stock,” by means of which the unwary are entrapped and the
gullible fleeced. To the untutored minds of the early players to whom
reference has been made, the idea of reading the cards by the back would
have seemed an utter absurdity; but it is true that the farmers and
lumbermen have since grown wiser, through no little bitter experience.
The result has been that the gamblers do not as easily find victims to-
day as they did twenty-five or thirty years ago. This very circumstance
shows the benefit effected by the knowledge, and it is the mission of
this work to spread broadcast throughout the land such knowledge that he
who may be swindled through such artifices as herein described, has only
himself to blame for his folly. Infatuation and ignorance have but a
poor show of success in a contest with chicanery and skill.
Some of the most common, and at the same time most effective
descriptions of fraud practiced in this game will next be concisely
described.
“STRIPPERS.”
In preparing “strippers,” to be used in seven-up, the blacklegs elects
either three aces or three jacks, which he leaves in the same condition
as that in which they came from the manufacturer. The remainder of the
pack he slightly trims down. In using a pack thus prepared the cheat
takes advantage of his antagonist’s deal by drawing out these three
cards from the pack by their sides, instead of giving the deck a fair,
honest cut. Having drawn them out he throws them upon the top, and as a
matter of course receives them as his own first three cards. If he has
the deal himself he “strips” them, that is draws them out of the pack by
the sides, places them on top and throws three cards over them. If his
adversary has cut the pack, the gambler “shifts” the cut, as described
in the chapter relative to poker. Of course his antagonist now receives
the three cards which were thrown on top of the pack, while the sharper
receives the three aces or jacks.
“BRIEFS.”
The same “brief” is employed in seven-up as in poker. It consists of one
wide card which is drawn out and placed on top of the three
cards,—usually an ace, deuce or jack—which have been previously arranged
together. The object in using this card, as in poker, is to enable their
sharper to cut the pack in such a way as to uncover the prepared hand.
It may be remarked concerning both “stripper” and “briefs” that their
employment is usually more easy of detection than “stocking,” when
practiced by an expert, and for this reason they are not favorite
devices with most of the profession in playing short games, unless their
antagonist be particularly verdant.
HALF STOCK.
In this arrangement of the pack the gambler, having first selected a
card of any suit, places above it three others of the same suit. It is a
common practice to select the high (ace) the low (deuce) and the jack;
above these three others are placed. In shuffling the dealer is careful
not to disturb the seven cards thus arranged. Having completed his
shuffle, he offers them to be cut. After the cut he deals, as he should
do, from the remainder of the pack and leaves the cut lying upon the
board. The trump is fairly turned, but as he exposes it the sharper
throws it to one side; he then picks up the cut with his right hand and
places it on top of the remainder of the pack. His antagonist, being
engaged in looking at his hand, naturally fails to observe the order in
which the two halves of the pack are put together. The advantage of this
maneuver is that if his adversary “begs” the dealer runs off to him the
three top cards which he had previously placed together and which, of
course, lie on top of the cut, which is now uppermost in the deck. He
himself receives the three best cards (perhaps the ace, deuce and jack)
of the same suit, which, as we have seen, laid beneath the three upper
cards; he then turns a new trump, the seventh card, which, it will be
remembered, was also of the same suit. He now holds the high, low and
jack of the new trump suit and is naturally in a far better position
than his antagonist. Of course the half stock is comparatively valueless
unless his opponent begs. But in the course of a rubber the latter is
reasonably certain to do this often enough to entail a serious loss upon
himself.
THE WHOLE STOCK.
In a case where the cards have been stocked on the system of the “whole
stock,” it makes not the slightest difference to the sharper whether his
adversary beg or not.
The blackleg who intends to employ this artifice is careful to attempt
it only when there have been but twelve cards dealt from the pack on any
particular hand, for example, when he himself has “stood” on his
antagonist’s deal. In picking up the twelve cards from the table he
selects four cards of some one suit, of course taking care to choose the
highest four which have been played during that hand. Over these four
cards he places the remaining eight, above these again a thirteenth card
of the same suit, which he takes from the pack. Of course, at this
moment the faces of the cards are uppermost. By placing the thirteen
arranged cards on the bottom and turning the pack over in order to
shuffle, the former are brought to the top. In shuffling he takes great
care not to disarrange the prepared thirteen. When his antagonist has
cut, the sharper “shifts” the cut, as in poker, thus restoring the cards
to their original position. The result is, that in dealing, the last
three cards of the original twelve will necessarily fall to himself, and
they will of course be of the same suit as the trump card turned.
CRIMPING.
Crimping in all games is practiced on substantially the same principle.
In seven-up the dishonest gamester “crimps,” or bends down, one or
more—even three high cards. Of course it is an artifice which can prove
of advantage to the operator only on his adversary’s deal, in which case
he cuts down to the “crimped” cards, the location of which is perceived
by the bent card slightly raising those above it, from those below. If
only a single ace be crimped, the result is a very heavy percentage of
odds in favor of the sharper.
MARKING THE EDGES.
The object of marking the edges of the cards is practically the same as
that of crimping; that is, to enable the blackleg to cut down to any
desired card. The edges of the ace or jacks, or possibly of both, are
very carefully marked with India ink. Cards thus prepared are useful to
the cheat only on his opponent’s deal; but in the latter case he is
invariably able to cut the pack in such a way that he will himself
receive one of the cards thus marked.
THE HIGH HAND.
There are two “high hands” in Seven-up, one called the “long hand,” the
other the “short hand.” To run up a “long hand” requires more time than
can usually be obtained by making a seemingly fair deal or turning up a
jack or ten-spot. However, thousands of dollars have been won on this
game, as the major hand seems to a tyro a perfectly sure hand for four
points—the fact being that it is a “sure thing” _the other way_.
The “long hand” is a device to which professional gamblers frequently
resort, and which often proves highly successful. It is introduced at a
stage of the game where the pack has been “run off” to an extent
sufficient to give each player nine cards. Of course, the perpetration
of the trick presupposes that the pack has been carefully “stocked.” The
player who is to be victimized is given the four court cards, ten-spot
and deuce of some suit, _e. g._, of spades, together with the kings of
the three other suits. The gambler has dealt himself six of the
remaining spades, and the aces of hearts, diamonds and clubs. He then
turns a spade—let us say the nine spot.
The reader who has mastered the explanation of the game already given,
will comprehend that the dupe is certain of winning three points—the
high, low and jack, and with six trumps and three kings of outside suits
his chances of making “game” are apparently excellent. He is, therefore,
easily induced, even if he does not himself offer, to bet that he will
score four points. Now, mark the issue. The “sucker” inevitably makes
his “high, low and jack,” but when the count is made for game he finds
his reckoning to be 20 (ace 4, king 3, queen 2, jack 1, and ten-spot
10), to his adversary’s 21 (three aces 12, three kings 9, making 21),
the result being the loss of his stake.
The “short hand” at “Seven-up” is a trick to which gamblers resort at
the stage of the game when the score stands 6 to 5 in favor of the
“sucker” and the “professional” has the deal. Six cards having been
dealt to each player, the cheat turns up, let us say, a heart, although
the particular suit is altogether immaterial, provided the pack has been
properly “stocked.” When the greenhorn picks up his cards, he finds he
has the aces of the three other suits. Of course, if he is an average
player he “begs,” _i. e._, asks his adversary to “give” him one point.
Inasmuch as such a “gift” would make his score seven, and decide the
game in his favor, the gamester refuses. The only course remaining is to
“run for a new trump.” The dupe now feels perfectly sure of winning the
game. He knows that the ace is necessarily “high,” which point counts
first in determining who wins the game; and inasmuch as he is aware that
either hearts, diamonds or clubs must next be the trump, and he holds
the ace of each of these three suits, he “bets his pile” in serene
confidence that he will win. And now comes in the “fine work” of the
sharper. He takes the deck and “runs off” six cards; he then turns up
the seventh, which is always a jack of the suit originally turned, thus
adding one to his own tally, and making the score stand 6 to 6. As the
rules forbid the same suit being trump, he has to “run” again. Once more
the seventh card is turned; another jack (of course of another suit) is
exposed: the gambler scores another point for “turning jack,” thus
making his account seven and winning the game, leaving the unlucky
“sucker” to lament the cruel fate which so effectually prevented him
from scoring “high” on either of his three utterly worthless aces.
HOLDING OUT.
It is unnecessary to enter into any detailed description of this method
of fraud as practiced in seven-up, for the reason that it has been
already fully explained in treating of poker. The most common means of
practicing this cheat is the employment of the “bug.”
It is, however, for two objects; first to secrete an ace, ten, jack or
deuce with a view to their further use, and, secondly as a means by
which the sharper may deal to himself seven cards. This latter purpose,
and the method by which it is achieved may be worth describing.
On the second run of the deal, the blackleg gives himself four cards
instead of three. He then takes out some low card of his strongest suit,
places it on top of his cards and his hand on the table. If his
adversary stands, he discards some one of his seven cards into the
“bug,” thus leaving the proper number in his hand. If on the other hand
his antagonist begs, he runs off the desired cards and picking up his
own, raises the three last received, on the one which he had previously
placed upon the top of his original hand, then exclaims that he has
dealt himself four cards instead of three and that the bottom card must
be the trump. He thereupon turns over the card of his strongest suit and
places it on the top of the deck as the trump, leaving his hand with
only the proper number of cards.
MARKED CARDS.
Marked cards are often used by professionals in playing seven-up, but
the blacklegs do not find them of nearly as great advantage as in many
other games. The description of the manner in which they are prepared
has already been given in the chapter on poker and need not be here
repeated.
TURNING JACK FROM THE BOTTOM.
This is a very common custom with professional gamblers, who, through
long practice, have acquired a manual dexterity which virtually defies
detection. The first step of the sharper is to place a jack at the
bottom of the pack, leaving it in that position while he deals. If his
adversary cuts, the cheat “shifts the cut,” in the same manner as at
poker, restoring the cards to their original position. Then, after
dealing, he places his hands over the deck, in such a way as to conceal
it from view. Then, grasping the pack by its outer edge with his right
hand, he turns it over on the jack, simultaneously drawing the latter
toward the inside, with his left hand, so that it may meet the other
cards as they turn over. He all the time imparts a slight upward
movement to the pack, which he finally drops upon the table.
Of course, as above explained, by “turning up jack” the dealer scores
one. If, now, his opponent begs, the gambler takes occasion
surreptitiously to observe the suit of the bottom card. If it happens to
be the same as the strongest suit in his own hand, he repeats the trick,
turning it for trump, thereby practically placing himself in a position
where the chances for winning decidedly preponderate in his favor.
The sharper very commonly selects as the moment for using this
stratagem, that period of the game when the score stands six to six,
thus scoring the single point necessary to enable him to win.
WHIST.
Whist is too tedious a game for the professional gambler; it is
peculiarly a game of skill, and therefore less adapted to cheating
purposes, than are many others, the issue of which depends more upon
chance. At one time both long and short whist were very popular at
evening parties, but neither of them was ever a general game for money
in this country, and even as a pastime Euchre has far surpassed it in
public favor.
Still, trickery may be employed with telling effect, and the
professional blackleg brings his ill-directed skill to bear upon it in a
variety of ways.
The chief advantage to be obtained by the deal is with a “second,” and
the gambler who is sufficiently dexterous to give the aces, kings and
queens to himself and his partner can make the “odd trick” every time he
deals.
“Signing up” between partners is also an essential element in fraudulent
whist playing. For although each confederate has a general knowledge of
the contents of his partner’s hand, yet there are critical periods in
the game, especially when one of the two holds uncertain cards, when
“signing up” is of great value in determining the event with absolute
certainty. This secret telegraphy is arranged beforehand between the
pair of swindlers, the signals for “suit” and “size” being mutually
agreed upon; and where the understanding is perfect the defeat of any
honest players with whom they may be contending, is a moral certainty.
“” ‘’ Another favorite device of card sharpers is to “ring in a cold
deck,” by which is meant the substitution of a pack of cards having
precisely similar backs as those used in the game, but which have been
previously so arranged that while the greenhorns shall receive excellent
hands, it is a matter of utter impossibility for them to score the odd
trick. The substitution having been effected, one of the swindlers
contrives some excuse for not looking at his hand until after his
antagonists shall have examined theirs. Perhaps he lights a cigar,
protesting that it will not “draw.” After the dupes have seen their
cards, he proposes a wager—“just to make it interesting”—that he and his
partner will win the odd trick. He adds that he will bet on his hand
“unsight, unseen.” The honest player usually protests that he has looked
at his cards already. “O, well,” says the blackleg; “never mind that.
I’m in for a ‘spec,’ and if you want a little ‘go,’ I’m your man for
twenty or so.” At this point, the moral (?) companion of the sharper
interferes with a protest. He doesn’t believe in betting on a friendly
game; money is not so easily made that it can be thrown away, etc., etc.
But this is so artfully said as to stimulate rather than to check the
greenhorn’s desire to bet. A little more conversation almost invariably
results in the making of a wager, the limit of which is determined by
the purse and the verdancy of the victim. The stakes having been placed
the game proceeds. The inevitable result follows: The “suckers” win the
first six tricks and the sharpers the last seven and the money. The
original pack had been put out of sight and the dupes rarely discover
the manner in which they have been swindled, even if they suspect that
any fraud whatever has been practised.
To illustrate the manner in which a pack of cards has been prepared for
this purpose, let us suppose a party seated at the whist table. A, a
sharper, deals to B, his verdant antagonist, the ace, king, queen,
knave, ten and nine of hearts, which we will assume to be trumps; the
ace, king, queen and knave of clubs; and the ace, king and queen of
spades; the hand being, of course, void of diamonds. Every whist player
would recognize this as an exceedingly strong, if not an impregnable,
hand. But observe what A gives himself and his partner; the eight,
seven, six, five, four, three and deuce of trumps, and of the rest of
the pack, it is a matter of indifference. Now, mark the result. B leads
off with his trumps, of which he has six; A follows suit every time,
having seven; next B leads his ace of spades, which A takes with his
remaining trump. The lead being now with the latter, he plays his six
diamonds, each one of which, of course, takes a trick, the blackleg thus
securing the odd trick. In considering a trick of this kind, the average
man is at a loss whether to admire its ingenuity or condemn its
rascality.
CASINO.
This is one of the games of cards usually first taught to children and
commonly considered too simple to interest matured minds. As a matter of
fact, to play it successfully requires an exercise of memory second only
to that necessary in playing at Whist.
It is not a favorite with gamblers for the reason that it presents
comparatively few opportunities of using the advantages so dear to the
heart of the blackleg. At the same time “eminent professionals” have
been known to win $1,000 on a single game, and I have myself played for
(and won) $50 on the hazard of one hand. It is related of “Canada Bill,”
elsewhere referred to as the “king of the monte men,” that he deceived
himself into believing that he understood the game. While he was making
his headquarters in Kansas City he was wont to make short trips upon the
railways centering there, from which he would not infrequently return
with $2,000 or $3,000. He was then willing to have a bout at casino (and
he would play no other game) for from $100 to $500 with any one who
offered. Shrewd rascal as he was, he was the veriest tyro—in fact a
“sucker”—at his own favorite pastime, and the blacklegs of the place
used to fleece him unmercifully.
The main reliance of the gambler at this game, however, is in the
superior skill resulting from careful study and long practice. An expert
gamester can always tell the cards remaining in the pack at the
commencement of the last deal, even on a perfectly fair game.
Of course “paper,” _i.e._, marked cards, are invaluable to the cheat at
this as at all other games, and this is really the principal scheme of
fraud of any importance ever attempted at this game. Occasionally, when
a professional is playing with a greenhorn, he will contrive to keep a
nine spot on top of his pile of tricks, which he uses in “building” to
suit himself. Sometimes also a card of some low denomination (_e.g._ the
three spot of hearts) is substituted for the ace of spades, which the
sharper abstracts and conceals, placing it among his tricks and using it
in counting his own points for game. This is rather unsafe, however, as
the duplicate cards occasionally come together.
Casino is an amusement frequently affected by broken down gamblers,
whose depleted resources do not permit them to “sit in” a game of poker,
and who seek to rehabilitate their fallen fortunes by playing casino for
a stake of five cents on a game of twenty-one points.
EUCHRE.
Perhaps no game is more universally played in the United States than
Euchre. It is pre-eminently a social amusement. While it does not
possess the absorbing fascination of whist, it permits free and
unrestrained conversation among the players, which circumstance has
unquestionably contributed largely to its popularity.
It is probable that it originated in the Western States, but its
devotees are to-day confined to no section, and the pastime finds its
defenders alike in the saloon, the gaming “hell” and the drawing room.
To be a successful Euchre player calls for the exercise of excellent
judgment, considerable finesse and no little boldness. As it is never
played with a pack of more than thirty-two cards, this game does not
afford so many opportunities for fraud, but the slightest advantage
which can be gained, tells with unfailing certainty.
In fleecing victims at euchre, professional gamblers resort to many of
the practices which are so successfully employed at “seven-up.” “Marked”
or “advantage cards,” are among the most common devices of the sharpers.
“Strippers” are also found extremely useful. These are prepared in the
same manner as in all other games, i. e. by removing—either from each
side or both ends—a narrow, triangular “strip,” not wider than one-
sixteenth of an inch at the widest part. One of the “surest things” is
to have the cards cut for two jack “strippers,” which the “professional”
can strip on the top of the pack on his opponent’s deal, thus securing
two bowers. Sometimes one jack of a red and one of a black suit are
selected for this purpose, but it is usually considered better to use
two jacks of the same color, for the reason that should a trump of that
color be turned, (which is likely to occur at least half the time) the
cheat is sure of both bowers. This, as every euchre player knows, gives
an immense advantage. Yet this trick is not always certain to win;
sometimes “luck” will favor the honest player, and it is recorded that a
guileless and unsuspecting neophyte once won _sixteen consecutive games_
from a blackleg who trusted to this expedient. Such instances, however,
are almost as rare as ice in the tropics; and any man is utterly devoid
of sense who imagines that he is safe in trusting to chance, as against
skill combined with chicanery.
“Briefs” may also be advantageously used at euchre. The gambler places a
“brief” above two bowers, or a bower and an ace, and the cut is made
down to it on his adversary’s deal, thus insuring at least two high
cards.
“Stocking” is far more easily accomplished at this game than at either
poker or “seven-up,” and the gamester who is proficient in arranging the
cards for either of the other two games finds it an easy matter to “put
up” a deck for euchre, although it is absolutely essential to his
success that he should be an expert at “shifting the cut.”
“Crimping” is practiced precisely as in “seven-up,” the most common
device being to “crimp” a jack and then cut to it. The sharper also not
infrequently marks the edges of the bowers with India ink, whereby he is
always able so to cut the pack as to be certain of securing one of these
desirable cards, with the chance of another one should two happen to lie
together.
As in poker, the “bug” is sometimes used for “holding out” a valuable
card—_e. g._, a bower or ace, and sometimes two. A card “held out” is
occasionally “palmed;” by which is meant that it is concealed by the
black-leg in the palm of his hand when the pack is handed him to cut. He
then adroitly drops it on top, lightly taps the deck and allows the
cards to run. If the gambler wishes to palm a card on his own deal, he
places it on top of the pack as described and either makes a false cut
or shuffles the pack through once without disturbing the one palmed.
However, although these nefarious artifices are constantly practiced by
black-legs upon the unsophisticated player, it is only right to say that
the “profession” does not regard euchre with favor as a game at which
quick and large returns may be realized. It is mainly employed to fleece
victims through a device technically called the “high hand,” which, as
thus used, has very generally supplanted “three card monte” on railroad
trains and steamboats. These conveyances are most commonly selected by
this class of card sharps as the theater of their exploits. In the
operation of this scheme of fraud, two confederates act in concert.
Usually the game is commenced by “roping in” two greenhorns to make up a
euchre party, “just for amusement,” or possibly for stakes, which are
merely nominal. As soon as a fairly good hand has been obtained by one
of the pair and the next deal is to fall to his confederate, he “plays
it alone,” his accomplice gathering in the tricks as they are made. As
he does so he can easily arrange the cards so that when dealt they will
inevitably fall into “poker hands,” that is, into “single pairs,” “full
houses,” “four of a kind,” etc.—for an explanation of which terms the
reader is referred to the chapter on “Poker and Poker Players.” One of
the sharpers at once offers to bet at poker; his ally accepts the
gauntlet thus thrown down, the stakes are put up, and the bet won. As
soon as occasion offers these tactics are repeated, until finally one of
the “suckers,” who has been given what would be an extraordinarily
strong hand at “bluff,” is induced to bet. The stakes are at once
“raised,” as at poker, and when the hands are shown, the victim always
finds that he has lost, for the reason that the sharper always holds a
hand “just a little higher.”
When a “gudgeon” displays an unusual reluctance to “snap at the bait”
sometimes he is given four kings—a hand which only four aces or a “royal
flush” can beat. If he still hesitates the confederate who sits next to
him shows him an ace in his own hand, thereby convincing him that his
adversary, at best, cannot have four aces, and inducing him to believe
that he has a “sure thing.” When the “show-down” comes the dupe is
amazed to be confronted by four aces in his opponent’s hand! The
explanation is simple; the pack had _five aces_.
CRIBBAGE.
Cribbage is a quicker game than whist, and therefore better adapted to
the requirements of the professional blackleg. It is not so popular in
this country as in England, although extensively played and constantly
gaining in favor.
As five-spots are most valuable cards at cribbage, various devices are
employed by professionals to secure them. One of the most common is
“palming.” In accomplishing this the sharper conceals two five-spots and
any other two cards in the palm of his right hand, alternating the fives
with indifferent cards, and playing them so that the five-spots shall be
below the others. Having arranged the cards in this manner in his hand,
the sharper—with an air of candor—passes the rest of the pack to his
antagonist, with the request that the latter shuffle them while he is
lighting his cigar. The cards having been shuffled, the blackleg takes
them in the hand in which he has “palmed” the four cards, which are thus
placed upon the top of the pack, and, of course are dealt first.
Sometimes the professional marks all four fives, so that while dealing
he may not only avoid giving them to the dupe, but may, as opportunity
offers, appropriate them to himself. Another trick sometimes practiced
by less dexterous manipulators is to place the fives at the bottom of
the pack, and quietly drop them into the dealer’s hand. Cards are also
sometimes secreted between the knee and the table, or in the “bug,” as
in poker, or in the coat collar, so that the swindler may exchange bad
cards received during a deal for good ones previously abstracted from
the pack. The coat collar, and the knee-and-table method have generally
fallen into disfavor as being too clumsy and liable to detection.
Cards are sometimes prepared for cribbage as follows. The sixes, sevens,
eights and nines are cut slightly shorter than the others, while the
fives, court cards and tens are cut a trifle narrower. If a sharper
wishes a card of one of the former denominations to turn up, he cuts the
pack by lifting the ends, and one of the cards which he needs is certain
to be uppermost on the cut, for the reason that they are shorter than
the others. But if a five, ten or court card be desired, he cuts by
taking hold of the cards on the sides, and the card which he needs,
being narrower than the rest, will be infallibly discovered.
Crimping is also practiced at cribbage. In the course of two or three
deals, the sixes, sevens, eights and nines are bent in the middle
lengthwise, the sides inclining downwards. By this means it is possible
for the sharper to obtain one of the important cards at the start,
should he want it, by cutting the pack where he sees the bent card.
Sometimes two or three small cards are surreptitiously taken from the
pack. The dupe, not knowing this, plays at a great disadvantage, while
the knowledge of the fact is proportionately of benefit to the blackleg.
A common method of cheating at cribbage, euchre, and in fact nearly all
card games, is the “telegraph.” A confederate gambler looking over the
shoulder of an honest player, under pretense of taking an interest in
the game, with, perhaps, the excuse of a trifling bet on his success,
reads off his hand to the other gambler, who is thereby thoroughly
informed as to its nature and value. This information can be conveyed in
a hundred ways, without speaking a word or moving a finger. An almost
imperceptible movement of the eyebrows, an expansion of the nostrils, a
puff of cigar smoke to the right or the left, an opening of the mouth, a
turn of the head, biting the lip, chewing a toothpick—these and a
thousand other equally simple devices, previously agreed upon and
thoroughly understood, may be employed to abstract money from the pocket
of an unsuspecting dupe. Of course, under such circumstances the
confederate sharpers pretend to be utter strangers to each other, and
not infrequently there occurs a slight wrangle between them, which
serves still further to instil into the mind of the victim the belief
that the sharper who acts as “stool pigeon” is his friend.
Considered on the whole, however, cribbage is not a favorite game with
professional blacklegs, for the reasons stated above. There are,
however, many persons who are exceedingly fond of it, and who are easily
induced to play for stakes in the belief that cheating at it is
practically impossible. To such players as these the foregoing remarks
are especially commended. There is no game where innocence and ignorance
are a match for chicanery. Nor does the expert card-sharper know either
pity or remorse. The man who sits down at a table to play for stakes is
supremely foolish, and the man who gambles with a stranger is
preternaturally idiotic. The only safety for the unsophisticated youth,
the only safe rule for every man, young or old, is to abstain from
gambling altogether.
VINGT-UN, OR TWENTY-ONE.
This game of vingt-un, as its name denotes, originated in France, but
has achieved wonderful popularity, not only all over the continent of
Europe and the kingdom of Great Britain, but also on the shores of the
Western Hemisphere.
It is played by any number of persons, seated around a table similar to
that used in faro. The banker always deals, and uses one, two, or three
packs of cards, according to the number of players.
After the cards are shuffled he draws one from the pack and places it at
the bottom, face upward. This is called “burning” a card. The object is
to prevent what is known among gamblers as “bottom dealing,” and this
practice measurably interferes with one of the favorite practices of
card sharpers. First, all bets are made before they deal. Two cards are
given to each player, one at a time. When all have been supplied, the
players look at their hands. The king, queen, jack and ten spot each
count ten; an ace counts one or eleven, at the option of its holder, but
he is always guided in his determination by the exigencies of his hand.
The remainder of the cards are reckoned according to the number of spots
upon their faces. Each player signifies his satisfaction, or
dissatisfaction with his hand by “standing” or calling for a card which
is dealt to him, face upward. If this does not satisfy him he can call
for a second or even a third, as long as it does not count more than
twenty-one. If a player, who elects to draw to his hand, finds that the
number of spots on the cards drawn, added to the number on those which
he first received, exceeds twenty-one, he is said to have “burst,” and
throws his hand face downward upon the table, the stake being forfeited
to the banker, who is always the dealer.
After all have stood or drawn, the dealer turns his hand face upward on
the table, and either stands or draws. If he draws and “bursts,” that is
makes his count exceed twenty-one, he pays to each player the stake
which he has advanced, provided such player has not already overdrawn.
If he stands, or draws so that his hand does not exceed twenty-one, he
receives from or pays to each player in rotation; the one whose cards
reckon up nearest twenty-one being considered the winner. In the case of
a tie between the dealer and any of the players, the former takes the
stakes.
Every man who has ever played Vingt-un knows that the foregoing
description of the game is palpably incomplete. The author does not aim
fully to instruct the ignorant as to the legitimate method of playing
all games of cards. Wherever a game, as honestly played, is described in
this book, it is his intention to give only such an explanation of the
game as may enable the reader thoroughly to comprehend the frauds
practiced by blacklegs. It is idle folly to say to a man that he is on
the edge of a precipice, who does not understand what a precipice is.
There can be no question that the explanation of the tricks of
“professionals” in this game will be thoroughly comprehended by those
who have ever played it, either for the purposes of amusement or in a
gaming “hell.”
In the first place the dealer enjoys an unquestionable advantage, and
the sharper always endeavors to obtain the deal if possible. Failing in
that, two other resources are open to him. As honestly played, the game
is one which calls for the exercise of some little discretion,
considerable finesse and extraordinary boldness. If square players
possess these qualifications, it is necessary for the “professional” to
encounter from some “point of vantage.” The most common agencies
employed to effect this result are the use either of marked cards or of
the “bug.” If he uses the latter, it is comparatively easy for him to
fill in his hand without a draft, standing on two cards and raising
from—and at the same time discarding to the “bug.” If he is able to make
use of the marked cards, it is, of course, easy for him to tell what he
will receive on the draw, and he guides his action accordingly.
The “second” hand, is often found invaluable to gamblers who wish to win
at this game. If a sharper has marked cards, or “paper,” he can readily
deal from eight, while he draws with absolute certainty. If, on the
other hand, he is using a fair pack, it is not much trouble for him to
prick those above the nine. This having been done, on dealing a
“second,” it is the simplest thing in the world to pick up twenty-one
every time.
It is much easier to deal a “second” at vingt-un than at poker, for the
reason that the deal affords far better opportunities for delay and
stoppage in the former game than in the latter.
Any reader who is not a preternatural idiot can easily see that a
“professional” who uses “paper” has enough percentage to bankrupt a
greenhorn with the utmost celerity and dispatch.
Sometimes a partner is found valuable. In such a case, the latter
usually sits directly on the right hand of the dealer. A system of
signals between the two confederates having been arranged, the “elder”
hand is able to tell precisely when it is advisable for him to “draw.”
This he does without any regard to his own hand. It is no difficult
matter for an accomplice to continue his draft until some card appears
on top that will fill the dealer’s hand. Marked cards, are of course, an
advantage even in the accomplishment of this scheme. When both
circumstances are combined—i. e. “paper” and partner—there can be little
doubt as to which party will win.
It is not an uncommon practice among gamblers to “stand” on their first
two cards without drawing, even when they have not more than twelve or
thirteen. The object is to mislead an unsuspecting player into the
belief that they already hold nineteen or twenty. The result often is
that the latter is thus induced to draw until he “bursts.” Just here, is
where the advantage of having a partner is most apparent. The dealer
either draws according to some previously determined system of signals
between himself and his partner, or is guided by the action of his
confederate not drawing.
[Illustration: joker]
CHAPTER VI.
DICE AND THE DICE BOX.
The origin of dice is shrouded in obscurity, but it is certain that
their use has come down to modern days from a period of remote
antiquity. Dice throwing has always been one of the most popular forms
of gaming, and in days gone by immense fortunes have been staked and
lost upon the throwing of the cubes. Of late years, however, the
popularity of this method of gambling has been rather on the wane, as
compared with the past. It is by no means so common a recreation of
gentlemen gamesters, who delight in playing a fair game of chance for
stakes with their friends. It is now chiefly played in gaming houses,
and the dice are among the implements of the professional gambler.
Nevertheless dice are among the most time-honored tools of the
“professional.” The honor of their invention is ascribed to the
Egyptians, and in some of the bas-reliefs that have been disinterred in
the land of the Pharoahs, figures playing with something closely
resembling dice are discernible. The Ethiops of three or four thousand
years ago were, it is believed, addicted to gaming of this sort, and in
this connection it may be remarked that gambling is quite as much a
barbaric as a civilized vice. In fact it may be questioned whether the
Troglodytes did not gamble in their caves, and swindle one another out
of the spoils of the chase before they had learned to construct huts in
which to live.
It is not the intention of this chapter to describe all the games of
dice which may be played—some of which are yet a favorite amusement
among gentlemen—but to explain those most commonly used by card sharpers
as a means of defrauding the ignorant. In fact the practices described
in this chapter hardly deserve to be ranked with “games” considered as
such. They partake rather of the nature of tricks, and, without
exception, are illy concealed games of fraud.
The various devices will be treated _seriatum_. And first we will begin
with one of the best known and most frequently played.
HIERONYMUS.
This is, perhaps, one of the most successful games of dice—considered
from the standpoint of the operator—known to the gambling fraternity.
The illustration affords a view of all the paraphernalia employed in
conducting it. On a cloth-covered table rests an inverted tambourine,
above which stands an implement substantially of the form depicted in
the cut. The latter may be best described as consisting of two wooden
bowls, the smaller ends of which are placed opposite each other and
connected by a hollow tube as shown in the diagram. On the cloth which
covers the table are painted numbers from one to six. Three dice are
used in playing, differing from ordinary dice, only in being larger and
in having figures painted on the faces, instead of the small black dots
commonly employed.
[Illustration: hieronymus]
The mode of playing is as follows: Players select the number or numbers
on which they wish to bet, and place their wagers on the corresponding
squares on the cloth. The dice are then placed in the upper bowl and
permitted to drop through the tube, and fall upon the tambourine,
directly under the inverted bowl. The bowl is then raised, and if the
bettor happens to have placed his stake on the number appearing on one
of the upper faces of the cubes, he wins the amount of his bet. If the
number which he selected appears on two of their faces, the proprietor
of the bowl pays him double. If the three dice all show the same number
and he has happened to place his wager thereon, the operator pays him
three to one.
The “percentage” against the players in this game is so large that the
proprietors are ordinarily content to play it “on the square.” It
sometimes happens, however, that the operation of the reorganized laws
of chance seems to be reversed, and a player wins over and over again.
Of course, this is not to be tolerated. The proprietor of the game is
running it for his own pecuniary profit; the idea of conducting a scheme
for the benefit of the general public has never occured to him.
Accordingly he has resort to trickery. Sometimes instead of taking all
three dice from the tambourine, he removes only two, thus retaining a
knowledge of at least one of the winning numbers. I have also known a
device of this kind to be resorted to: When a certain number is winning
repeatedly, the operator, having (apparently by accident) knocked the
dice off of the table, while stooping to pick them up will substitute
another set of three cubes, none of which contains the cubes in
question.
But the most contemptible form of swindling consists in replacing the
tambourine by a thin board, which may be so agitated, by means of a
concealed spring, as to overturn the dice after the manipulator has
ascertained the numbers shown by looking through the tube.
Sometimes the operator provides himself with dice having all the faces
marked with the same number, by substituting one or more of which he is
able to cast whatever throw he pleases.
CHUCK-A-LUCK
This is a simple little game of dice, yet one of the most fascinating of
all games of chance. It is sometimes designated as “the old army game,”
for the reason that soldiers at the front were often wont to beguile the
tedium of a bivouac by seeking relief from monotony in its charms.
The outfit requisite to play the game is simple and inexpensive,
consisting of three small dice, a dice-box, and a cloth on which are
inscribed the numbers one to six, corresponding to the dots, or “pips,”
on the six faces of the cubes.
[Illustration: chuck-a-luck]
Bets are made by placing the money wagered on the numbers on the cloth.
The dice, having been placed in the box, are shaken and thrown upon the
table. Bets made upon either of the three numbers which come uppermost
are won by the players. Money staked on either of the remaining numbers
are won by the bank.
On its face, this game appears to be one of pure chance. As played upon
fair and circus-grounds, however, there is very little chance about it.
The “banker” does not throw the dice fairly. Through long practice, he
is able to retain two of them between the fingers of the hand which he
holds over the inverted dice-box. The other die he allows to remain in
the box, and rattles it against the sides, occasionally knocking the box
itself against the button of his coat in order to simulate the sound
produced by the shaking of three dice. When he removes his hand from the
mouth of the dice cup, he drops upon the table the two dice which he
held in his hand and permits the third die to fall by chance. The reader
will perceive, that he thus makes himself absolutely certain as to two
of the faces which will be exposed when the cup is lifted. When it is
remembered, that the box is not agitated until all the bets have been
made, it will be readily perceived how great is the unfair advantage
thus obtained.
This game is a favorite one with outside sharpers for “ringing in”
loaded dice on the manipulators. It is a very simple matter to
substitute prepared cubes for those used by the operator, and, after
winning his money, to replace those originally employed by him. I have
myself successfully practiced this trick many times, very much to the
financial loss and mental chagrin of the proprietor of the dice and box.
One of the most artful devices practiced by swindlers in operating this
game is that which I will now describe. The proprietor of the game has,
as a confederate, a “side partner,” who keeps himself studiously in the
back-ground until the opportune moment presents itself for his
appearance upon the scene of action. Meanwhile, the chief manipulator of
the scheme inveigles a countryman, whose avarice surpasses his sense, to
enter into a partnership with him for the purpose of fleecing his own
friends and acquaintances. This individual is to develop, later, into
the dupe. He is required, before securing an interest in the prospective
profits of the game, to advance a sum of money, the amount of which is
gauged only by the size of his pocket and credulity. After the
proprietor has received the cash, the countryman remains by the table
where the game is being operated, serenely confident that he is about to
win a large sum through imposing upon the confidence of his towns
people. The “side partner” soon makes his appearance, usually in a state
apparently bordering on beastly intoxication. The greenhorn regards him
in the light of a “soft mark,” and at once approaches him with the
suggestion that he “try his luck.” To this the seemingly drunken man
assents, substitutes loaded dice or “other ringers” for those previously
used by the operator, thus winning the entire amount of his stake. This
he continues to do, until he has won a sum sufficient to absorb all the
“capital” which the “sucker” had advanced. The result is that the
latter’s interest in the concern is speedily wiped out, and the
proprietor and his confederate divide the sum thus gained between them.
CRAPS.
This is a favorite game among steamboat men, and is particularly popular
among colored people. I first became acquainted with it on board the
steamboat “City of Chester” on the Mississippi river. I was traveling in
partnership with a man named Martin, and we had succeeded in fleecing
one man out of some $800, at poker in the cabin. I went out on deck, and
my attention was arrested by hearing a negro crying in a stentorian
voice, “come 7 or 11,” then another man calling out, “chill’en cryin’
fo’ bread.” This was followed by the sound of something rolling on the
floor. My curiosity was aroused, and I went below to learn what was
going on. Here I first saw the game of “craps” and my introduction to it
cost me precisely $15. I went up-stairs and informed my partner that I
had discovered a new game. He was anxious to see it, and together we
returned to the main deck where the play was in progress. He dropped $10
to the “crap” roller, expressed himself as satisfied, and we returned to
the cabin. I did not at the time understand how I was cheated, although
I was perfectly well satisfied that the cheating had been done. Since
then, I have discovered all about it.
The game is played with dice about half the size of the cubes ordinarily
used in other games. Only two are employed and they are held in the hand
and thrown forward upon the table or whatever surface may be convenient.
The numbers 7 and 11 are called “craps.” After the dice have ceased
rolling the spots on both sides are added together, and if the sum is
equal to 7 or 11, the “crap” thrower wins all bets which have been made
against him. If the same amount to two, three, or twelve, he loses, and
is required to pay each player the amount of his stake. Should the sum
of all the spots on the two dice amount to four, five, six, eight, nine
or ten, he is entitled to continue throwing, until he has either cast
the amount thrown again, or throw a seven. In the former case he wins
the player’s bets; if, however, the sum of the spots amount to 7 before
the number first thrown turns up again, he loses.
The game commences by one player throwing the dice until he loses, when
the next player at his left takes the cubes, and so on in rotation.
The favorite method of cheating at this game is by the substitution of
unfair dice. For this purpose, loaded dice are sometimes used, and
sometimes dice specially prepared, on the faces of one of which, are
painted two aces, two twos and two sixes, while the other dice is
inscribed with two threes, two fours and two fives. If the reader will
take pains to figure out the combination of numbers which may be made
with two dice so prepared, he will see that it is an utter impossibility
for the thrower to make either, two, three or twelve, the numbers which
will be a loss to him. In addition to this circumstance it is also
apparent that the chances of throwing 7 are very greatly increased by
the arrangement of two fours on one dice and two threes on the other, as
well as two fives on one and two twos on the other. The small size of
the dice employed in playing this game and the fact that they are thrown
from the hand, renders the substitution of unfair dice a comparatively
easy matter.
Although the game, as I have said, is an especial favorite among negroes
and deck-hands, nevertheless it is frequently played by “high toned”
gamblers and for large stakes.
Of course, the dice are usually made of bone, although in a recently
raided game in Chicago, the players anticipating interference on the
part of the police, had their little cubes made of cut sugar, and when
the officers of the law made their appearance, swallowed the dice, and
there being no gaming implements found, the case against them was
necessarily dismissed.
EIGHT-DIE CASE.
This is a favorite game with traveling sporting men, who introduce it at
county fairs, and on circus grounds, and at other places where there is
a large crowd. The diagram represents the arrangement of the interior of
a glass covered case containing prizes. The divisions in the case are
numbered from eight to forty-eight, inclusive, to correspond with the
numbers which may be possibly thrown in casting eight dice, which the
proprietor carries with him, together with a dice box. For a stipulated
consideration, he permits any one who may wish, to throw the dice upon
the glass cover of the case. The sum of the spots on the upper faces is
taken, and the player is given whatever prize the number may call for.
When the game is introduced upon fair-grounds, the directors of which
insist that there shall be no blanks, small articles of cheap jewelry
are put inside the case as prizes, although gamblers prefer to use money
prizes only, for the reason that it gives the outfit a more attractive
appearance.
An examination of the diagram will show that the higher prizes are
invariably placed in squares corresponding to a number which it is
almost impossible for a player to throw. Thus, a $500 prize is placed in
the square numbered eight. To win this, it would be necessary to cast
eight aces. Another prize of like amount is numbered forty-eight, and
cannot be won unless the player throws eight sixes. Those numbers which
may be easily thrown are always attached to squares containing small
prizes, or which are inscribed with the abbreviation “rep.” These
letters, as in all similar games, stand for “represent,” and when a
player has thrown a number corresponding to a square so marked, he is
required to double the amount already put up or submit to the loss of
his stake.
This game affords a rare opportunity for cheating, although the fraud is
not perpetrated by means of loaded dice, as many persons suppose. The
proprietor counts the spots on the dice thrown to suit himself, and
after hastily calling out the number replaces the cubes in the box.
Strange as it may appear, it is not one man out of fifty who ever
insists upon counting the spots on his own throw. If the owner of the
device has reason to believe that the player has money and is a “soft
mark,” he calls out the number corresponding to one of the “represent”
squares. He then tells the victim that he has neither won nor lost and
must double the amount previously advanced and “try his luck” again.
This practice is continued until the dupe has been induced to stake all
of his money, when the proprietor calls out a number corresponding to
the square marked “blank,” of which there is always one in every case.
Of course, the operator then informs the “sucker” that he has lost all
the money which he had paid.
It sometimes happens that a player grows suspicious, and asks how long
this doubling his stake is to continue. In such a case, the operator
mentally calculates the amount of money which the man probably has, and
tells him that he will be required to double only two or three times
more, when, if he again throws a “represent” number, the proprietor will
return all of his money except five per cent., which is the percentage
belonging to the game. The victim does not throw a “represent” number
the last time under such circumstances, but is thrown upon the “blank”
square, which means that the proprietor has won the entire stake.
“Cappers” are as useful in this game as in any other. Their methods of
operation are similar to those elsewhere described and need not be more
particularly dwelt upon here.
EIGHT-DIE CASE.
┌────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┐
│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $3.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ Rep. │
│ 19 │ 38 │ 24 │ 9 │ 37 │ 21 │ 15 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│25 cts. │Jewelry.│ $1.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │ Rep. │ $5.00 │
│ 13 │ 30 │ 43 │ 33 │ 18 │ 29 │ 46 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Rep. │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ $20.00 │ Rep. │50 cts. │Jewelry.│
│ 23 │ 39 │ 8 │ 1215 │ 36 │ 12 │ 34 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Rep. │ Blank. │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│
│ 32 │ 17 │ 35 │ 28 │ 16 │ 41 │ 22 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $2.00 │ $5.00 │ Rep. │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $50.00 │ $10.00 │
│ 11 │ 48 │ 20 │ 42 │ 31 │ 10 │ 37 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ │ $2.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ Blank. │
│ │ 44 │ 27 │ 14 │ 25 │ 04 │ 20 │
└────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┘
POKER DICE.
This game is usually played in saloons for drinks or cigars, though
sometimes for money, and occasionally even for higher stakes. Five
ordinary dice and a dice cup is used. Each player has three throws. The
highest score which can possibly be made is five aces, the next, five
sixes, then five fives, and so on. Next to five similar spots, the best
throw is four of one kind and an odd number, the relative value of such
throws being measured by the number of spots upon the top of the four
dice, aces ranging highest. The game is called “poker” dice, because of
the general resemblance between it and “bluff,” so far as the value of
the throws is concerned as compared with that of the hands held at
poker.
I have never known but one scheme of fraud to be employed in playing
this game, which consisted in so placing the five dice within the box
that the thrower was able to turn out whatever number he might see fit.
I have known two men, both of whom are at present in Chicago, who can
cast any throw which they may wish at their own will. They do not employ
loaded dice, but, through long practice have acquired such dexterity in
placing the cubes in the box and throwing them upon the table, that they
are able to play with absolute certainty.
OVER AND UNDER SEVEN.
This game is most frequently played on fair and circus grounds, at
public meetings, barbacues, political rallies, and other places where a
large crowd is assembled. The outfit requisite to its operation consists
of a dice box with two dice and a cloth, about 2½ feet long, on which
are outlined three squares, in each of which is painted the figure 7.
One of these squares is in the centre of the cloth, the other two at the
respective ends. In one of them is painted the word “over,” and in
another the word “under.”
The method of play is as follows: Bets may be placed upon either of the
three squares. If laid on the centre square, the proprietor pays the
winner two for one. After the wagers have all been laid, the dealer
throws the dice. If the sum of the spots on the upper face of the two
cubes is equal to 7, and no stake has been laid on that number, he wins.
If it is more than 7, bets placed upon the squares containing the word
“over” are paid to the bettors. If the total is less than 7, the
proprietor pays those who have laid their money upon the other square.
The mode of cheating at this game is substantially the same as that
already explained in the description of the game of “chuck-a-luck.” The
operator retains one of the two dice in the fingers of the hand which he
places over the mouth of the cup and rattles the dice about, inside.
When he lifts the box, he is absolutely certain as to the number of
spots upon the die which he has held in his hand, thereby gaining an
immense advantage over the bettors, inasmuch as he has it practically
within his power to cause the wager of any particular player to be lost.
TOP AND BOTTOM.
This game of dice—if it may properly be called a game—is a swindling
device, pure and simple. It is, in effect, nothing but a scheme of
fraud, for the successful operation of which are required two sharpers,
who act as confederates, a dice box, three ordinary dice, a “ringer” and
a “sucker.” The place commonly selected for working it is a saloon, and
the method in which it is operated is as follows:
The victim having been selected and located in a saloon, the first
sharper scrapes an acquaintance with him and induces him to throw dice
for the drinks or cigars. While the dice are being handled, the gambler
calls the attention of the dupe to the fact that the number of spots on
the faces of the three dice added to the number on the three reverse
sides is always equal to twenty-one. This fact necessarily follows from
the construction of all fair dice; on the reverse face from the ace is a
6; opposite to 3 is 4; and directly opposite to 5 is 2. There are,
however, many persons, who not having had their attention directed to
this circumstance, are ignorant of the fact. The “sucker” usually
satisfies himself of the correctness of the statement made by his newly
formed acquaintance through throwing the dice several times in
succession, until he becomes convinced that the sum of the six numbers
is always equal to twenty-one. At this point sharper number two makes
his appearance. He strolls up to the pair and offers to join in throwing
dice for refreshments. The first swindler proposes that they guess as to
the number of spots on the upper and under sides of the three dice. To
this sharper number two assents, and guesses, say, 25. As a matter of
course, the greenhorn guesses 21 and wins. The second confederate
thereupon remarks that he is a “pretty good guesser.” To this the first
swindler replies that “the gentlemen can tell the number every time.”
The confederate demurs to this statement, saying that it is impossible.
He offers to bet the price of a box of cigars that the dupe cannot do
it. His accomplice retorts that he would be willing to bet $1,000 that
he can, and offers to lend the dupe money to add to whatever sum the
latter may wish to bet for the purpose of laying a stake against his
confederate. The bet having been made, the attention of the victim is
momentarily diverted and the “ringer”—either a loaded dice or one
prepared after the manner described in the paragraph upon the game of
“crap”—is substituted for one of the fair dice. The throw is cast, and
when the spots are added together their sum is inevitably found to be
either greater or less than 21. Sharper number two thereupon demands and
takes the stakes.
Ordinarily the dupe is too bewildered at the moment to understand the
precise nature of the game which has been played upon him until after
the two confederates have left the house. Should he, however,
remonstrate and undertake to raise a disturbance, it is usually found an
easy matter to quiet him by summoning the town marshal or some other
police officer. In fact, I have known an officer actually summoned, who
insisted upon the dupe keeping quiet, for which service he received a
bonus from the pair of swindlers.
HIGH AND LOW DICE TOPS.
These little implements are used chiefly for winning drinks or cigars,
or small sums of money. They are eight-sided spinning tops made of
ivory, the respective sides being numbered one to eight. Sometimes they
are made fairly, but dice tops of the latter description are not in
favor with the professional gambler, who uses a top having a moveable
iron peg which the sharper may so arrange as to cause the high or low
numbers to fall uppermost when the top comes to rest, after being spun.
If the peg be turned one way a high number will come uppermost; if the
other, a low number. Of course the greenhorn, not being aware of this
little peculiarity of the top, it is comparatively an easy matter for
the confidence man or other cheat to arrange the peg in such a way that
when he spins for himself he turns up a high number, and when his
opponent takes the same article in hand, however, he invariably turns up
a low one. It may be seen that the former has it in his power to win as
often as he chooses, but in order that his luck may not appear to be
positively miraculous, he sometimes permits his dupe to win.
GRAND HAZARD.
Three dice are used in this game. Sometimes they contain spots, as do
ordinary dice, sometimes on the faces are painted representations of
birds, animals, or reptiles, such as an elephant, an eagle, a
rattlesnake, etc. On the table upon which the dice are thrown is spread
a cloth on which are depicted numbers or figures corresponding to those
upon the faces of the cubes. Bets are made by playing the stakes upon
whatever square or squares the player may select. The dice are dropped
through a funnel-shaped cup, somewhat similar in form to that used in
“hieronymus,” and the gains or losses of the bettors are determined by
inspecting the face of the dice which lie uppermost after they have
fallen upon the table. If any player has wagered his money, for
instance, upon the number six, and one of the dice show a six-spot on
its upper face, the bettor is paid the amount which he has ventured. In
case the three dice should all show the same number or figure when they
fall, the proprietor pays to the bettor, who has placed his stake upon
the corresponding square on the cloth, 180 for 1.
In this, as in all other fraudulent games with dice, gamblers resort to
the substitution of “ringers” for fair dice, and have the poor fools,
who risk their money on such schemes, practically at their mercy.
MUSTANG.
This game is substantially identical with “grand hazard,” the only
variations being, that differently inscribed dice are employed. The same
sort of cloth on which are depicted squares containing the prizes is
used, and the dice are dropped through a similar metal funnel. The dice,
however, are usually of either one of the two sorts. In those of the
first description, the faces of the cubes are painted, respectively,
with a club, a heart, a spade, a diamond, an anchor and a star. The
faces of the other description of dice employed, are respectively marked
with a snake, an elephant, an eagle, a baby and a turtle.
LOADED DICE.
Almost every one has heard of loaded dice, but there are comparatively
few among the guild of professional gamblers who are experts in their
use. The sharper who does not travel, preferring to wait, at home, such
victims as the antipodes of Providence may send him, is satisfied with
employing occasionally, a set of high dice. But the peripatetic
scoundrel who, like Satan, “wanders to and fro upon the earth,” seeking
for victims, usually provides himself with three sets—one “high,” one
“low,” and one “square.” The fraudulent dice are loaded with
quicksilver, the interior of each dice being hollowed out in such a
manner as to cause the weight to fall upon the opposite side to that
intended to come up, the weighted side being, of course, always
undermost.
The professional, in using these dice against a single adversary,
usually works very rapidly, distracting the dupe’s attention, as far as
possible, from his operations by story telling or some other interesting
conversation. He changes the cubes swiftly and often, “ringing in” the
“high” one for himself, and the “square” ones for his opponent; or the
latter for himself and the “low” ones for his victim, occasionally,
however, using the fair dice for both, in order to disarm suspicion.
CHAPTER VII.
GAMES AT FAIRS AND CIRCUSES.
There is scarcely a person who has visited a county fair, or patronized
a circus, whose attention has not been attracted by the presence upon
the grounds of an immense number of “fakirs,” as peripatetic tricksters
are often called. Probably many excellent people have wondered how it
happened that men of this class were allowed to introduce gambling
devices upon grounds which were supposed to be used for purposes of
rational entertainment, even if not of instruction. No gambling device
can be operated upon any fair-ground without the consent of the
directors of the Fair Association having been first had and obtained.
The members of this august body are usually selected on account of their
social prominence and their supposedly high moral character. It would
be, therefore, charitable to suppose that they are not aware of the
precise nature of the schemes the manipulation of which they tolerate.
A county fair, however, is essentially a money making scheme, and the
license fees derived from this source constitute no unimportant feature
of the managers’ revenue. Sometimes the “fakirs” gain permission to work
their various schemes through the ignorance of the directors. More
frequently they are well aware of their nature, and exact high fees in
consequence of this very knowledge. To illustrate: I myself once made
application for a license to operate a hap-hazard upon the grounds of
one of these associations. The secretary was a bank cashier, and the
moment that he saw my machine, exclaimed: “Why, I know all about that
thing. You can stop that whenever want to. Pay me $50, and you can go on
the grounds and ‘skin’ all you want to.” Naturally I paid the sum
demanded, and I happened to know that some fifteen or twenty other
contrivances of a like character were admitted to the same grounds upon
the same terms. This is but one instance of many that I could cite, in
which the director was equally well convinced that my contrivance was a
“fake,” pure and simple.
Such a transaction is a high-handed outrage upon the community. The men
who license schemes such as are described in this chapter are licensing
scoundrels, in comparison with whom pickpockets are respectable, to prey
upon their own towns-people, pocketing the money which they well know
has been made by fraud.
Sometimes it is thought necessary to preserve at least the semblance of
innocence on the part of the managers. When the application for a
license of one of these machines is received by the directors, some one
of the latter, whose conscience (?) will not permit him to sanction
schemes of fraud asks if the device in question is to be operated as a
“gift enterprise?” By this, he means, are there to be any blanks? If so,
his high moral sense will not permit him to tolerate its introduction
upon the grounds over which the Board has control. This objection is
easily removed, by introducing into the scheme a number of articles of
valueless jewelry, the presence of which among the prizes usually
removes all conscientious scruples of the objector. Occasionally, when
the moment for taking a vote arrives, “Squire Brown” is conveniently
absent, and the majority of the board acts without him. Sometimes the
gamblers are told that it will be necessary for them to submit to an
arrest and pay a small fine in order that the scruples and prejudices of
the public may be appeased. I have myself known this to happen more than
once.
After the license has been granted and the various games are in
operation, it is not an uncommon occurrence for the town marshal or
sheriff to put in an appearance, and extort from $5.00 to $10.00 per day
in consideration of there being no molestation offered. This payment is
what the “fakirs” call “sugaring,” and I have never known one of these
officials for whom the dose could be made too sweet. I have submitted to
this extortion of blackmail (for it is nothing else) several times when
I was convinced, to a moral certainty, that the directors were receiving
a percentage of the money which I paid over to the officers.
Sometimes a different policy is adopted by the managers. The prosecuting
attorney and sheriff find it necessary to leave town on urgent business,
and are therefore totally unaware of what is going on. In such a case, a
purse is usually made up for these officials by contributions from the
proprietors of the various “fakes,” which is always understood by the
gamblers to be intended for the sheriff and prosecutor. It may be that a
portion of the money raised sticks to the fingers of the man to whom its
payment is entrusted, but my own impression is that in a majority of
cases the greater proportion of it, reaches the parties for whom it was
intended.
It is the hope of the author that what is here said may serve to open
the eyes of reflecting citizens to the grave character of the evil which
is pointed out. Too much cannot be said in reprehension of such conduct
on the part of men to whom the community entrusts interests of such a
character. And if any member of any Board of Directors of any county
fair will carefully read the pages which follow, he will, at least, find
it forever impossible hereafter to plead ignorance, by way of
extenuation of a vote to tolerate the introduction of any of these
devices among his own acquaintances.
NEEDLE WHEEL.
[Illustration: needle wheel]
This is an exceedingly ingenious and very delicately constructed piece
of mechanism. The accompanying cut affords a view of its appearance, but
cannot be understood without some explanation. It consists of three
parts. The outer rim, which is stationary, contains thirty-two metal
grooves, or pockets, numbered, apparently without special arrangement,
from one to thirty-two. Inside this rim, is a circular piece of wood,
resembling a wheel, but without spokes, which is covered with cloth.
Above this, and of about equal size with it, is a saucer-shaped piece of
wood, in which are bored three holes. On the table on which the wheel is
placed stands a wooden box, containing thirty-two compartments, numbered
consecutively from one to thirty-two. In these compartments are placed
sixteen money prizes, which the players believe they have a chance to
win. Apparently, the chances are exactly even, the number of prizes and
of blanks being equal.
When the game is played upon fair-grounds, and the directors of the fair
insist that it shall be operated as a gift enterprise in which there
shall be no blanks, articles of cheap jewelry are placed in the
compartments, which under other circumstances are left blank.
The mode of playing is as follows: One wishing to win a prize pays fifty
cents or $1.00 (in proportion to the size of the crowd) for the
privilege of making the attempt. He then places a marble in the upper
wheel or saucer, which is given a twirl, either by himself or the
proprietor, the lower wheel being usually set in motion at the same
time, but in an opposite direction. As the upper wheel revolves, the
marble flies around and finally falls through one of the holes on to the
lower wheel. The latter slopes gently from centre to circumference and
the marble naturally rolls down to one of the compartments in the outer
rim, where it stops. If it has fallen into a winning number, the player
receives the prize placed in the compartment of the box or case, having
the corresponding number. If, on the other hand, it has fallen into a
blank number, he receives nothing.
To the uninitiated, this appears very fair. The “fake” element consists
of the apparatus which is concealed beneath the table, the existence of
which is not even suspected by the players. Running up through the
middle of both wheels is a rod ornamented with a knob on the top. This
knob actually operates a thumb-screw which sets in motion a system of
sixteen wire levers, lettered “b, b, b,” on the diagram, which force up
through the cloth covering a like number of fine needle points, “c, c,
c.” One of these points (none of which are larger than the point of a
fine cambric needle and cannot be detected by the eye) rises in front of
each winning number, and when the marble is in danger of entering a
lucky compartment it strikes against one of these points, its course
being thus deflected into one of the adjacent pockets, resulting in the
players inevitably drawing a blank.
Naturally, after a greenhorn has lost several times consecutively, he
grows suspicious, and in order to induce him to venture still farther,
it is necessary that some one should appear to win. Just here comes in
the “capper,” whose assistance in all games of this description is
indispensable. When he makes his appearance, he is at once recognized by
the manipulator of the machine through giving a pre-arranged signal. As
soon as he buys a chance, the proprietor relaxes the tension of the
thumb-screw; the wire levers fall; the needle points sink below the
surface of the table; and the marble is allowed to go where chance
dictates. If the confederate fails to win the first time, he perseveres
until he succeeds. The result is that the waning confidence of the crowd
is restored, and the poor, deluded fools once more press eagerly forward
to “try their luck,” in a game where “luck” is an utter impossibility.
This is a favorite game for playing “doubles or quits,” or, as gamblers
sometimes say, “representing.” By this is meant doubling a stake once
lost; thus, if a man loses $1.00, he risks $2.00 a second time; if he
loses again, he stakes $4.00, then $8.00, $16.00, $32.00, and so on. The
author has himself won $1,300 under this system of betting by means of
this device from one man at a single county fair.
The services of the “capper” are of great value in inducing players to
adopt this system of betting. When he makes his appearance, he
ordinarily asks some bystander to twirl the wheel and drop the marble
for him. When he has won, he usually buys another chance for the benefit
of the “sucker” who has kindly performed this office for him. The victim
is, of course, quite willing to play at some one else’s expense, and is
not infrequently induced, after losing the $1.00 which was put up for
him, to continue playing, with his own money, on the system of “doubles
or quits,” as explained above.
CORONA OR MASCOT.
This game is of recent date as compared with the needle wheel and
squeeze spindle, of which it is, in effect, but a modification. I first
saw it in the autumn of 1884, while I was traveling with “Mexican
Cortenas’ Wild West Show.”
[Illustration: corona]
To operate the machine two men are necessary, in addition to a number of
“cappers.” The apparatus consists of a circular piece of wood, usually
some 2½ feet in diameter, at the outer rim of which are painted numbers
from 1 to 60. Inside this is placed a round plate of heavy glass, on
which is painted either an arrow or a small pointer. This inner plate
revolves upon a central pivot. Prizes of money or jewelry are placed
upon the numbers. Those who wish to win any of them buy tickets, on each
of which is inscribed a number, the purchaser selecting his ticket at
random, from a large number which are placed in a box. At the right of
the ostensible proprietor sits his confederate, who poses as “book-
keeper.” In order that no “sucker” may, by any chance, win a prize of
any value, a lever, similar to that used in the squeeze spindle is sunk
into the table and concealed by the cloth cover. The “book-keeper,” by
pressing on the end of the wire rod, which is directly underneath his
book, can apply friction to the pivot and cause the wheel to stop at any
number which he may choose. It is hardly necessary to say that the box
from which the purchaser takes his ticket contains none bearing the
number which would call for a valuable prize. In order, however, to keep
up the interest of the dupes and stimulate their spirit of gaming, the
“book-keeper” occasionally brings the glass to a stand still at a point
where the arrow indicates a money prize. Instantly a “capper” steps
forward from among the crowd, presents a ticket and claims the prize.
The ticket is carelessly thrown on one side and the money handed over to
the confederate, who takes his departure. The unsuspecting fools who are
not in the secret pursue the play with fresh zest, each one fancying
that he has some chance of winning a large stake “next time,” but
unfortunately for the victim the moment for his winning never comes.
In case any of the players should become suspicious, and demand a sight
of the tickets remaining in the box, in order to satisfy himself that
the numbers corresponding to the money prizes are actually there, the
proprietor cheerfully assents, readily producing the box, into which he
has surreptitiously transferred the necessary cards from his pocket.
WHEEL OF FORTUNE OR CHUCK-A-LUCK.
This is the name given to a gambling device which has been a favorite
with the “fraternity” for many years, and which has never failed to
prove a sure bait to trap the unwary and an unfailing source of rich
income to its manipulators.
[Illustration: wheel of fortune]
It is made with or without a “fake” attachment, its general appearance
in either case being the same. The nature of the “fake” and its mode of
operation will be explained below; the construction of the wheel will be
first described.
It is a handsome apparatus, standing about seven feet high. The wheel
itself is usually about four feet in diameter, and rests upon a tripod
three feet in height. Inside the rim of the wheel is a twelve-pointed
star, between each two points of which are inscribed either five or six
numbers, the figures being painted on the rim and running from one to
sixty or seventy-two, consecutively. The wheel and star revolve
simultaneously around a common axis. At the top of the wheel is an
arrow, pointing downward, which serves as an indicator.
Around the wheel is a wooden frame which is covered with cloths on
which, when the seventy-two number wheel is used, are painted the
numbers one to six, or on which are arranged paddles, each one of which
is marked with either one or six numbers, the uses of which will be
described later.
The wheel is used either as an adjunct to a scheme for the distribution
of cheap prizes or as a means of making bets. The former plan is the one
generally adopted at small fairs, when a “lay-out” of inexpensive
queen’s or glass ware is spread upon the table, each article, or lot,
bearing its own number. In this case, the manipulation of the wheel is
sometimes conducted fairly, the legitimate odds in favor of the
proprietor being sufficient to justify him in giving the dupes some sort
of a chance.
Where the game is played for prizes, the common practice is to use the
paddles above referred to, each inscribed with six numbers, the twelve
paddles embracing the range from one to seventy-two. Each person wishing
to take a chance pays for a paddle (usually twenty-five cents), and when
all possible have been sold, the wheel is set in motion. When it comes
to rest, the indicator at the top points to a number, and the holder of
the paddle bearing the corresponding number has it at his option either
to take the prize or $1.50 in money.
The most profitable form of the wheel, however, is that which is
sometimes designated the “six number wheel,” so called because the
spaces between the points of the star are each numbered from one to six.
When this device is operated, the frame is sometimes covered with oil-
cloths, each containing six squares, numbered from one to six. Sometimes
six paddles, each bearing a separate number (running from one to six)
are employed besides the cloths; and not infrequently a double set of
paddles, similarly numbered.
In the latter case, the players place their stakes on some one or more
numbers upon the cloth. The paddles are used when the crowd is too great
to be accommodated at the cloths. When the wagers have all been placed,
the wheel is set in motion. Breathlessly the players await the result.
When it ceases to revolve, the indicator at the top points to some
number. The player who has placed his stake upon that number has it
returned to him, increased by four.
As a matter of fact, however, when the wheel comes to rest it is usually
discovered that no heavy player has been fortunate enough to make just
that bet. The reason is simple. The reader who will carefully examine
the accompanying diagram will perceive the representation of a rod
running through the upright support of the wheel and one of the legs of
the tripod, thence turning to the right and terminating under a plank in
the floor, directly below the operator’s foot. By simply pressing on
this mechanicism, the latter checks the motion of the wheel by
application of friction at the pivot, and brings it to a standstill at
any point which he may desire.
Not always, however, is the proprietor of the wheel the only sharper on
the ground. Sometimes he discovers, when it is too late, that he has
been playing a game of “diamond cut diamond.” His apparatus fails to
work as he had expected, and when he has “gone broke,” as gamblers term
financial ruin, he carefully examines his wheel, and learns that some
more astute scoundrel than himself has plugged some point on the
circumference with lead, bringing it to rest by the simple but sure
operation of the law of gravitation.
Sometimes, instead of the numbers above referred to, there are used
certain printed inscriptions, representing speculative articles dealt in
on the floors of the stock and produce exchanges, such as pork, lard,
wheat, corn, oats, rye, barley, seeds, and various kinds of corporation
stocks. This form of the device is ordinarily known as the “Board of
Trade Wheel,” and is sometimes found to be very popular in rural
districts.
SQUEEZE SPINDLE.
This device has been successfully employed in defrauding the unwary for
nearly two score years, and is still to be found on every fair ground in
the United States where the directors are men of sufficiently easy
morality to permit unprincipled sharpers to fleece their townspeople for
a consideration. I have myself won thousands through this very means.
[Illustration: SQUEEZE SPINDLE.]
It is usually made of wood, with a metal arrow, weighing about seven
pounds, swinging on a pivot in the centre (I). About this pivot are
arranged numbers—generally either from 1 to 16 or from 1 to 32, in the
form of an ellipse. At three points, equidistant from each other, are
depicted three horses and the numbers are arranged in alternate blocks,
usually of red, white and black. Outside the ellipse are little metal
pegs, one being placed opposite each number.
The mode of playing is simple in the extreme. As many persons can engage
in the game as can stand around the table. Each player places the amount
which he wishes to bet on the color or horse which he selects. The
proprietor gives odds of ten to one on the horses and even bets are made
on the colors. That is to say: if a player wagers a dollar on the red
and wins, the proprietor pays him a dollar and returns his stake. If he
bets a dollar on a horse and wins, he receives $10 in addition to his
original wager.
The bets being all made, some one—it is immaterial who—sets the arrow in
motion. When it ceases revolving, the slender point, to which is usually
attached a small piece of leather, comes to rest between some two of the
pegs, and the player whose money has been placed on the number indicated
wins the amount of his stake.
As a matter of fact, however, it is impossible for any one to win
without the proprietor’s consent. At the point four, as shown in the
diagram, is placed a metal disc, resembling a button, which is attached
to a stout wire rod, which in turn is sunk into the wooden top of the
table and entirely concealed from view by the cloth covering of the
latter. When this metal button is pressed, it operates the rod, the
other end of which, by creating friction at the central pivot, gradually
stops the movement of the arrow, and the operator is enabled to bring
the latter to a standstill at whatever point in the ellipse he may see
fit. It would seem that this contrivance gave the proprietor of the
machine sufficient advantage over the unsuspecting players, but he is
not content with this. To operate the wire it is necessary that he
should put his hand upon the table. Sometimes a “sucker” objects to this
movement, and demands that he remove his hand. In order to be prepared
for such an emergency, another contrivance is attached, the location of
which is indicated on the diagram by figure three. In its essential
features, the latter contrivance closely resembles the one operated by
the button, but it is worked by pressure from some part of the body,
usually the hip.
To show how easily and successfully a machine of this sort may be used
for purposes of swindling, I will relate an incident in my own
experience which happened while I was at a county fair, at Olney, Ill.,
in the autumn of 1882. In connection with a partner, I was operating one
of these spindles of the sort which I have described. At the fair was a
young man from the country, who had disposed of a horse for $140. He had
seen me working the machine, and was anxious to quit the dull monotony
of country life and travel with me, as a gambler and a man of leisure. I
had an interview with him at the hotel the same evening, and disposed of
one-half interest in the business for $60, which he promptly paid in
cash. Thereupon I instructed him in the operation of the machine, but
concealed from him the existence of the wire which was operated by
pressure from the hip. The following day we repaired to the fairgrounds,
and I left him in charge of the apparatus. His bank roll consisted of
$160, of which we had each advanced $80. The young man was not aware
that I already had a partner in the business, the latter having been
acting as “capper” and keeping himself in the background. When the
country boy began to run the machine, my partner sauntered up to the
table and began to play. I was on one side, at a safe distance, watching
the entire game. My new partner undertook to work the wire which was to
be operated by the hand; my former partner forestalled all his efforts
by working the rod which was pressed by the body. The result was that
the bank was speedily broken, my original partner walking off with the
assets and leaving my new acquaintance in a condition of decided
financial embarrassment. He still, however, owned a nominal one-half
interest in the machine, which I soon learned was for sale, and that
being known we directed our efforts to winning this back. Accordingly, I
bought him out for $20. He next entered into an agreement with the man
who had succeeded so admirably in beating him, and they agreed that if I
would stand back from the table and permit them to twirl the spindle,
they would risk their joint funds. Once more my former partner operated
the wire with his hip, and the result was that in a short time we had
again in our possession the $20 which I had paid to repurchase his half
interest to me. When he went home, he was undoubtedly a sadder, though I
doubt whether, to this day, he is a very much wiser man.
In the latest construction of these fraudulent spindles, the cheats have
invoked the aid of science, and the result has been a machine which, for
simplicity and perfection of operation, cannot be surpassed. It is known
among sporting men as the “magnetic spindle,” because of the sinking of
magnets into the table directly below the losing numbers. The cloth
which covers them, while it conceals them from view, does not interfere
with their operation. The needle, being of brass, necessarily comes to
rest directly above some one of them, thus indicating a number which
inevitably brings loss to the player. This contrivance is of
comparatively recent invention and is highly prized by men of the class
who use devices of this description.
Of course, with such a machine, it is impossible that the arrow should
ever point to a winning number. This would seem to render the employment
of confederates as fictitious winners of prizes an impossibility. To
obviate the difficulty which thus presents itself, the proprietor simply
changes the location of some prize in the “lay-out” from a winning to a
losing number, to correspond with that which the “capper” has made.
Yet another form of the “squeeze spindle”—which made its appearance some
years after the centennial of ’76, and which soon found favor among
professional “brace” gamblers and confidence men, is known to the
profession as the “three spindle” machine. It differs from the “squeeze
spindle” already described, only in that it contains three arrows or
“pointers,” instead of one, two of which are under control of the
operator through the employment of friction at the pivot by means of
precisely similar contrivances. There is a slightly better chance given
players, for the reason that one of the revolving needles is allowed to
come to rest by chance. It is not difficult, however, to perceive the
very large preponderance of chances in favor of the sharper, who has it
always in his power to determine who shall win the large wagers.
Gamblers who work a contrivance of this character always offer to pay
the bettor three to one, on the contingency of all three arrows stopping
on the same number. It would be comparatively safe for them to offer
considerably heavier odds, inasmuch as such an event constitutes one of
the remote possibilities of a century.
In the “three spindle” machines, the numbers are commonly arranged in
blocks of from one to six, but the “horses” are sometimes represented.
“Suckers” are more easily attracted by this arrangement, inasmuch as
they suppose that they have four “chances” (?) to win, instead of one.
In connection with the explanation of the operation of the squeeze
spindle it may not be out of place to relate a little narrative of what
the author once personally witnessed upon the fair-grounds at a Missouri
town. A sharper, who had “interviewed” the directors, “convinced” them
that his machine was entirely honest, and “arranged” matters
satisfactorily all around, felt serenely secure in the operation of his
“privilege.” [And right here I again condemn the granting of such
“privileges.” A “privilege” to do what? To prey upon the ignorant; to
dupe the unwary; to victimize the unsuspecting; to debauch the young;
and to scatter broadcast the seeds of corruption, whose fruit will be
misery in every home.] But this is by the way, let us return to the
narrative. The “privileged” gambler had set up his wheel, and to use a
slang phrase, “was doing a land-office business.” A verdant countryman
approached the machine. Over and over he tried his “luck,” which every
time—as a matter of course—rested with the “privileged” monopolist. This
went on for some time, and I, as a disinterested spectator, watched the
game. The agriculturalist quit a loser to the extent of some $50. The
blackleg’s face was impassable. The countryman thrust his hand into his
pocket; when he withdrew it, it clasped a long-bladed knife, the blade
reflecting the light. “Stranger,” said he, “I want my money back. I
don’t know how you did it, but you’ve cheated me, and I’m going to get
even. Give me back that money!” Only the unnatural pallor on the old
man’s face indicated the extreme tension of his feelings. The swindler
looked at him. At least seventy-five or a hundred persons were standing
around; something had to be done, and promptly. “Why, old man,” said the
proprietor, “there’s no use in your cutting up rough. Of course you can
have your money. I was only joking.” And with these words he returned
the dishonest winnings.
TIVOLI OR BAGATELLE.
This game is at once one of the most seductive and the most deceptive in
the outfit of the peripatetic gambler. In some minor respects it
resembles the children’s game of the same name, inasmuch as both are
played upon a board containing a number of pins and having numbered
compartments at the lower end. At this point, however, the resemblance
ceases.
[Illustration: tivoli]
The gambling device known by this name is shown in the accompanying
illustrations, figures 1 and 2. Figure 1 represents the table and figure
2 the cloth which always hangs behind it, and forms an indispensable
feature of the game. In explaining the diagrams, the construction of the
table will be first described. It is made of wood usually about 3½ to 4
feet in length and 2 feet broad, and when in use the upper end rests
upon a wooden framework, giving the board an inclination of some 30
degrees. Running lengthwise through the centre of the table is a wooden
partition, dividing it into two equal parts. At the lower end of each
division are ten compartments, open at the top, each set being numbered
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0. At the upper end of each division is a
gate, lettered on the diagram c.c. Between the gates and the numbered
compartments are placed metal pins or pegs, arranged substantially as
shown by the dots on the diagram. Directly below the lower row of pins
and extending over the upper ends of the compartments is a board, which
runs entirely across the table, but only one-half of which is shown in
the illustration. Before describing the mode of play, an explanation of
the cloth (as shown in fig. 2) is necessary. This cloth is generally
three feet in length by two in breadth, and is divided into 100 squares,
arranged and divided as shown in the cut. The figures—$1.00, $5.00,
etc.—in the squares indicate the prizes which may be won by the players.
The abbreviation “bl’k.” stands for “blank,” and indicates the losing
numbers, on which no prize is paid. The letters “rep.” are an
abbreviation for “represent,” and show that the player who happens to
make the number in that square must, if he does not wish to lose his
stake, double it and play again.
TIVOLI OR BAGATELLE.
┌────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┐
│Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ $2.00 │ $10.00 │ $1.00 │ $10.00 │Jewelry.│ Blank. │
│ 20 │ 47 │ 79 │ 11 │ 71 │ 25 │ 6 │ 16 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Rep. │Jewelry.│ $10.00 │ $10.00 │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │ $10.00 │Jewelry.│
│ 96 │ 26 │ 97 │ 29 │ 83 │ 39 │ 59 │ 32 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Blank. │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │ $2.00 │ $5.00 │ Rep. │ $1.00 │
│ 00 │ 85 │ 34 │ 58 │ 41 │ 21 │ 68 │ 55 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $1.00 │ Blank. │ $5.00 │ $1.00 │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ Blank. │ Rep. │
│ 91 │ 40 │ 5 │ 75 │ 62 │ 93 │ 72 │ 14 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Rep. │Jewelry.│ Rep. │Jewelry.│ Rep. │ $2.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │
│ 22 │ 80 │ 54 │ 28 │ 84 │ 57 │ 64 │ 42 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $10.00 │ $2.00 │ $10.00 │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ $2.00 │
│ 66 │ 30 │ 45 │ 2 │ 35 │ 78 │ 7 │ 27 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Blank. │ Rep. │ Rep. │ Blank. │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ $20.00 │Jewelry.│
│ 18 │ 88 │ 38 │ 10 │ 92 │ 53 │ 17 │ 48 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│Jewelry.│ Rep. │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $25.00 │ $2.00 │ $1.00 │ $1.00 │
│ 50 │ 74 │ 94 │ 24 │ 33 │ 99 │ 81 │ 23 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $1.00 │Jewelry.│ $2.00 │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ $2.00 │
│ 65 │ 86 │ 61 │ 49 │ 63 │ 76 │ 69 │ 37 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Blank. │ Rep. │Jewelry.│ $1.00 │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │
│ 46 │ 56 │ 36 │ 77 │ 43 │ 19 │ 60 │ 12 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $2.00 │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ Rep. │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │ Rep. │
│ 95 │ 1 │ 52 │ 82 │ 70 │ 31 │ 13 │ 90 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $2.00 │ Rep. │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │ $5.00 │
│ 8 │ 4 │ 98 │ 73 │ 44 │ 9 │ 51 │ 87 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ │ │ $2.00 │ $5.00 │ $2.00 │ $2.00 │ │ │
│ │ │ 15 │ 67 │ 89 │ 3 │ │ │
└────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┘
Those who wish to play, pay the proprietor a certain sum for the
privilege of dropping two marbles down the board, one rolling through
each of the gates C.C. The little spheres (d.d.) roll down the inclined
plane, their course being deflected from point to point, by the metal
pins until they finally come to rest in the compartments at the lower
end, one on each side of the centre board. The operator then looks to
see the numbers into which they have fallen. If the left hand marble has
rolled into “0,” the number of the right hand one only is taken. If the
latter rolls into “0,” and the left hand one, into some compartment
bearing a significant number, the entire amount is read as 10, 20, 30,
40, etc. If both numbers roll into the numbered compartments, both
figures are read, as e. g. 56, 79, 84, etc.
The number made by the player having been thus learned, the cloth is
inspected with a view to ascertaining the result of his play. If the
number which he has made calls for a prize, the same is handed to him.
If he has “drawn a blank,” he has to content himself with his loss. If
his number corresponds to a square containing the abbreviation “rep.,”
he may either lose the sum paid or double his stake and try again.
To show how utterly impossible it is for a chance player to win, it is
only necessary to explain the very simple secret mechanism which enables
the operator to send the marble into a losing compartment at his own
will. If the reader will look at the diagram, I, he will see a slender
line running from the right hand set of numbered compartments along the
entire length of the board, on its right hand side, and terminating near
the gate (c.), its course being indicated by the line (b.b.). This line
represents a stiff wire lever, placed below the board and entirely under
the control of the manipulator. By working this lever he can raise a row
of ten triangular metal points, marked a,a,a, all of which are covered
by the board at the lower end of the table, and which are so arranged
that one shall stand in front of each alternate compartment. When the
marble strikes one of these points, as a matter of course, it inevitably
glances off into one of the adjacent divisions. The peculiar beauty of
the contrivance, as viewed from a gambler’s standpoint, is the fact that
the compartments in front of which the points are placed are inscribed
with the winning numbers. The divisions into which the marbles are
forced to roll invariably correspond to those numbers on the cloth which
contain those words (so ominous to the greenhorn) “blank” or
“represent.”
In this, as in all similar games, the assistance of “cappers” is
indispensable. The dupes who stake their money in good faith are never
permitted to win, but unless somebody occasionally draws a prize,
interest is certain to be supplanted by a sense of discouragement. It
follows that confederates must be at hand. One of these will approach
the table and after being recognized by the operator will buy a chance.
At once the metal points are so placed that he has an even chance of
winning and he perseveres until he draws a handsome prize. Ordinarily,
however, the “capper” resorts to stratagem. Approaching a countryman, he
offers to “divide risks” with him; i. e., to advance half the money and
share equally in the gains or losses. As long as the “capper” and the
“sucker” play together, they invariably lose. Should the dupe become
disgusted with his “run of hard luck,” the “capper” continues to play
alone. The operator works the lever and his confederate soon wins a
prize; the greenhorn (who always stands near, to await the issue) at
once feels encouraged, and it usually requires little persuasion on the
“capper’s” part to induce him to make another venture.
JENNY WHEEL TABLE.
┌────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┐
│ $2.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ Rep. │
│ 9 │ 14 │ 2 │ 8 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $1.00 │ $10.00 │ $10.00 │Jewelry.│
│ 3 │ 27 │ 21 │ 18 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $5.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│ $5.00 │
│ 23 │ 32 │ 16 │ 25 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $2.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│Jewelry.│
│ 13 │ 20 │ 28 │ 4 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $10.00 │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│
│ 17 │ 1 │ 10 │ 22 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $10.00 │Jewelry.│ Blank. │Jewelry.│
│ 5 │ 30 │ 26 │ 12 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│Jewelry.│ $10.00 │ $1.00 │ $2.00 │
│ 24 │ 11 │ 15 │ 29 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $2.00 │Jewelry.│ $10.00 │ $25.00 │
│ 19 │ 6 │ 31 │ 7 │
└────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┘
THE JENNY WHEEL.
This device is most commonly used by the “small fry” gamblers, and I
have never known any large sum to be either won or lost through its
manipulation. It is a “fake,” pure and simple, and the apparatus for
cheating is so simple in construction that it could be easily detected
should a victim ask for the privilege of examining it. Should such an
inconvenient request be made, however, the manipulator can readily pick
up the whole apparatus and deposit it in his overcoat pocket.
[Illustration: jenny wheel]
It is some 6 or 8 inches in diameter, and is made of wood. In its
general principle it closely resembles the “needle wheel,” although far
less ingenious and by no means so complicated. It consists of a disc of
wood, on the rim of which are painted numbers 1 to 32, in consecutive
order. Between each two numbers is placed a thin brass plate, about a
quarter of an inch in height. Every alternate piece runs a little
farther in toward the centre than does the one next to it. The disc
slopes a little outward from the centre all around toward the
circumference. Above the disc is placed a somewhat smaller saucer-shaped
piece of wood, similar to that used in the “needle wheel,” and likewise
perforated with three holes near the centre. This upper saucer-like
plate revolves. In it is placed a marble, and the saucer is set in
motion. The marble falls through one of the holes, and rolls down the
incline into one of the little numbered compartments which, as I have
said, are separated by thin brass plates.
A small case containing articles of cheap jewelry stands near the wheel,
each one bearing a number. The player pays a stipulated sum—usually
twenty five cents—for the privilege of twirling the saucer containing
the marble and taking his chances of winning a prize. If the marble
falls into a compartment numbered to correspond with the number attached
to any one of the prizes exposed in the case, the article so numbered is
given to him. If, unfortunately, he draws a blank, he receives nothing.
The “fake” element in the device consists in the prolongation of each
alternative brass division between the numbers on the wheel. Of course,
the saucer is always set in motion in the same direction, usually from
left to right. The marble necessarily rolls in the same direction, and
when it strikes one of the protruding brass plates it inevitably rolls
into the compartment just next to the prolonged division. In numbering
the prizes the proprietor is careful so to arrange the blanks that the
latter may always correspond with the numbers of the compartments into
which the marble is sure to roll. The saucer plate into which the marble
is first placed, sets down so close upon the lower disc, that the ends
of the dividing plates cannot be seen by the players, who naturally
suppose that they are all of equal length.
As I have said, this apparatus is not well adapted to winning large
sums, yet where a fair is being held, as much as $50 or $60 may be won
in one day. This, however, is considered a comparatively poor return for
the risk, expense and trouble which the operator incurs.
O’LEARY BELT.
Like the other swindling devices which have been described, the
mechanism of this contrivance is easily operated, and, when explained,
readily comprehended. It is, however, what is called, in the slang of
the street, a “sure winner” for the manipulator. Thousands of dollars
have been won through its operation in a single day, without the
possibility of the dupes discovering how they have been defrauded.
[Illustration: o’leary belt]
In order to work it successfully, it is indispensable that the top of
the machine be raised high enough above the heads of the surrounding
crowd to prevent the bystanders from seeing the interior, inasmuch as
such a view would disclose the apparatus by means of which they are
robbed of their money. With this end in view, the gambler always
operates it from a buggy, the upper part of the machine standing about
three feet above the floor of the conveyance.
As will be seen in the cut, the device consists of a hoop-wheel (D B), a
supporting rod and a box platform, supporting the rod and wheel. The
apparatus maybe taken apart and neatly packed in this box. On the box is
placed a valise containing money. The wheel, or “belt,” is made of
brass, and is about sixteen inches in diameter and four inches broad. It
contains thirty-two compartments or pockets, each one containing a card,
which is held in position by a small fold of metal on each of three
sides. These cards may be perfectly blank, though usually they contain
pictures of famous beauties, or other celebrities. The valise, which is
shown in the illustration at the foot of the upright rod, contains
money. Inside the metal hoop is a leather belt, on which, at equal
distances, are painted numbers representing sums of money, so arranged
that one will fall behind each alternate compartment. When the cards are
raised, the belt is seen through a rectangular opening at the back.
The driver of the buggy carries a number of whips. As soon as a crowd
has gathered around him (which is certain to happen in a very few
moments), he informs the spectators that any one or more may, for $1.00,
purchase a chance to win a money prize, varying in amount from $1.00 to
$20.00. Some one having expressed an inclination to buy, the proprietor
takes his money and hands him a whip, with which to point to any one of
the thirty-two sections of the “hoop” which he may select. The purchaser
having rested the whip on a compartment, the operator removes the card
which he has touched. Underneath is shown either a blank space on the
“belt” or one inscribed with a certain sum. If it happen to be the
latter, the buyer is given the amount indicated; if the former, he
receives nothing.
Of course, as in all similar gambling machines, it is optional with the
manipulator whether the player win or lose. In the apparatus in
question, the “fake” is worked as follows: The inside of the “belt”
contains very small numbers, corresponding precisely in location to
those seen when the cards are raised. The operator, standing in the
buggy, is, of course, able to see these inner numbers. As soon as a
“sucker” has touched a card, the proprietor knows what number, if any,
lies beneath it. If below it there is a blank space, he at once raises
the card and shows the dupe that he has lost. If, on the other hand, he
perceives that the victim has won a prize, he stoops down toward the
valise, ostensibly to take out money, but really to touch a secret knob
or button, (lettered F in the cut) which works a wire (c) concealed
beneath the cover of the box and running up through the hollow rod until
it terminates in a hook (A B), which, by pressure, may be attached to
the inner leather belt. By operating this wire, he is able to shift the
position of the latter and thus so transfer the positions of the numbers
thereon painted that a blank may be substituted for a prize at his own
will. Thus, when a player has in fact won a prize, the gambler, through
a dextrous manipulation of the inner belt, by means of his secret
apparatus, shifts a blank to the aperture, removes the card which the
player has touched, and, presto! shows him that he has lost.
Before commencing operations, the proprietor usually removes the inner
belt, which he exhibits to the crowd, in order to show them that there
is nothing concealed. The curved hook (A B), of course remains, hidden
from view behind the metal hoop.
Many and ingenious are the devices of the operator to induce greenhorns
to purchase chances. A favorite method is to offer to buy the player’s
chance as soon as he touches a card with his whip, offering him $2.00 or
$3.00 therefor. If he accepts, the manipulator, by moving the inner belt
before he withdraws the card, can show him a large prize painted thereon
and thus easily convince him that had he declined the offer he might
have won five, ten, or even twenty dollars.
Of course, the aid of “cappers” is a _sine qua non_, since, if no one
wins, the crowd will soon grow suspicious. When a confederate buys a
chance and touches a card with the whip, the manipulator looks at the
inside of the belt to ascertain whether he has won a prize. If he has,
the sum called for is given him; if not, the “belt” is shifted by means
of the hook until a prize is brought behind the aperture, when the card
is raised and the crowd is speedily informed of his “good luck.”
As many persons can buy chances at one time at this game as the
proprietor has whips, usually six or seven players taking one each. No
two players, however, are allowed to touch adjacent sections, inasmuch
as in such a case one of them would inevitably win. When several
purchase chances at one time, the operator raises but one card at a
time, and thus finds abundant leisure in which to move the belt to meet
the exigencies of each case as it presents itself.
It may be easily seen that this device is better adapted for use upon
fair grounds, or other open places, than in the public streets. Its
successful operation depends upon the proprietor’s being so far above
the heads of the crowd that his manipulation of the inner belt cannot be
seen. When the fraud is practiced in a crowded thoroughfare, great care
must be taken by the sharper that his movements are not watched by
prying eyes from some over-looking window. Another danger which
threatens detection is the disposition of the crowd to climb upon the
buggy. This, however, may be overcome by the use of a slight degree of
force, and by refusing to proceed until such inquisitive interlopers
have resumed their places on the ground. But the man whom the proprietor
most dreads is the individual on horse-back, who forces his way up to
the buggy, and from his point of vantage obtains a full view of the
_modus operandi_. I once saw an amusing incident of this description at
a fair in a small Missouri town. The rider would insist upon taking a
position near the buggy in which the apparatus stood, and it was evident
that he was giving telegraphic signals to a friend in the crowd. The
operator rose equal to the occasion. Persuasion was idle; force
impossible. He took the only course open to him and bribed the horseman
to ride away, paying him handsomely for the concession.
Notwithstanding all these draw-backs, the contrivance is a prime
favorite with itinerant gamblers, in consequence of the ease with which
it is manipulated and the general confidence with which it is regarded
until the idea that it is a “fake” dawns upon the mind of the crowd.
The name of the device is supposed to have been the same as that of its
inventor. A well-known confidence operator by the name of O’Leary
flourished some years ago, who was recognized among his companions as an
expert manipulator of this apparatus, and it is generally believed among
the guild of peripatetic gamesters that the idea of its construction was
conceived in his fertile brain, through the direct inspiration of the
antipodes of Providence.
“HAP-HAZARD” OR “BEE-HIVE.”
The accompanying illustration gives an excellent idea of the general
appearance of this device, which is one of the most successfully
contrived schemes for swindling which has ever fallen under my
observation. It is known indiscriminately as “hap-hazard” or “bee-hive.”
The former name was probably given because of its being, to all
appearance, exclusively a game of chance; it has been called “bee hive”
because of its shape, but it is safe to say that the “suckers” get none
of the honey.
It consists of two cones, an inner and outer, lettered “B” and “D” on
the diagram, placed upon a heavy, circular piece of wood, around the rim
of which are thirty-two compartments, numbered from one to thirty-two,
and separated by thin metal plates. Driven into the surface of the inner
cone are small nails or metal pegs, the arrangement of which is a matter
of comparative indifference, although they are usually rather close
together and approximately equi-distant. The outer cone serves as a cap
or case. Formerly this was made of tin, but of late years glass has been
substituted, with the exception of the lower inch, which is still made
of metal, silver-plated, for reasons which will be presently explained.
Fair and circus grounds are the localities usually selected for working
this scheme, the operation of which is very simple. A case containing
numbered prizes forms part of the paraphernalia of the proprietor, and
always occupies a conspicuous place near the machine.
The manner of using the apparatus for gambling purposes is as follows:
Any one wishing to “try his luck” (?) pays a fixed sum (usually 50 cents
to $1.00, according to the size of the crowd) for the privilege. The
outer cap (D) having been placed over the cone (B), a marble is dropped
through an opening (C) in the top of the former. Striking upon the
surface of the inner cone, it pursues a “hap-hazard” course, striking
against the nails, or pegs, as it falls to the bottom. Should it roll
into a compartment numbered to correspond with one of the prizes in the
case the fortunate player is given the particular prize called for.
[Illustration: “HAP-HAZARD,” OR “BEE-HIVE.”]
The “fake” element may be very easily explained. If the reader will look
at the accompanying diagram, he will perceive at the base of the inner
cone (B), three small dots, lettered A, A, A. These dots represent pegs
driven at precisely equal distances from each other, a row of which runs
all around the base of the inner cone. The arrangement of these pegs is
such that each of them may be made to stand exactly above the alternate
compartment in the lower plate. When the cap is placed over the
apparatus, by an ingenious device at the bottom, the manipulator is
able, by slightly turning the outer cone, to arrange this lower row of
pegs so that each of them may stand directly over a winning number. The
result of this arrangement is that when the marble, in its descent,
strikes against one of these lower pegs its course is necessarily
deflected into one of the compartments on either side, the division into
which it inevitably falls always being a blank.
An unsophisticated player can, consequently, never win except through
the consent of the operator. In order to encourage the crowd in playing,
“cappers” have to be employed, who are always on hand to draw prizes. As
soon as one of these individuals makes his appearance and is recognized
by the proprietor, the latter gives a slight turn to the outer case, in
such a way as to bring the lower row of pegs directly above the blanks.
The consequence is that when the “capper” drops the marble through the
aperture above referred to, it must necessarily fall into a compartment
numbered to correspond with a prize.
The devices of the “capper” are sometimes very ingenious. In order to
disarm suspicion he will occasionally approach a verdant looking
countryman with the statement that he sees that the game is perfectly
fair and would like to take a chance, but is restrained by the presence
of his wife and son. He therefore asks the countryman to take his money,
buy him a chance and drop the marble for him. The old farmer is
naturally pleased with the suggestion, inasmuch as it gives him all the
excitement of gaming without any of the risk. He very readily complies
with the “capper’s” request, and the latter standing behind him gives a
prearranged signal to the operator that the player is acting for him.
The countryman draws the prize, which he honestly turns over to the
“capper.” The latter, thereupon, usually gives the farmer a dollar with
which to make a venture on his own account. As a matter of course he
loses, and it is usually not very difficult to induce him to make
another trial, on the principle of “double or quits,” or “representing,”
as has been before explained in the remarks under the “needle wheel.”
Some idea of gambler’s profits from this machine may be formed when I
say that the man operating such a device, who fails to take away from a
fair ground at least $500 a week in clear profits, considers that he is
doing a small business, and I have myself nearly doubled that sum within
that time.
It sometimes happens, however, that the verdant looking countryman,
after receiving the dollar from the “capper” and winning a prize for the
latter, forthwith “makes tracks” for parts unknown, leaving the
proprietor and his astute confederate to mourn the loss of their money
and to bewail their own misplaced confidence in human nature.
BOX AND BALLS.
[Illustration: box and balls]
This is a device by no means common, there being very few of the
“fraternity” who can operate it successfully. Yet there are two sharpers
in the country, who have won fortunes through its manipulation, either
of whom would promptly resent any imputation upon his character as an
insult. In the accompanying diagram, Figure “1” shows the exterior of
the box, which is of wood, about ten inches long, four and one-half
inches broad and two and one-half inches deep. Inside this box “B,” are
placed thirty ivory balls or marbles, each of which are numbered. Near
the operator stands a table on which is a show case containing twelve
prizes, part of which are articles of jewelry and the remainder sums of
money. The players, of whom there may be seven or eight, pay from fifty
cents to a dollar each for the chance of winning a prize. When a
sufficient number of chances have been sold the operator shakes the box,
causing the balls to roll from one end to the other. Letter “A” on
figure 1, represents a slide at one end of the box. This slide is raised
by the manipulator and allows one ball to escape at a time. The number
of the marble is examined, and if it be found to correspond with that
attached to a prize in the show-case, the fortunate player is given the
article or money which he has won. The diagram of the case is shown in
figure 3.
BOX AND BALL CASE.
┌────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┐
│ $10.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │ $10.00 │ Rep. │
│ 1 │ 8 │ 12 │ 29 │ 4 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $52.00 │Jewelry.│ Blank. │ $20.00 │Jewelry.│
│ 15 │ 24 │ 28 │ 17 │ 10 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│Jewelry.│ $10.00 │ $5.00 │Jewelry.│Jewelry.│
│ 6 │ 21 │ 3 │ 22 │ 14 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $5.00 │Jewelry.│ Rep. │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │
│ 11 │ 27 │ 30 │ 26 │ 7 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ Rep. │ $5.00 │ Rep. │ $10.00 │Jewelry.│
│ 18 │ 25 │ 20 │ 19 │ 16 │
├────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤
│ $10.00 │Jewelry.│ $5.00 │ Rep. │Jewelry.│
│ 5 │ 13 │ 23 │ 9 │ 2 │
└────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┘
The fraud consists of two elements, one relating to the marbles, and the
other to the box. In the first place, the ivory spheres are not all of
equal size, the twelve whose numbers correspond to the valuable prizes
being the merest trifle larger than the eighteen which call for articles
of no value. So slight, however, is the variation in size that it is
absolutely impossible to detect it by the eye. The “fake” in the box is
in the slide, “A,” and is shown in figure 1, which gives an enlarged
view of this part of the apparatus. In this figure the line “B”
represents a shoulder, whose height above the bottom of the slide (which
is shaved almost as thin as paper,) is so delicately adjusted that it
stops the larger balls, and allows the smaller ones to strike against
the thin wood. The sensitive finger of the manipulator readily discerns
the striking of a ball against this part of the slide. If he feels it he
knows that he must raise the slide and allow one of the smaller marbles
to escape, inasmuch as the latter calls for no article of value.
The “cappers” are useful in this as in all similar games. They serve to
stimulate the interest of the players and revive their confidence when
it begins to fail. Of course, when a “capper” is playing, the operator
shakes the box until he knows from the absence of pressure upon the thin
edge of the slide that one of the larger marbles will escape by raising
the same. He takes out the ball, and hands his confederate the valuable
prize for which the number calls.
This is a favorite game for playing “doubles or quits,” or “represent.”
In fact, sometimes more money is made in this way than by the regular
sale of chances.
I was using this device on one occasion in company with a partner. The
game is a difficult one to work, and I was not an expert. The result was
that the wrong ball escaped, and a sucker won a twenty dollar prize. I
was much chagrined, and endeavored to shift the responsibility of the
loss upon my partner, by telling him that he had signaled that the
player was a “capper.” My partner followed the stranger and requested
him to divide; on the ground that he had been the means of his winning.
The countryman, however, smilingly retained the money, leaving my
confederate to mourn.
MINIATURE RACE TRACK.
The miniature race track is a game which resembles the “needle wheel”
and other similar contrivances which have been already described. It
consists of a wooden disc, about four feet in diameter, the outer rim of
which is stationary, and within which revolves an inner wheel of the
same material. The outer periphery of the disc contains a representation
of the “judges’ stand” on a race track, from the center of which extends
a line running toward the middle of the circle. On the inner revolving
wheel are painted representations of, say, half dozen horses, each
picture being accompanied by the name of some famous racer.
Players make their bets as follows: A set of paddles equal in number to
that of the horses depicted on the inner wheel, and containing
corresponding descriptions, are sold the bettors at a stipulated price
each—usually from twenty-five cents to five or even ten dollars. The
paddles having been sold, the inner wheel is set in motion, and when it
comes to rest the player who has placed his wager upon the horse which
is nearest the inner side of the line extending from the “judges’ stand”
wins the pool, the percentage which the proprietor claims upon the
operation of the apparatus having been first deducted.
It is easily seen that the owner of the machine incurs no risk, inasmuch
as he always receives a percentage of the stakes, no matter which one of
the bettors may prove to be the winner. This should be enough to satisfy
the money-making instinct of any ordinary man, but the parties who run
an apparatus of this kind are not ordinary men. They seek for still
further advantage, and they obtain it through the manipulation of a
concealed lever, which brings friction to bear at the centre pivot, in
the same manner as has been already described in a number of similar
contrivances. The result is, that if possible the proprietor allows no
one to win. If, however, bets have been placed upon each of the half
dozen horses, the manipulator has it in his power always to bring the
inner wheel to a stand-still when the horse upon which the lowest bet
has been placed is nearest the magic line.
The advantages arising from the employment of a “capper” in a scheme of
this sort are too apparent to call for special elucidation. A
confederate may bet upon a certain horse, and the proprietor always has
it within his power to allow his accomplice to win.
STRIKING MACHINE.
This is a very simple contrivance, and used by small “fakirs,” who are
content with very paltry winnings. It is an apparatus by which to
measure the force of a blow. A dial, in the center of which is placed an
arrow-shaped pointer, registers the number of pounds representing the
strength of the striker’s arm. The “fakir” usually allows two blows to
be struck for the small sum of five cents. At the back of the dial is a
concealed spring, by means of which, through applying friction at the
pivot on which the pointer revolves, the operator is able so to check
the movement of the latter that it is impossible for the striker to
record upon the dial any large number of pounds.
It is a common practice, too, for a “capper” to be standing around, who
offers to strike, in connection with the stranger, to see who shall pay
the five cents for the two blows. When his confederate strikes the
machine the proprietor, by diminishing the friction at the pivot,
suffers the pointer to make almost a complete revolution. When the
“sucker” takes his turn, the friction is increased, and of course he is
compelled to pay the stipulated nickel.
This contrivance is of so insignificant a character as hardly to merit
description. It is worthy of mention only as showing the natural bent of
the mind of men of this character, and of illustrating the contemptible
schemes to which they will resort.
TOP AND BOTTOM BOXES.
This is another confidence game, the success of which appeals not only
to the avarice but also to the dishonest impulses of the dupe. The
latter is induced to believe that he can gain a decided advantage over a
sharper through the carelessness of the confidence man and the superior
astuteness which he flatters himself that he possesses. Its operation
calls for three small paper boxes, each of which has a false bottom,
from which circumstance the trick has been given the name which appears
at the head of this paragraph.
The man who intends to victimize any “sucker” whom he may be able to
find, first exposes a bill of some large denomination, which he places
in one of the boxes. He raises one of the covers and places the
greenback inside, shutting down the top in such a way that a corner of
the bill is left exposed apparently by accident. He then changes the
relative position of the boxes and asks which one of the three contains
the bank note, the guess to be made simply “for fun.” Of course, the
greenhorn, who has seen the corner of the bill protruding from beneath
the cover has no difficulty in locating its position. This may be done,
perhaps, more than once. The next step on the part of the sharper is to
produce a time piece, (e. g. a watch), which he assures his dupe is one
of rare value, but which he is willing to dispose of at a comparatively
nominal price, say, $50. He then takes a bill of a large amount—possibly
$100—from his pocket and places it inside one of the boxes. He next
shuffles the boxes about, apparently with the intention of confusing the
dupe as to the precise position of the one containing the bill. The
latter, however, feels fully satisfied that he can locate the box in
question, for the reason that he feels sure that he sees the corner of
the note protruding from beneath the cover.
The sharper then tells the “sucker” that he will sell him the
“chronometer” for the agreed price, which, he says, is ridiculously low,
and will also give him a gratuitous chance to guess which box contains
the bill. The dupe thinking that he knows precisely the box in question,
pays no attention whatever to the watch, his attention being centered on
the money. He assents to the proposal and a transaction which, on its
face appears to be a legitimate sale is concluded. The money is paid and
the utterly worthless watch is handed over. Then the eager dupe guesses
which of the three boxes contains the bill. The cover is removed and
nothing is seen. The reason is that just outside the false covers the
confidence man has pasted the corner of a fictitious greenback, the
appearance of which misleads the dupe, while the actual treasury note is
safely in the sharper’s pocket, or in one of the other two boxes.
THE SWINGING BALL.
This is a simple little contrivance, usually operated by small “fakirs,”
yet I have known from sixty to seventy dollars a day to be made
therefrom on circus and fair-grounds. Its construction may be readily
understood on an examination of the diagram. The lower line represents
the support on which rests a frame, composed of two uprights, and
connected at the top by a cross-piece. From the centre of the latter
hangs a string, at the end of which is a wooden ball, lettered “C.” In
the centre of the lower support there is placed a triangular pin,
lettered “D” on the diagram.
[Illustration: swinging ball]
Those who wish to try their luck pay twenty-five cents for the privilege
of swinging the ball. The player stands in front of the frame and throws
the ball from him. If, as it swings back it overturns the peg, he
receives back his twenty-five cents, together with a dollar. If,
unfortunately, he overturns the peg as the ball moves from him, he
loses.
In order to guard against the happening of the former catastrophe, the
ball is usually slightly deflected toward either the right or left as it
leaves the hands of the player. If the uprights remain perfectly
perpendicular, the chances are that the ball, on its return, will strike
the peg through the operation of the law of gravitation. Just here is
where the operator does a little “fine work.” The uprights are always
made a little loose, so that by a very slight pressure from the shoulder
on the part of the manipulator, at the point “A,” they may be bent from
a perpendicular position to that indicated by the dotted line B. The
inevitable result is that when the ball swings back, the force of
gravity draws it on one side of the peg, and the unfortunate speculator
sees that he has lost the money which he paid for the privilege of
throwing it.
This game, at first blush, appears to be so perfectly “square,” that the
assistance of the “capper” is rarely needed, although sometimes they may
be employed to advantage.
CHAPTER VIII.
“GOLD BRICKS.”
Of all the devices which the fertile brain of the confidence operator
has originated, it may be questioned whether any is more ingenious in
conception or has reaped a richer harvest for the scoundrels who have
operated it than has the “gold brick swindle.” Notwithstanding the fact
that the secular press throughout the country has, for years past,
repeatedly directed public attention to the general nature of this
method of fraud, yet even in the present year of grace the newspapers
are month after month called upon to chronicle new exploits of the same
character, and to record the names of fresh victims.
These journals, however, have never thoroughly ventilated the scheme in
all its details, and in their description of the tactics employed by the
operators they not infrequently draw largely upon their imagination,
substituting fiction for fact. The victim himself is often restrained,
by a sense of shame, from unfolding the full depth of his credulity, not
more than fifteen per cent. of the dupes ever making their losses
public. The author believes that the present exposure is the first
authentic recital of the methods of this class of sharpers ever given to
the public from a reliable standpoint.
[Illustration: gold brick swindle]
To perpetrate the fraud successfully, the co-operation of at least three
confederates is essential, of whom two must be gifted with some dramatic
power. Some little cash is also required, it being necessary to procure
a sample of filings of refined gold, one or two nuggets, and a “brick,”
or bar, of some thirty pounds in weight, composed of brass and copper,
costing about twenty-five cents per pound.
The first objective point is the selection of a victim. He must be a man
whose resources are of such a sort as to enable him to produce, at short
notice, a considerable amount in ready cash. It is not considered wise
to deal with a man who may find it necessary to ask for accommodation at
his bank, inasmuch as such action on his part might result in the
institution and prosecution of numberless inconvenient inquiries by the
bank officials. Incredible as it may appear, it is the literal truth
that in choosing a “mark,” the confidence operators frequently have
recourse to a reputable business man in the community, who furnishes the
swindlers with what is known, in slang phrase, as a “pointer” concerning
the resources and personal characteristics of the prominent men in the
neighborhood. In such a case, the party furnishing the information is
always fully informed as to the purpose for which it is desired, and is
promised a stipulated percentage of the dishonest gains, should the
fraud be successfully consummated. The inherent villany of such a
transaction is well calculated to make the reader recoil in disgust, if
not in horror. The author, however, has been told by men who have
successfully perpetrated the fraud, that men of unblemished reputation,
occupying high positions in social, professional, or commercial circles,
some of them even filling posts of responsible trust in public life,
have been personally paid in the presence of his informants, the notes
which constituted their agreed proportion of the money obtained from the
wretched dupe whom they had assisted in defrauding.
The victim having been thus carefully selected and located, the next
step is to excite his cupidity. The ordinary _modus operandi_ is
substantially as described below.
One of the confederates, attired as a miner from Mexico or the far West,
calls upon the party chosen at the latter’s residence. Every detail of
his appearance is attended to with the utmost care, from the seemingly
sun-browned face, the apparent result of years of honest toil in the
open air, to the well-worn, patched trousers carelessly tucked in the
large, coarse, dusty boots. A battered cowboy’s sombrero is negligently
perched upon the head, and around his waist is drawn a buckskin money
belt. Having gained the presence of his prospective dupe, the pretended
miner from the rude camps of “the Rockies” presents a paper on which is
written, in sprawling characters, the victim’s name. For the purpose of
illustration any name will answer; let us suppose that it is Thomas
Jones. After he has handed this paper to the individual in question, the
confidence man (who feigns illiteracy and pretends to be entirely
destitute of worldly wisdom) simulates acute disappointment at
discovering that he is not the Tom Jones for whom he had been looking.
He draws out an old red cotton handkerchief and wipes his eyes, as he
sinks, apparently exhausted, into a chair. Naturally the sight of so
quaint-looking an individual awakens the interest of Mr. Jones, and his
simulated fatigue and grief arouse his curiosity, if not his sympathy,
and he asks the cause of his distress. “No, no,” the sharper answers,
“You’se not the Tom Jones I knows; and we’s come so far, and the
Indian’s so sick he can’t tote the gold no furder. And Tom Jones he was
to give us the paper money.” And here the pretended miner permits his
feelings wholly to get the mastery of him, and he bows his head in
deepest sorrow. Mr. Jones would be either more or less than human if,
after this, he did not seek for further information. “What Indian? What
gold? What paper money?” are among the questions which rise to his lips.
The confidence man hesitates for a moment, and if there are any other
persons in the room requests that the latter withdraw. Then he says to
Mr. Jones, with the air of one imparting a great secret: “You looks
honest, and I’ll tell you. We’se got a heap o’ gold, me and the Indian;
and we’s looking for Tom Jones, cause he’s got lots o’ paper money,
piles o’ paper money, locked up in an iron box. And now I can’t find
him. I could make him and all his chillen rich.” “Where did you get the
gold?” asks the now deeply interested Mr. Jones. “We’se tooken it out o’
the mine, way down in Mexico.” “Where is it?” pursues Jones. “The
Indian, he’s got it,” replies the miner. “And where is the Indian?”
“Oh,” answers the sharper, “he’s down to the big camp, back over there
(pointing), with the house built over the water (a bridge). He’s sick,
and couldn’t come no furder.”
It usually occurs to Mr. Jones at this stage of the conversation that he
has been strangely unmindful of the duties of hospitality, and he
directs that some refreshment be prepared and set before his guest.
While this is being done, the host, who has by this time become very
urbane, tells the stranger that he (Jones) is a wealthy man; that he
owns lands and stock and property of various descriptions, and that he
has “paper money, lots of it;” that it is therefore unnecessary for the
miner to seek for the other Mr. Jones, as he can do business with him.
To this proposal, however, the unsophisticated miner refuses to assent.
He wants to see “his” Mr. Jones, and he expresses his intention of going
on to the next town, where he professes to believe that he can find
tidings of the whereabouts of that mysterious individual. Before he
takes his departure he promises, in compliance with the oft-repeated
request of his host, that in case he fails to find the man of whom he is
in quest he will return.
It is a very common practice, in working this scheme, for the swindler,
shortly before leaving his victim, to take from his belt a small nugget,
which he hands to the intended dupe, with the request that he take it to
the nearest “medicine shop” (drug store), and after he has had some
“smoke water” (acid) poured on it to carry it to the watchmaker’s
(jeweler’s) and sell it for what it is worth, bringing back the
proceeds. This shrewd move of the confidence man serves a double
purpose: it convinces the victim that he actually has gold, and at the
same time leads him to suppose that he is dealing with a man wholly
inexperienced in the ways of the world.
After a day or two the swindler returns, attired as before. He has
failed to find the Thomas Jones whom he was seeking, but has learned
where he is. Will the Mr. Jones whose acquaintance he has so recently
formed kindly write a letter to his old friend at his dictation? Of
course Mr. Jones assents, and the epistle is indited to the mythical
personage, something after the following manner:
“Dear Friend, Mr. Tom Jones:—Me and the Indian has come on with the
first lot of gold.”
Here the pretended miner pauses, and asks his amanuensis if he will keep
his secret. Jones, who is anxious to hear what is to follow, readily
promises. The sharper, however, insists upon his taking an oath of
secrecy, which is duly administered, the affiant sometimes, in his
eagerness, raising both hands. This ceremony having been performed, the
writing of the letter is resumed, its tenor running something after this
fashion:
“We’s got all the rest hid away, and there’s ten millions worth of it.
Now you come right off with the paper money, ’cause the Indian he’s
sick, and me and him wants to go back to Mexico. Come right now. We’s
got enough to make us all rich.”
The thought of $10,000,000 in the hands of an ignorant old miner and an
untutored child of the forest excites the cupidity of Mr. Jones to a
high degree. He chafes under the reflection that his chance of securing
a considerable proportion of this vast sum is drifting away from him. He
believes that his superior knowledge of the world and his familiarity
with business customs and forms would render it a comparatively easy
matter for him to make himself the owner of the lion’s share of an
immense fortune, and he mentally curses the other Jones, from the bottom
of his heart.
The letter having been completed, the miner is asked to give the
address. He promptly answers, “Mississippi.” “Mississippi,” repeats Mr.
Jones. “Why, man, Mississippi is a big State, like this. Your letter
will never reach him directed to Mississippi. What city?” The sharper
does not know any other address, and begins again to bemoan his hard lot
at having come so far to no purpose, and “the Indian so sick.”
The “sucker” believes that this is his opportunity. He again assures his
new friend that he himself will buy the gold from him, and after much
persuasion prevails upon the confidence man to reveal the whereabouts of
the “Indian” who has in his custody so much of the precious metal.
The result of this interchange of confidence is that the swindler and
the “sucker” start together for the town where the “Indian” is supposed
to be. Usually some point at a distance of perhaps 100 or 200 miles is
chosen in which to locate this mysterious personage. Sometimes the
confidence man buys the railroad tickets, sometimes the dupe; at all
events, the fares are paid and the pair start for their point of
destination.
On arriving at the place named, the two confederates (who have usually
been apprised of the hour of their arrival) are there at the railway
station, and carefully note the signal given by the “miner.” If the
latter raises his hat, they know that everything is proceeding
satisfactorily. If he shakes the lapel of his coat, they understand that
“the jig is up,” and that they had better “take quick steps and long
ones.” Sometimes the information is conveyed by means of an umbrella or
stick. If the same is carried across the shoulder, “all is well”; if as
a walking cane, there is “danger ahead.”
It is needless to say, that of these two confederates one is the
mysterious “Indian.” The other is what is technically known as a
“trailer,” whose duty it is to follow the “sucker” wherever he goes,
keeping him continually in sight and noting his every movement.
Immediately upon receiving the pre-arranged signal at the station, the
first confidence man and his victim now repair to the spot in the woods
whither the “Indian” has gone. On reaching the locality the bar is
exhumed from the hiding place in which it had been previously buried.
The “redskin,” whose “make-up” has been as carefully arranged as that of
the “miner,” corroborates the statement that the gold is there, and Mr.
Jones is given a glimpse of the glittering but spurious metal.
If the latter should go to a drug store and purchase a bottle of acid,
with which the supposed gold may be tested, the services of the third
confidence man are called into requisition, but he himself is kept
carefully in the background. When the dupe procures the necessary acid,
the “trailer” buys a precise duplicate of the bottle. The contents of
this latter bottle, however, are poured out and replaced by water.
When the victim returns to the spot on which he has left the “Indian”
and the supposed “miner,” the latter has already received from his
confederate the bottle of water, identical in size, appearance and label
with that which the dupe has in his pocket. “Mr. Jones” is informed that
the “Indian” has no objection to the pouring of “smoke water” (acid)
upon the “brick,” but that he is fearful of being put to sleep through
the administration of “sleepy water” (chloroform). This ingenious story
satisfactorily accounts for the request which the sharper makes that
“Mr. Jones” shall hand the bottle to him, in order that the “Indian” may
receive the acid from the hands of his friend. This suggestion appears
reasonable, and the eager dupe promptly turns over his bottle to the
“miner,” who easily substitutes therefor his own previously prepared
bottle of water, which is poured upon the composition, and of course
without effect. The dupe now feels tolerably certain that the bar shown
him is of genuine gold. In order to satisfy him completely, however, the
confidence man produces an augur and brace, which he hands to the dupe
with a request that the latter bore into the “brick” and carry off the
filings in order to have them assayed. As soon as a sufficient quantity
of filings has been obtained, the sharper places them in a piece of
paper torn off from that which the “brick” has been wrapped, and
ostensibly hands them to Jones. As a matter of fact, the latter does not
receive the borings which he believes that he does, the swindler
dexterously substituting at the critical moment, a package similar in
appearance, but containing filings of refined gold with which the
scoundrels have taken the precaution to provide themselves.
The assay naturally shows gold of from 18 to 20 karat fineness, and Mr.
Jones is now quite ready to make the purchase. He goes to his bank,
draws his money, and returns to the “Indian” and the “miner.” The bar is
weighed and its value is computed. Mr. Jones then asks how the money is
to be divided. “Why,” replies sharper number one, “into three piles; one
for you, one for me and one for the Indian.” This arrangement is
eminently satisfactory to the “sucker,” who has probably already
attempted to defraud his companions by means of a false computation, and
who now thinks that he sees his way clear to make a purchase of pure
gold at about two-thirds of its value.
The money having been paid over, the brace of confederates at once take
their departure for parts unknown and Mr. Jones returns to his home
laden down with a ponderous mass of metal worth about $9, but for which
he has paid many thousands.
Another favorite method of perpetrating the swindle is as follows: Two
confederates repair to the farm of some wealthy man and at a chosen spot
bury one of the bars of spurious gold. A chart showing a “lay of the
land,” is then carefully prepared and so treated as to give it the
appearance of antiquity. All preparations having been carefully made,
the confidence men drive up to the residence of the intended dupe, and
after some conversation in the course of which they are at pains to
satisfy themselves that he is the individual for whom they are looking,
they inform him that they have learned that there lies buried upon his
farm a mass of gold of great value. Some plausible story is invented to
account for their having come into possession of this information. The
chart is now produced, and the farmer is surprised to see so correct a
diagram of his property. The spot where the “brick” has been buried is
carefully and accurately located upon the plat.
This appeal to the avarice of the intended victim rarely fails to
accomplish the end desired. He is anxious to commence digging for the
precious metal without delay. The swindlers allow him to conduct the
boring himself. Operations having been begun, in due time the spade or
pick of the digger strikes the bar, whose glittering appearance arouses
every instinct of cupidity in the breast of the countryman. The sharpers
at once offer to sell out their interest to him for comparatively one
half of the value of the supposed gold. The same tactics, substantially,
with regard to testing and assaying the metal are resorted to which have
been already described. The value of the “find” is computed, the
“sucker” pays over his money, and the confidence man leaves him to
repent of his folly at his leisure.
[Illustration: THE “MINER” AND “TOM” JONES.]
EVERY BIT TRUE.
[BY REV. JOHN SNYDER.]
There’s no art
To find the mind’s construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
—[Shakespeare.
The “second bell” had rung and yet I had not responded to the clamoring
call to breakfast. An impatient rap at my door.
“Papa, papa,” from my oldest daughter. “There’s a gentleman waiting to
see you.”
“Yes, yes, I am coming. I am not one of the seven sleepers.”
Who could it be? The early morning hour is sacred to beggars having
elaborate and well-worn letters of introduction, some of which have seen
service so long that the paper upon which they are written holds
together as poorly as the clumsy tales of their bearers. Sometimes calls
for funeral services come in the dewy morning, and oftener bashful young
gentlemen stop in buggies and say with nervous energy, but trembling
lips, “Dr. Snyder, I would like—we would like to have you do a little
job for me—I mean for us. We’re going to get married to-morrow night and
we’d like to have you tie the knot. We often come to hear you preach on
Sunday evenings.” And then I recognize the sterner half of a handsome
young couple who come rather late to church and sit on the back seat and
keep up a religious conversation during the whole service.
All this time I am hurrying into my morning gown. It is a little torn in
the sleeve, by the way, and when I am in haste I always strike the wrong
side of the sleeve-lining. Down stairs I go, and in the hall sits a man
who has none of the blushing uneasiness of the prospective bridegroom.
My hand is cordially grasped in a palm that seems to bear enthusiastic
honesty and simple affection in its very grip.
“Are you Dr. Snyder?”
“So people call me who don’t know the facts of the case,” I answer with
a smile.
“John Snyder,” he persists, with increasing eagerness.
“Beyond a question.”
I never saw a deeper melancholy shadow a man’s face or sadden his voice.
He seemed broken-hearted, bewildered with some unspeakable sorrow.
“I’ve come 2,500 miles to see you, and now you ain’t the man I’m looking
for,” he said at last.
I drew him into the parlor, and in the bright light got a better look at
his face and form. He was one of Bret Harte’s portraits stepped out of
the frame. Of medium height, slightly but strongly built, his form had
about it that untaught and indefinable grace of movement which it is
popularly supposed is imparted only by the untrammeled freedom of forest
life. His long brown hair slightly curled, fell about his neck, and his
handsome beard evidently was as innocent of steel as that of a
Nazarite’s. He was roughly dressed, having a pair of alligator boots, to
which doubtless the newsboy’s “shine” was an untried novelty. But it was
his face that chiefly charmed me. His nose was straight and clearly cut
and his eye was as frank and innocent as a baby’s. When he spoke his
speech was flavored with that Southern twang which no man not to the
“manner born” can ever imitate.
“Yes,” he repeated, with increasing sorrow in his soft voice, “I have
come 2,500 miles to see you, and you ain’t the man.”
“You were looking for somebody bearing my name?”
“Yes, sir. You see I’ve been livin’ for about twelve or thirteen years
down on the borders of old Mexico, among the Indians and half-breeds.
An’ there was a man come down there several years ago by the name o’
Snyder, John Snyder, that’s your name, ain’t it? Yes. Well, he’d been a
Methodis’ preacher and he come from my own State, North Carliny. He used
to work in the mines an’ he used to preach, too. An’ I tell you he was a
mighty good man. ’Fore he come things was awful rough in that camp. Why,
they use ter kill a man almost every week. I’ve seen a fellow shot right
dead on a bar-room floor and nobody’d take any notice of him, and one of
them rough women would go up to the bar to take a drink of whisky and
her clothes would jest brush over the dead man’s face! But I tell ye
when that preacher come things began to be different. All that killing
business begun to stop. The boys jest thought everything of him. They’d
trust him with everything they had in the world. And he come to St.
Louis about five or six months ago and I want to find him the worst
way.”
Thinking that as my heroic namesake had come from North Carolina, he
would naturally belong to the M. E. Church, South, I directed my
disconsolate visitor to the book concern of that branch of the church
militant. As he turned to leave the door he said, “If I didn’t find that
preacher, could you let me come back and get you to write me a letter,
for I can’t write?” I was touched by the sense of desolation and
pitiable ignorance in which this lonely creature seemed to dwell, and
said cordially:
“Come back, and I will do anything I can to serve you.”
In the early morning of the next day my backwoods hero presented
himself. He had searched the city through, but the saintly miner-
preacher was nowhere to be found. And yet there was a gleam of dimmest
hope in his eye and a sweet and quiet smile upon his lips, for he seemed
to transfer all his loving, clinging confidence to me.
“Well, I couldn’t find him,” he said. “Now, I’ll just tell you in what
kind of a fix I’m in. I’ve been out of the mines fur nigh onto thirteen
years, and sometimes I’ve got together as much as $12,000 or $13,000 at
a time, and then it would jest kinder melt away from me. Now I see a
chance to make some money. Fur about twelve years I’ve hed a chum who’s
a half-breed Indian, a fellow by the name of Zamora. Well, about six
months ago he was out hunting with some full-blooded Indians, and they
chased a small deer up the side of a hill; when all of a sudden the deer
went out of sight. My chum went up to the place where he missed him, and
looking down a hole, saw him jest about four or five feet down. So he
went down after him. When he got down there he forgot all about the
deer, I tell ye. He was jest in a hole o’ gold! He got the Indians to
help him, and right there and then he got out some chunks, and buildin’
a fire where they was campin’, they made what them fellers call a dobie
mold and jest run some of the gold into that. After he had filled them
Indians full o’ whiskey he knew they’d never think of the place again,
and so when he got rid o’ them he went back alone and got what stuff was
on the surface. Then he come and told me about it; but mind ye, he
didn’t show me the place. Them half-breeds are mighty suspicious. But he
brought out three of the chunks. I showed a piece of the stuff to a
fellow named Bailey—Capt. Bailey they called him, and he stole it. He
said, ‘An Indian ain’t got any rights anyhow.’ Well, if I’d tried to get
it back none of the boys would ’er backed me up, ’cause they’re all down
on Indians, and Zamora wouldn’t let me trust another feller in the camp.
He says to me, says he, ‘Let’s go look for that preacher; we can trust
him; these fellers ’ill not only rob us, but put lead into us, too.’ So
we come to Kansas City and I buried two of the chunks of stuff in a hole
about three feet deep, and then we brought the other chunks here. Now,
you see what we want to do is this: First of all, we want to find some
man we can trust. That half-breed won’t hardly let me speak to a white
man. He is always sayin’: You’ve been cheated once trustin’ a white man,
now jest do my way. Let’s find that preacher, we know we can trust him.
Well, we’ve lost the trail of that preacher and I want you to help us
out. I’ll pay you well fur your trouble.”
I said: “My business is to help people in trouble. What can I do for
you?”
“Jest this. We want to go back to that country and fetch out the rest of
that stuff. We’ve got to get a lot o’ burros and some wagons, and some
full-blooded Indians and some good ponies and rifles. There’s a town, a
little place, about ten miles from where this half-breed has hid the
stuff. My plan is to take the Indians to this place and then Zamora and
me to start off in the night with two or three burros. We’ll go at night
so’s no feller’ll foller us. We’ll get the stuff, pile it on the burros,
and bring it all away at the same time. If we give them Indians $10
apiece and a new rifle and plenty of whiskey they’d be drunker’n owls
before night. Then we can ship the stuff on a railroad and bring it
here. Now, we’ve got to get about $2,500 or $3,000 to get the things we
want; and we want to raise it on the price of the stuff we’ve got along
with us. Now, will you help us? I believe we can trust you, ’cause you
look square and straight.”
I endeavored to blush at the childlike compliment, and said:
“What can I do? I never had $3,000 in my life, and never expect to
have.”
“Mebbe you know somebody that’ll help us.”
“Where is the gold and the half-breed?”
“Down on that street where they’re puttin’ up a big brick building.”
“On Olive street. Why don’t you take the gold and sell it outright?”
“Now, that’s jest where the stubbornness of that half-breed comes in.
He’s sick in bed. Got the worst kind of a cold, on his lungs, I guess,
and he won’t let that chunk go out of his sight. He’s afraid that if we
take that stuff to find out how fine it is somebody’ll foller us, and
we’ll never get out of this town alive. You know them fellers is awful
suspicious. What I want you to do if you’re willin’ to help us, is to
jest come down and take a bit of this stuff and see how fine it is, and
mebbe you can find some way to help us out.”
Curiosity mingled with benevolence. I was anxious to see this mass of
gold and talk with this suspicious half-breed. While going to Fourteenth
and Olive streets, where the treasure rested under the sleepless eye of
the non-confiding son of the forest, my innocent miner would turn his
soft and girlish eyes upon my face and speak with wonder and awe of the
height of the houses and the crowded condition of the streets. I was
ushered into a darkened room with much mystery, where a human figure was
lying in bed, with his face muffled up in the bed clothes. Like Claude
Melnotte, he had not found the raw atmosphere of St. Louis like “the
soft air of his native South.” Between his half-suppressed groans he
uttered a few words in Spanish and my guide answered in the same musical
tongue. After locking the door and looking cautiously about, my friend
drew from under the mattress at the foot of the bed something wrapped in
the fragment of an old bed-comforter. In a moment a mass of metal
weighing about thirty pounds and shaped like a bar of washing soap was
revealed. Evidently a pure gold brick.
“Now,” said David, my innocent-faced friend, “I’ll tell you what we’ll
do. I’ll jest bore some holes in this brick, and I’ll get you to take
the shavings and get ’em melted into a button. Then nobody’ll suspect.
Don’t you see? Then take it to some place down town and have ’t tested.
A feller told me out in the mines that he couldn’t tell how fine it was,
but he knew it was over 18 karats.”
So he bored a dozen holes into this mass of treasure, and collected the
golden shavings into a fragment of the _Globe-Democrat_. As he came out
of the darkened chamber Davis grasped my hand with deep emotion, and
said: “This is the only chance I’ve had in nigh thirteen years; if this
don’t go through, it jest seems as if I’ll lose my grip.”
I tried to cheer him with a word of sympathy, and hurried to my friend
Witt, of the Eugene Jaccard Company, and giving him a portion of the
metal, begged him to have it tested. We went together to the workroom of
the establishment, where the foreman of the melting department tested
the specimen and declared it to be _as fine as coin_. It nearly took my
breath away! The long and weary pilgrimage of my humble and sad-faced
friend of the wild woods was about to come to a golden end. He stood on
the threshold of a splendid future! In one of his bursts of generous
trust he had confided to me the secret that the half-breed owned and had
secreted _seventy-three other_ lumps of the virgin metal not counting
the one upon which my eyes had feasted and the two safely hidden in the
hillside at Kansas City. Seventy-six golden bricks, each weighing _over_
thirty pounds! Let anybody make the calculation and see what prospects
the confiding Davis and the untutored half-breed had in store.
Then I sought out my friend, the United States Assayer, and told him the
brilliant story. I told him of the sweet and Raphael-like countenance of
my friend, of the melancholy sickness and sad distrusts of the lonely
half-breed, who was longing for the sight of his native woods. I showed
him the coin-fine precious metal I held in my hand, and consulted him
about the readiest means of helping the two “babes in the wood,” who, in
their ignorance, were the custodians of this uncounted wealth. He
listened with unflecked courtesy, and then responded in a voice not
musical with tearful sympathy:
“Doctor, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”
I told him that financially, the pole—so to speak—would have to be
considerably more than “ten foot” to enable me to touch it, even if I
was so disposed. In other words, I was not momentarily fixed to engage
in such enterprises, even if they were endorsed by the angel-faced
backwoodsman, and re-inforced by my own sympathy.
“It looks,” he said, “like a gold brick. It seems to me that I recognize
the not unfamiliar features of an auriferous brick. Why doesn’t he bring
the priceless treasure here? I will pay him the highest price for it. If
he doesn’t want to sell I will advance the money they require for
burros, wagons and Indians.”
I meekly presented the picture of the half-breed, whose lungs were
evidently affected and who could not endure the rigors of the St. Louis
climate. He was still obdurate, and refused to invest even
intellectually in this hidden treasure. I said that all the symptoms
were undoubtedly _gold-bricky_. That there were unquestionably parts of
the story that would not “hold water,” to use the vernacular. That the
suspiciousness of the half-breed was certainly over-strained and
phenomenal in its excess. That the confidence that my friend of the
infantile face was willing to repose in myself, a perfect stranger, was
not marked by those periods of slow evolution by which confidence is
proverbially brought to fruition. Still, I said, that gentle, guileless,
St. John-like face haunted the chamber of my soul’s sympathy. I would as
soon expect to see the wondrous Madonna leave its frame in the Sistine
Chapel and try to cheat me with a dozen semi-decayed peaches at the
street corner as to look for deceit lurking behind the bland and child-
like smile of John Davis, the miner. My friend, the assayer, suggested
that the sad smile and Madonna face of John were part of his stock in
trade. “At any rate, Doctor,” said he, “let him bring the brick here.
When I melt it and run it over I will believe it is solid gold; not till
then.”
I sought out Davis and told him that Zamora’s confidence would have to
bear an additional strain; that if it was a necessity he could be
carried on a stretcher to the assay office, bearing the precious nugget
in his bosom if he chose, but that nobody would advance money on a gold
brick of which they had seen nothing but shavings. A mist of tears
seemed to spring into his handsome eyes, and he replied broken-
heartedly:
“I’m afraid that I can’t bring him to it. He had to get the doctor to
see him this morning ’cause he was spitting blood, and he’s sure he’ll
die if he don’t get out of this big town. I can’t help him any longer
than to-night, I know. He don’t know the difference, ye know, between a
hundred dollar bill and a one dollar bill, an’ if I could only get some
money jest to show him and let him see that the parties meant fair, ye
see, he’d let the stuff go out of his sight. Then we could sell it or
raise the rest of the money on it, and inside o’ two months I could have
the rest o’ that pile here in St. Louis. I tell ye, it jest breaks me up
to think o’ losing this chance”—and his words were broken with a heavy
sigh.
He wrung my hand warmly and we parted.
* * * * *
That sad face haunted me. My wife of course saw that something was
troubling my dreams and waking hours, and gave me no rest until I had
confided the whole melancholy story to her. With that wifely anxiety
respecting the family income and expenses characteristic of the worthy
ones of her sex, she exclaimed at once: “You are quite sure that this
sympathy didn’t reach your pocket-book?”
“No,” I said, “I am not out of pocket one cent, but if I had been rich,
I am pretty certain I should have invested in that face, even though
there are thin places in the story.”
Strange as it may seem, my word-photograph of that manly woodman’s
countenance did not move her sympathies a whit. A half-dozen times a day
she would inquire, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye: “Any news yet
from Kansas City?” I tried to show her that, on account of that subtle
influence which will always reveal its presence in the face, it is
impossible for a rogue to bear such a face as Davis owned. The very
spiritual laws of the universe were involved in the denial of such a
monstrous supposition. Her only reply was in the expression of a hope
that my pocket-book should not get entangled in any of these
psychological theories.
Four days passed, and still no news of the weary-hearted Davis. On the
fifth day I came into the house bearing a letter in my hand, and said:
“My love, I think I’ve got news of that gold brick.”
My friend the assayer had written to this effect:
“MY DEAR DOCTOR:—I wish you would call at the office some time to-
morrow, if you are down town. I have an interesting specimen to show
you.”
I went. On a shelf in the inner vault of the assay office laid that gold
brick. There was no mistaking that treasure. It lay like Cæsar in the
Capitol, its dozen wounds looking dumbly up and pleading to me for
recognition. Thirty pounds of solid coin-fine gold, a fraction of the
stately fortune of that mysterious half-breed who
Came like truth and disappeared like dreams.
Only the day before a stranger had entered the assay office bearing a
gold button, the quality of which he wished determined. He said his
brother had taken stock in a mine and he wished from this specimen to
know the value of the product. It was as fine as a $20 gold piece. Very
probably it was part of a $20 gold piece.
Some hours later he came again, bearing the precious brick in his arms.
Wonderful to relate! He had seen the borings from this massive bit of
wealth tested and tried, and found to be pure gold, and some envious
fairy, with a magic wand that was able to neutralize the alchemist’s
potent secret, had changed it into a baser metal. He bore in his arms
but thirty pounds of solid brass. He also bore a letter to this effect:
“SIR:—You have been a —— fool to buy thirty pounds of brass. If you can
find another man who will be —— fool to give you $2,000 for this brass,
I will come and do the talking for you and take half the profits.
JOHN WILLIAMS.”
My dream was shattered. My Bret Harte hero, with his saintly face and
with the flavor of the forest about him, was a vulgar fraud! And yet he
was not all bad. Observe the delicate touch of thoughtful benevolence
with which he generously offered to come back and help his victim regain
a part of what he had lost! There must have been something essentially
noble about him to write like that!
Of course I saw what a clumsy trick it all was. The borings were made
from the lump of brass, but were simply changed after being wrapped in
the bit of newspaper. I have no doubt the gentleman who purchased the
brick sees it clearly enough also.
Since that time I have thought it was not a universal experience which
is expressed in Whittier’s celebrated lines:
Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest of all are “It might have been.”
[Illustration: THE “TRAILER” AND THE “SUCKER.”]
BUNKO.
It is doubtful whether there is a man, woman or child in the United
States, who has been in the habit of reading the daily press, who has
not heard of “Bunko,” and does not have a vague sort of idea that it is
a gigantic scheme for swindling. Yet so hazy is the general information
of the public as to the details of its operation, that even those who
may have read the published accounts of the mode in which the thousands
of unfortunates have been victimized through this scheme, are liable
themselves to be defrauded in a precisely similar manner because of
their own ignorance. I believe that I speak within bounds when I say
that millions have been lost and won through this game. It is my
intention to so thoroughly expose the methods of its manipulators, that
hereafter those who may be fleeced through their operations can attach
the blame primarily only to themselves.
The essential requisites of a “Bunko” outfit are—9 small dice with a
dice-box, a “Bunko” chart, and—last, but by no means least—a skillful
and in every way competent “capper.” It is the peculiar province of the
latter to seek out victims and “steer” them to their ruin. The devices
resorted to in order to lure the unsophisticated into the den of “Bunko”
sharps are too numerous to admit of any detailed description. There is,
however, one fundamental principle underlying them all,—to gain the
confidence of the man whom it is proposed to rob, and then, by specious
representation, to draw him on, step by step, until the unprincipled
gang of scoundrels shall have bled him of the last cent which they can
obtain. Of all descriptions of gamblers, “Bunko” men are, if not the
most astute, certainly the most unscrupulous and the most pitiless. No
chicanery is too contemptible, no treachery too base for them to employ;
and not infrequently they consummate their schemes of fraud by the
perpetration of deeds of actual violence.
The prospective victim having been enticed into the “den of thieves,”
the _modus operandi_ by which he is fleeced will now be described as
briefly as a necessarily full explanation will permit. The first object
that meets his eye is a table upon which is spread an oil-cloth, on
which are painted forty-six squares, numbered from 9 to 54, inclusive.
The arrangement of the numbers is shown in the accompanying diagram,
which also shows the fortune which awaits the players. The game is
played by means of throwing the above mentioned dice. The nine little
ivory cubes are placed in a box and either the “sucker” or the “capper”
(who, as a pretended friend, always plays in concert with the dupe)
throws them upon the table. The spots on the top of all the dice are
added together, and the sum total is taken as the number which has been
thrown. Reference is now had to the chart, and the legend painted upon
the square containing the number thrown by the players is read off.
In order to follow the game through, the chart itself must now be
explained. If the reader will look at the diagram, he will see that some
of the squares contain, in addition to the numbers which are painted
upon all of them, figures representing certain sums of money, while
others are marked “0,” yet others “00,” while upon some of them is
depicted the abbreviation “rep.” He will also observe that some of the
squares contain figures representing sums of money which are inscribed
with the abbreviation “cond.” The letters “rep” stand for representing;
“cond” is the abbreviation for conditional. The mode of play may be best
explained by an illustration. If the player, for instance, throws 18,
(which number may be found in the upper left hand corner of the chart),
it will be seen that the square bears the abbreviation “rep.” This
indicates that the player may double (i. e., either pay for another
chance and throw again), or withdraw from the game, forfeiting the 50
cents or $1.00 (usually the latter sum) which he has already paid.
Suppose that he throw 15, which number may be found in the fourth square
from the left in the upper row of the chart, he wins $1.00. If he throws
54—the second number to the right in the fourth horizontal row of
squares—he wins $500. If he throws a number painted upon a square
inscribed with “0,” “00,” or the abbreviation “chic’y” (which is a
contraction for chancery), he neither wins nor loses, and the
proprietors magnanimously permit him to try his “luck” (God save the
mark) again.
But it is when he throws a number corresponding to that in a square
inscribed with a sum of money and the abbreviation “cond” (conditional)
that his bad fortune commences.
And just here it is proper to say, that as a matter of fact it makes
comparatively little difference what number he actually throws, inasmuch
as the man behind the cloth usually counts the spots on the dice to suit
himself. As a rule, the man who is fool enough to risk his money at such
a scheme is too great a fool to see that his number is correctly read.
But if he should insist upon examining the dice for himself, his pseudo-
partner, the “capper,” who sits at his elbow, is always at hand to
overturn one of the cubes, thereby defeating his last, laudable attempt
at self preservation.
“BUNKO” CHART.
┌─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┬─────────┐
│ │ Cond. │ │ │ │ │
│ Rep. │ │ Rep. │ $1.00 │ Rep. │ $500.00 │
│ │ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │
│ 18 │ │ 39 │ 15 │ 27 │ 10 │
│ │ 25 │ │ │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ │ │ Cond. │
│ Rep. │ Rep. │ Rep. │ Ch’cy. │ Rep. │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │$5000.00 │
│ 32 │ 46 │ 30 │ 42 │ 36 │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ 23 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ $20.00 │ $5.00 │ $1.00 │ 0 0 │ $300.00 │ 0 │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ 12 │ 50 │ 14 │ 20 │ 51 │ 45 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ Cond. │ │ │
│ Ch’cy. │ $500.00 │ Rep. │ │$1000.00 │ Rep. │
│ │ │ │ $500.00 │ │ │
│ 37 │ 54 │ 19 │ │ 53 │ 16 │
│ │ │ │ 33 │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ Cond. │ │ │ │ │ Cond. │
│ │ Rep. │$1000.00 │ Rep. │ 0 0 │ │
│ 100.00 │ │ │ │ │ $100.00 │
│ │ 24 │ 9 │ 43 │ 49 │ │
│ 17 │ │ │ │ │ 28 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ Cond. │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ Bl’k. │ Rep. │ Ch’cy. │ $5.00 │ 0 0 │
│ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ 29 │ 35 │ 26 │ 13 │ 34 │
│ 48 │ │ │ │ │ │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ │ │ Cond. │ │ Cond. │
│ 0 │ 0 0 │ $300.00 │ │ Rep. │ │
│ │ │ │ $100.00 │ │$1000.00 │
│ 22 │ 41 │ 11 │ │ 21 │ │
│ │ │ │ 31 │ │ 40 │
├─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┼─────────┤
│ │ Cond. │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ $500.00 │ Rep. │ Rep. │ │
│ │ $500.00 │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ 52 │ 38 │ 47 │ │
│ │ 44 │ │ │ │ │
└─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┴─────────┘
Before describing further the misfortunes of the victim, it will be well
to give a synopsis of the inscription upon the squares, and to point out
the exceedingly ingenious manner in which they are arranged.
The lowest number is nine, for the reason that nine dice are thrown, and
as none of the cubes contain a blank side nine aces is the smallest
throw that can be made. The diagram gives a fair idea of the arrangement
of the numbers on the average chart. The squares contain:
1 $5,000 prize.
3 1,000 ”
7 500 ”
2 300 ”
3 100 ”
1 20 ”
2 5 ”
2 1 ”
4 Double 0s.
2 Single 0s.
15 “Represents.”
1 “Blank.”
3 “Chancerys.”
——
46
Of the twenty-one prizes, eight are marked “conditional,” the
signification of which word in this connection will be presently
explained. Of the remaining thirteen, the majority are painted upon
squares containing numbers which it is a moral impossibility to throw.
Thus a $500 prize is inscribed over 54, a number which cannot be won by
the player unless all the nine dice thrown turn up sixes, which has
never been known to happen; a $1,000 prize is numbered 9, and cannot be
won unless all the dice turn up aces, which they never do; another
$1,000 prize requires a throw of 53 to win it, which would involve
casting eight sixes and one five, the probability of which is too remote
to be worth considering. It is, however, quite within the range of
possibility that a “sucker” may throw a number calling for one of the
smaller prizes, which serves to encourage him to persevere in his folly.
When a dupe, throwing in concert with a “capper,” has cast a number
calling for a “conditional” prize, the proprietor informs them that they
have each won the sum inscribed upon that square, but only
“conditionally,” the condition being that before payment they shall show
that they have that amount of cash. He exhibits his money to pay the
prize, and professes his willingness to pay it over as soon as he is
convinced that he has not been risking his money against “wind.” Of
course, this claim is preposterous. When the victim was induced to play,
he was invited to buy a chance in a prize distribution scheme, and not a
word was said to him about putting up any stakes or incurring any risk
whatever, other than the loss of his dollar.
However, this reflection does not present itself to the dupe, and under
the exhilarating and stimulating influence of the “capper,” to which is
added the apparent prospect of winning a large sum of money for nothing,
he leaves the room in order to obtain the necessary amount, with which
he and the “capper” invariably return. At the same moment, departs a
third confederate, technically known as a “trailer.” The business of the
latter individual is to follow the “sucker” and observe his every
movement. Of course he is expected to return to the “office” of the gang
before the victim and the confederate shall have arrived. No movement of
the dupe escapes him. If he goes to a bank, in order to draw money, the
“trailer” stands close at his heels, with a bill of some large
denomination in his hand, for which he is prepared to request change in
the most courteous manner. No action on the part of the greenhorn is
left unobserved, and when the latter returns to the room, in company
with the “capper,” the proprietor of the scheme has been thoroughly
informed as to every movement which he has made since his departure. As
soon as he shows the money, the man behind the cloth takes possession of
it, and informs the players that they are entitled to another throw. The
“capper” appears to be much excited under the influence of the
extraordinary good fortune which has fallen to their lot, and the victim
is easily induced again to take the box and throw the dice. If he
manifests any hesitation, however, the “capper,” (who, it must be
remembered, always acts as his partner), seizes the box and hurriedly
throws for both, before the “sucker” has time to remonstrate. Of course,
this time he loses. Even should the spots on the cubes as thrown, when
added together, amount to a total sum calling for a prize upon the
chart, either the operator will read the total erroneously, or the
“capper” will overturn one of the dice, thus changing the number
actually thrown. The proprietor at once announces that the two players
have lost the amount of money, which they brought with them and placed
in the banker’s hands. It is idle for the “sucker” to protest that he
was not laying a wager, and that this interpretation of the contract is
altogether wrong and unfair. The “bunko” sharpers have his money and
they intend to keep it, despite all remonstrances. If he offers to make
any disturbance, or manifests any disposition to recover his loss by
force, he is at once either knocked down or thrown out of the room, or
sometimes both together. When he succeeds in summoning the officers of
the law to his aid, and in company with the police revisits the room in
which he was fleeced, he finds that his tenants have departed, carrying
with them the paraphernalia of their trade.
A favorite device under such circumstances, after the greenhorn has
returned with his money and has been induced to throw again, is so to
read the number thrown by him as to call upon him to “represent,” which
is accomplished by calling off a number corresponding to one of the
squares upon the chart which is inscribed with the abbreviation “rep.”
In this case, he is told that he must double the amount placed in the
banker’s hands and throw once more, or lose his “stake.” If he is
particularly gullible, and the “capper” has succeeded in persuading him
to bring with him to the den a larger sum of money than that called for
by the proprietor, he will frequently consent to double his money and
try again. As long as he can be induced to keep this up, the sharpers
will continue to play with him. As soon as they discover either that he
has no more money or that he is unwilling to risk any additional sum, he
is informed that he has lost whatever money he may have already
advanced.
From the circumstance of sending a dupe after more money, this game has,
of late years, been sometimes designated by members of the fraternity as
“send”.
It sometimes happens, however, that the “sucker” when he returns with
this money, insists upon being paid the amount of the prize which he has
won and flatly refuses to put up any more money in the game. When the
sharpers perceive that they cannot induce him to play further the
proprietor takes his money, and makes an entry in a large book, with a
view to giving the transaction a business like appearance. He then
counts out a sum, smaller by some $200 than the amount of the prize, and
places this amount together with the victim’s money in an envelope and
seals it up. He counts the money in the presence of the dupe and informs
him that he has not got the full amount at hand in currency, but that
his agent will call upon him in the morning and pay him the balance.
Meanwhile, he is at liberty to take with him the envelope, containing
his own money and that portion of the prize which the bank is able to
pay at the moment. The banker further states that in order that the
agent shall pay the money it is essential that the seals of the envelope
should not be broken, adding that if they are, no further money will be
paid. To this the victim assents, and he is at once handed an envelope,
identical in size and appearance with that in which he saw the money
placed, and sealed in a precisely similar manner. As a matter of fact,
however, the proprietor has substituted for the envelope containing the
money one so closely resembling it in appearance that the difference
cannot be discovered, but which, instead of currency, contains nothing
more valuable than blank paper.
The manner in which the substitution is effected before the very eyes of
the “sucker” without his knowledge is as follows: The operator opens the
ledger and places between two of the leaves the envelope containing the
bank bills. He then presses down upon the cover of the ledger,
apparently with a view of sealing the package more tightly. When he
opens the ledger, he opens it at another page and takes out the
previously prepared envelope. He then marks a cross in pencil over the
seal and asks the dupe to write his name across the flap, in order that
there may be no possible mischance in the identification of the package
when the agent shall call in the morning.
In the description of this game which has been given above, reference
has been made only to the casting of dice as a means of determining the
number made by any player. Sometimes, however, when an attempt is made
to operate the game in resorts of a “higher tone,” cards inscribed with
numbers and abbreviations corresponding to those shown in the diagram
are used. The number of cards is, of course, the same as the number of
squares on the cloth—46. When cards are employed they are dealt from a
box similar to that employed in dealing faro, for a description of which
the reader is referred to the chapter on “Faro.”
In 1882, Floyd Creek, Pete Lelin, and George Curtis, while traveling in
disguise as fugitives from justice—their crime having been the fleecing
of one Wilson, at Eureka Springs in 1881, his disastrous losses causing
instant death—received a “pointer” from a school teacher concerning a
man who had deposited a large sum of money in the bank, and who was
supposed to be a “soft mark.” They watched him carefully and eventually
succeeded in selling him bricks to the value (?) of $22,000. They
received this large sum in gold, and at once took boat for Pensacola.
They did not gain anything by their outrageous swindle. While they
escaped the justice of man, the vengeance of God overtook them speedily,
for their boat sunk and all were drowned, their ill-gotten gains going
to the bottom with them.
[Illustration: THE FICTITIOUS “ROLL.”]
CHAPTER IX.
CONFIDENCE GAMES.
The devices of confidence operators for fleecing their victims are more
numerous and ingenious than the minds of unsophisticated, honest men can
readily conceive. These gentry know neither honor, pity nor remorse.
Among their ranks, however, may be found men of brilliant intellect and
high education, who, had they devoted to some honest pursuit the time
and thought which they have expended upon the conception and execution
of schemes of fraud, might have acquired a comfortable competence and
occupied an enviable position in the professional or commercial world.
Their moral nature, however, has become so warped, that fraud has become
instinctive with them and the very name of virtue a by-word and a
mockery.
At the same time, it is but right to say that their success, in the vast
majority of cases, would be impossible were it not for the fact that
they appeal not only to the cupidity of their dupes, but also to a
latent element of dishonesty which requires only temptation and
opportunity to call it into active exercise. The reader who will
carefully scan the pages which follow cannot fail to perceive that the
“suckers”—as the confidence men denominate their victims—are, at heart,
no more honest than are the sharpers themselves. The trap is spread for
them and baited with the prospect of winning “something” for “nothing,”
and of deriving advantage through a resort to deception and trickery. If
the dupe did not believe that he is about to defraud some one else, he
would never become a victim of scoundrels more astute, but little more
dishonest than himself. The man who, when a scheme of fraud is proposed
to him, indignantly repudiates the implied suspicion that he is willing
to sacrifice his honor and integrity for money is not likely to become
the dupe of scoundrels who resort to such practices as are explained in
this chapter. It has always seemed to me that there is a great waste of
sympathy upon men thus victimized. While too much cannot be said in
condemnation of men who make a living through systematic fraud, what is
to be said of those who are eager to avail themselves of dishonest
devices which they themselves have not been sufficiently cunning to
invent, but which commend themselves at once to their avarice and lax
morality?
THREE CARD MONTE.
This is an ancient device of sharpers, with the _modus operandi_ of
which a majority of persons have some acquaintance. It is commonly
resorted to by all gamblers and confidence men, who find their most
successful field of operation upon railway trains; although fairs,
circus grounds, and even camp meetings afford them opportunities of
plying their vocation. The game is played with three cards, which are
held by the operator, who is known in gamblers’ slang as the “spieler,”
in his right hand, between the thumb and first two fingers, the backs
towards the palm, and the cards themselves slightly bending inward. To
work the trick successfully, some sleight of hand is necessary, to
acquire which considerable practice is necessary. The cards are thrown
by the “spieler” upon some flat surface, faces downward. Before throwing
them, he shows the bystanders the cards which he holds in his hand, and
after they have been thrown he invites bets as to the location of some
particular card.
To illustrate: he may hold in his hand two aces and a queen; these he
shows; he then places them in his right hand, in the position above
described, and throws them upon the flat surface, faces downward; he
then asks some one to bet which is the queen. The queen may have been
the middle of the three cards as they were held in his hand, but it by
no means follows that it will be the middle of the three cards as they
lie upon the table.
To work the game successfully, at least one and generally two
confederates are necessary. It has already been said that the favorite
place of operation is the railroad train, and perhaps the reader will
gain the best idea of how the trick is done by describing the manner in
which these sharpers secure and fleece their victims under these
circumstances. The “spieler” is usually attired after the manner of a
well-to-do country farmer or stock-raiser. On his head he wears a
battered slouch hat, his neck is ornamented with a loosely tied red
cotton handkerchief; and his worn trousers are stuffed carelessly into
the legs of his cow skin boots. His confederates, who are technically
called “cappers,” are dressed after the manner of respectable business
men of easy circumstances. It should be remarked, however, that when the
precious trio board the train the “spieler” presents a far more
fashionable appearance than when dressed for business. He usually
carries with him a false shirt bosom, an old overcoat and the slouch hat
mentioned above. After he has entered the cars he takes his seat in the
rear end of the coach, and the two “cappers” pass through the car
looking for some one who promises to be an easy prey, and who is
commonly known to the fraternity as a “mark” or a “sucker.” If none is
found upon the first car entered, the gang repairs to the next one, the
“spieler” taking up his position in the rear as before. As soon as a
“mark” is selected, one of the “cappers” takes his seat beside him and
raises his hat. At this signal the “spieler” arranges his cotton
handkerchief, puts on his disreputable hat, dons his well worn overcoat,
and tucks his trousers in his boot legs. The effecting of this
transformation scene is known among gamblers as “ringing up.”
The “spieler” goes forward and takes the seat either just before or
directly behind his confederate and intended victim. He engages the
former in conversation, representing himself as a heavy stock-raiser
from the Southwest. He goes on to explain how he has been swindled or
“slicked” out of $500 by a “card sharp.” He adds, however, that they
failed to get all that he had, and thereupon displays or “flashes” a
large roll of money, and slapping his hand upon his side, remarks in a
loud tone, that he has $10,000 more in his belt. At this point the
confederate, with the air of a man of kindly disposition and one who is
familiar with the wickedness of the world, remarks to him that he
perceives that he (the “spieler”) has traveled very little, and advises
him to avoid displaying money in the presence of strangers. The
“spieler” laughs, and says that “he reckons he is able to look after
himself.” He adds that he bought the “paste boards” with which he had
been cheated from the man who had swindled him, and that he intends to
take them home and get his money back by betting with his friends,
mentioning, perhaps, by way of illustration, that he means to “win Bill
Jones’s mule, and make him walk home the very next night that he comes
to see his sister.” His accomplice thereupon asks to see the cards, and
they are promptly produced. The “spieler” begins to exhibit his skill
and urges the partner to bet. The latter says that he can distinguish
the cards readily enough, but does not wish to win the man’s money.
After much urging, the “capper” consents to bet and usually wins two
wagers as a matter of course. The “spieler” thereupon remarks that he
does not care to bet with him any longer, as he is too lucky, and asks
the stranger to make a bet. If the latter shows any hesitation, or if,
perchance, he expresses some scruples on moral grounds, the “capper”
whispers to him that he has a dead certainty of winning and that he had
better bet and win, and “teach the fool a lesson,” after which he can
return the amount won if he chooses. The “spieler” next throws the
cards, and while he turns his head the confederate raises the card and
shows the stranger which it is, slightly bending the corner in order
that it may be readily recognized.
The victim is now satisfied that he can bet with certainty, and when the
“spieler” again picks up the cards to throw them he stakes his wager.
The operator, however, with his little finger dexterously flattens out
the corner which his accomplice had bent up and bends up the corner of
an entirely different card. When the cards are next thrown, the victim
selects the one with the bent corner, and is deeply chagrined to
discover that it is not the one which he believed it to be.
Sometimes, instead of bending the corner of one of the cards, resort is
had to another and equally effective device. While the three cards are
lying faces downward, the confederate, with a pencil, makes a mark upon
the corner of the winning card. When the “spieler” again turns his head
toward the cards, he picks them up and thrusts them into his pocket with
the remark, “oh, you fellows wont bet anyway.” In his pocket he has
three other cards, duplicates in all respects of those which he has
before shown, and on the corner of one of which is a pencil mark
precisely similar to the one made by the “capper,” but it is not on the
winning card. As he is about to leave, his confederate urges him to
remain, saying, “yes we will bet, come back.” The stranger thinks that
he recognizes the pencil mark, stakes his money, selects the marked
card, finds it is not the winner, and of course loses.
The principal object in having a second confederate is to keep off
disinterested persons who might endeavor to put the proposed victim on
his guard.
Formerly, monte men refused to play for anything except cash; now-a-
days, they are willing to accept bank checks, and the third man is found
extremely serviceable as an innocent purchaser. If the “sucker” raises a
row, and threatens to stop payment of the check, it is a common practice
to produce a piece of paper, perhaps a blank check, folded, which is
torn up in the victim’s presence. The latter, believing that he has seen
his check destroyed, takes no further steps in the matter. It sometimes
happens, however, that a victim will say nothing, but at the same time
secretly intends to stop the payment of the check. To guard against
this, the third man appears upon the scene and with a great show of
righteous indignation, or possibly representing himself to be an officer
of the law, demands that the “spieler” return the check to the victim.
Hot words then pass, and the latter says that if there is going to be
such an everlasting fuss made about so small a matter he will tear up
the check and have done with it. Thereupon, he produces his paper, which
he tears up, as already described, throwing the pieces out of the car
window. Of course in either case, the check remains safe in the
sharpers’ possession. The second confederate, by his apparently
magnanimous and disinterested interference in the victim’s behalf,
naturally wins his confidence. He thereupon makes it his business to
remain with him until the “spieler” and his remaining accomplice shall
have had time to present the check for certification at the bank upon
which it was drawn.
It is said, and universally believed by the sporting fraternity, whose
belief is based upon actual experience, that the conductor of the train
upon which a game such as has been described is successfully practiced
always expects and receives a percentage of the winnings. If the trick
is perpetrated on a sleeping car, the porter is always given a handsome
bonus. The author has himself been told by one of the latter sort of
gentry that his fees from this source considerably exceeded his pay from
the sleeping car company.
Probably, the king of the monte men was a man known in sporting circles
as “Canada Bill.” He was recognized as a general “all around confidence
operator,” and so distrustful were those who knew him of appearances
which he put forth that on the occasion of his funeral, as the coffin
was being lowered into the grave, one of his friends offered to bet
$1,000 to $500 that “Bill was not in the box.” The offer found no
takers, for the reason, as one of his acquaintances said, “that he had
known Bill to squeeze through tighter holes than that.” It was reported
some years before his death that he had offered one of the Trunk Lines
of Railroad a premium of $25,000 per annum to be allowed to practice
confidence games upon its trains without molestation; a condition of the
offer being that he would not attempt to victimize any class of
passengers except preachers.
One of the most successful schemes for perpetrating this fraud is known
as the “send,” so-called because in some of its essential features it is
closely allied to the game of “bunko.” In both cases the victim is sent
after more money, in order that the harvest of the rascally manipulators
may be increased. One of the favorite modes of winning the confidence
and money of an intended dupe is as follows: The victim having been
selected,—usually a farmer of some wealth,—two of the sharpers drive up
to his residence in a buggy, ostensibly with a view to purchasing his
farm. They are always well dressed and present the appearance of men of
large means. To gain the confidence of the unsuspecting agriculturalist
is a comparatively easy matter. He shows them over his place, they
express their entire satisfaction, and offer him a sum in cash which is
not only far beyond his expectations but also considerably in excess of
the actual value of the property. To complete a bargain under such
circumstances is an easy matter. The trade is made, and the sharpers
invite the farmer to accompany them to the nearest town, where they
propose to draw from the bank the cash necessary to complete the
transaction. On the way to town, they encounter another man, also riding
in a buggy, who engages them in conversation. The stranger represents
himself to be the agent of a new scheme of gift distribution, and at
once enlists the interest of the “capper,” who is riding with the
farmer. The party alight from their buggies and the new-comer introduces
the old game of “three card monte.” He invites them, at first, to “try
their luck for fun,” and by showing them what large sums they might have
won had they been playing for actual stakes, he soon induces them to
take a venture. In working this scheme, however, playing cards are
seldom used, for the reason that the average country farmer always
cherishes a suspicion of the paste boards. Accordingly, some other
description of cards is employed.
It is usually found to be an easy matter to interest the countryman, who
sees the “capper” apparently “playing in great luck.” He is soon induced
to risk a small amount, and the operator tells him that he and “his
friend” have each won a large sum—perhaps $1,000 or $5,000. The sharper
has now resorted to the devices of the “bunko banker,” and informs his
victim that it will be necessary for him to show the amount of money
which he has won in order to prove that he would have been actually able
to pay the stake had he lost. The countryman, thoroughly convinced that
he is on the eve of winning a large sum, expresses his willingness to go
to town and raise the money. Of course, the “agent” of the gift
distribution scheme, obligingly offers to await his return. The farmer
goes to town, obtains the money, and comes back, like the moth to the
candle.
When he returns, the same trickery is resorted to as in the operation of
the game of “bunko,” for a full explanation of which the reader is
referred to that heading. Of course he loses all that he can be
persuaded to venture, and inasmuch as the only two vehicles on the
ground are in the possession of the two sharpers, while the victim is,
perforce, compelled to go afoot, it is a very easy matter for the former
to place such a distance between themselves and the “sucker,” that by
the time the latter has reached some point where he may summon
assistance, the precious pair are far advanced upon their road to
safety.
BOGUS CHECKS.
The use of fraudulent checks as a means of winning money from the unwary
is a device of confidence men which, although venerable in its
antiquity, is still practiced to a very considerable extent in all parts
of the country. Notwithstanding the fact that it has been repeatedly
exposed, there are probably hundreds of men in the United States who
derive a comfortable income every year through following it up.
The method of operation may be very briefly described. To perpetrate it
successfully sharpers ordinarily act in concert. A favorite field of
operation is found in depots and railroad trains, although hotels and
even public thoroughfares are not despised. The first thing to be done
is to learn the name of the proposed victim, after he has been selected.
This selection is usually easily made, the experienced confidence man
having little difficulty in choosing a man whose appearance indicates
that he is not only in good financial circumstances, but also of a
nature which renders him peculiarly liable to be defrauded by this sort
of trick. His name is usually learned by accosting him by some name
which the sharper knows to be incorrect. Naturally, the stranger
corrects him by stating who he is and where he resides. This much
learned, reference is had to a bank directory of the United States (a
copy of which these men always carry with them), and the name of the
banks and bankers and prominent business men at his place of residence,
ascertained. Having thus posted himself, the swindler informs the
“sucker” that he hails from the same locality and is well acquainted
with Mr. So-and-So, naming some prominent citizen of the town or city in
which the victim resides. If the game is to be played at a depot, the
sharper enters the train with the dupe and takes a seat near him. He has
previously been at great pains to make himself as entertaining and
confidential as possible. All at once, sharper number two appears upon
the scene and presents a bill to his confederate, saying that he has
made it out in compliance with his request and upon his promise that it
should be paid. The swindler expresses himself as entirely satisfied
with the account, but says that he has not sufficient currency to make a
full payment. He thereupon produces a check for a considerably larger
sum, which he asks his confederate to cash, discharge the debt, and
return him the balance in money. This, of course, the second sharper
says that he cannot do. Sharper number one now turns to the “sucker,”
and asks him if he will be kind enough to loan him the amount of his
confederate’s pretended claim, taking the check as security. In seven
cases out of ten, the swindlers have so carefully selected their victim
and so artfully won his confidence, that the dupe readily consents to
make the loan desired. If, however, he has not the full amount of money
with him, his new acquaintance is quite ready to accept what he has,
with which he makes a payment on “account” to his friend. The “sucker”
takes the check and puts it away in his pocket-book as security. The two
confederates then walk down the aisle of the car, chatting pleasantly
and exchanging words of farewell. When they reach the platform they both
jump off the car and the victim sees neither of them again. When he
attempts to realize upon his supposed “security,” he finds that the
draft is not worth the paper on which it was written.
Among sharpers this trick is commonly known as the “con game,” or “check
racket.”
Sometimes an appeal is made to the sympathy of the proposed victim. At
the city of Louisville, Kentucky, one of these gentry appealed to a
stranger to cash a check for him on the score that he was entirely
unacquainted in the city and was carrying home the body of his deceased
brother for burial. He led his dupe to the baggage car and showed him a
box containing a coffin. It is needless to say that the corpse contained
therein was that of a person entirely unknown to him. Producing a draft
for $1,700, he so artfully worked upon the sympathy of the man to whom
he had appealed, that the latter handed him the sum of $520—all that he
had with him—and took the worthless paper as security, the sharper
representing that he was journeying to the same point of destination as
was the dupe, and that on their arrival there he would experience no
difficulty in obtaining currency for the draft. On the same day the same
individual victimized another stranger out of $225 by the same device,
pointing out the identical corpse which he had shown to his first
victim. Of course this particular form of this phase of swindling cannot
be perpetrated successfully unless the swindlers are, by chance, favored
by finding a coffin on some departing train.
OVER ISSUE.
This is a comparatively modern variation of the old “saw-dust” swindling
scheme. It is frequently found to be very easy to work, and the returns
are sometimes large. Usually two sharpers act in concert, although
sometimes one plays the game alone.
The victim selected is usually a man greedy for gain, rather “tight-
fisted,” and one who is supposed not to be over scrupulous. Considerable
care is exercised in selecting the person on whom it is to be played. He
is approached by one of the confidence men, who informs him that he has
on hand a large money-making scheme, the probable profit of which will
run up to at least $100,000. The sharper displays plenty of money and
soon succeeds in convincing the prospective dupe that he is a man of
large wealth. The interest of the victim having been awakened, it not
infrequently happens that he invites the confidence operator to be a
guest at his house. Should this occur, the invitation is invariably
declined, the swindler saying that he is paying some $4 or $5 per day
for his board, but that that outlay is entirely immaterial to him,
inasmuch as he has an abundance of cash. After several business
conversations have taken place between the two, and the cupidity of the
victim has been thoroughly aroused, the sharper hands him a bill of some
large denomination, with a request that he go and purchase some cigars.
When he returns with the change, the operator asks him if the bill was
good. Receiving an affirmative reply, he nods his head sagely, and says,
“I thought so.” His next move is to take from his pocket a large roll of
bills, from which he desires the dupe to select one, which he is to take
to the bank in order to get change. On his return, the confidence man,
after pledging him to inviolable secrecy, informs him that he will make
his fortune in a year. He tells him that he has an uncle in the treasury
department at Washington that at the time of the last printing of
treasury notes, there was surreptitiously secured an over-issue of
$5,000,000; that he (the sharper) is the agent for his uncle for the
disposition of $1,000,000 of the sum. He adds that he cannot allow any
single purchaser to take more than $10,000 or less than $3,000, but that
within these limits he will dispose of these bills, printed from genuine
plates and on government fibre paper, at the rate of 50 cents on the
$1.00.
The greenhorn thus sees the way clear to a speedy, even if dishonestly
acquired fortune. When he has bitten at the bait and expresses himself
ready to go on with the transaction, the confidence man takes him to
another town, where the money is to be paid over to him. A common device
then is to go to some hotel, where the money is counted out in the
presence of the sucker and placed in an express envelope, which is
securely sealed. The package is addressed to the victim at the town in
which he resides, and the pair leave for the express office. Of course,
the package which is delivered to the express company is not the one
which the dupe saw sealed up. Another one, precisely similar in size and
appearance, has been substituted without his knowledge. The dupe pays
over his money and the sharper disappears from the scene of action.
When the victim reaches home and obtains his package from the local
agent of the company, he finds upon opening it that it is filled with
blank paper.
I have never known but one instance in which a man thus duped undertook
to make any fuss. Usually, the sharper sends his dupe a letter, calling
his attention to the fact that to attempt to stir up any difficulty will
be simply to expose his own stupidity and dishonesty. This view of the
matter is so eminently logical that the victim submits to his loss
without a murmer.
DROPPING THE PIGEON.
This device of confidence operators is sometimes known as the “pocket
book game.”
One of the ways in which the trick is played may be thus described. A
piece of pasteboard, cut in the form of a Greek cross, is folded over in
such a way that the arms shall cross at the centre. A slit is neatly cut
in the middle square and a small silver coin, perhaps a three or five
cent piece, placed therein. Another coin of the same denomination is
placed on the square itself, underneath the folded arms. The whole is
then tied up with a piece of blue ribbon. When a “mark” has been
selected, one of the two confederates who are to operate the game drops
it on the road or on the sidewalk, as the case may be. The second
confederate, who has managed to scrape an acquaintance with the proposed
victim, comes along, walking in his company. His eye at once rests upon
the peculiar looking package, which he stoops and raises from the
ground. Opening it, the sharper and the dupe examine it together. The
former calls the attention of the latter to the exposed silver coin.
Raising his eyes, he sees his confederate approaching and looking at the
ground as if for something he had lost. He directs the eyes of the
“sucker” toward him and remarks that they will now “have a little fun.”
Taking the coin, he hands it to the dupe, telling him to put it in his
pocket. As soon as his confederate comes near enough, sharper number one
asks him if he has lost anything. The accomplice replies in the
affirmative, saying that it was a keepsake from his mother, which he
valued highly. He describes the package, and says that it contained a
coin of a certain denomination. The first confidence man thereupon
produces the package, but tells him there is no coin inside of it. The
pretended owner professes great surprise, and offers to bet any sum that
a coin of the denomination named is within the bundle. The “sucker,”
thinking that he sees an opportunity to make some money without
incurring any risk, accepts the wager. The money having been put in the
hands of the first confidence man, the confederate opens the package,
raises the concealed slip in the pasteboard, and reveals the hidden
coin. Of course he is at once declared to have won the bet.
Sometimes, instead of a piece of pasteboard prepared as described, a
pocket-book with a secret compartment is employed.
Another form of the “pocket-book game” is to drop a wallet containing a
considerable sum in counterfeit money. This is found by the confidence
man and the “sucker.” The former, having picked it up, exhibits its
contents to the dupe, whose cupidity is at once aroused. His companion
offers to allow him to take the pocket-book and advertise for a reward,
provided that he (the “sucker”) will give him $25. The greenhorn thinks
that this is a very easy way of making money, and having no intention of
advertising the finding of the wallet and being chiefly anxious to get
rid of the only witness of his intended fraud, readily assents. If he
offers to pay the $25 from the bills in the pocket-book, the confidence
man refuses to accept them, alleging as a reason that the man who lost
the money may possibly have made a memorandum of the numbers of the
bills or have some other means of identifying them.
In such cases as these, the victim rarely makes complaint, for the
reason that to do so would be to expose his own avarice, greenness, and
dishonesty.
THE TOBACCO BOX.
This scheme of fraud is sometimes successfully worked; although to
operate it, it is necessary to secure a peculiarly gullible victim. Two
confederates act in unison.
After a dupe has been selected, sharper number one approaches him and
engages him in conversation. He soon produces a wooden tobacco box, the
cover of which swings upon a pivot placed at one end. This he opens and
takes out a chew, at the same time offering the box to the “sucker.” He
then asks the latter if he does not admire his box, which he says was a
present to him from a friend. He then closes the cover and hands it to
the dupe for examination. Inside the box, is a slender wire, which, when
the box is inverted, falls upon a groove in the top and effectually
prevents its being opened. The greenhorn attempts to slide the cover
around, but finds it impossible. The sharper laughs, and tells him that
there is a little trick about the box by means of which he has won
money, drinks and cigars. He then takes it in his hand, secretly unlocks
it, and holding it out toward the dupe, presses on the end and tells him
to try again to open it. Of course, the box being unlocked, the slide
swings easily. The victim believes that the secret of opening lies in
pressing on the end, and is confirmed in this belief by making repeated
trials. At this juncture, upon receiving a preconcerted signal, the
confederate approaches and asks for a chew of tobacco. The first
confidence man hands the box to his partner, who professes to be unable
to open it. “Why,” exclaims sharper number one, “this gentleman can open
it easily enough.” The confederate offers to bet that he cannot. The
money is produced and the stakes placed in the dupe’s hands. The latter
is given the box, and, it being unlocked, opens it without difficulty.
The money is then handed to the owner, and the second sharper remarks
that if the gentleman can open it he can. The box is then locked by its
owner, before he hands it over to his confederate. The latter makes an
attempt to swing the lid, and pretending that he is unable to turn it
(although he well knows the secret of its mechanism), offers to bet
$100, or any sum which it is thought that the dupe may be induced to
wager, that the stranger cannot open it either. The “sucker,” feeling
confident that he has “a sure thing,” accepts the bet, stakes his money,
placing it in the hands of sharper number one, and is given the box,
which has been securely locked. When he attempts to turn the cover by
pressing on the end as before, he finds it absolutely impossible to move
it. Of course, the second confidence man claims the stakes, which are
promptly paid him by his confederate.
“KNIFE.”
This device for swindling is similar, as regards the method of its
operation, to the game of the “tobacco box.”
The fraud is perpetrated in substantially the same way, and the trick
consists of the use of a secret mechanism in each which so effectually
prevents the opening of either of them that the dupe is put at the mercy
of the sharpers.
One of the modes of fleecing a “sucker” by this means (and the same
method is sometimes employed with the “tobacco box”) is to instruct him
in the mode of opening the device in question under any and all
circumstances. After he has thoroughly learned the whole secret of the
contrivance, a confederate opportunely happens along, and after some
conversation, in the course of which the particular device is produced
and discussed, offers to bet that he can open it, at the first trial.
The greenhorn accepts the wager and puts up his money. The second
sharper, who has been posing as an entirely unsophisticated individual,
takes the contrivance in his hands and, knowing the secret through which
it may be worked, opens it without any difficulty, whereupon he claims
and receives the stakes.
“PADLOCK” AND “SAFE.”
In some of its features these devices resemble the “tobacco box” and
“knife.” The mode of working the cheat, however is somewhat different.
Both the “padlock” and “safe” open with a lock, the operation of which
is explained to the proposed dupe. After the latter believes that he
thoroughly understands the entire scheme, and is willing to lend himself
to the perpetration of a fraud upon someone else, a confederate
conveniently appears. A bet is soon arranged between the sharper and the
“sucker,” and the money placed in the hands of the man who has produced
the device and explained its construction to the victim. The greenhorn,
after putting up his money, proceeds to demonstrate how easily he can
open the lock. The fraud consists in the substitution (or ringing in, as
gamblers term it), to a different lock or safe, which is handed to the
dupe instead of the one first shown him, and which he finds himself
utterly unable to open for the exceedingly satisfactory reason that
although the keyhole is there, the contrivance contains no lock
whatever. Having failed to perform what he undertook to do, he is
promptly declared to have lost his wager, and the stakes are handed over
to the confidence man who has laid the wager against him.
I was once engaged in fleecing the unwary by means of one of these
padlocks at Little Rock, Arkansas. Another gambler was using the same
trick at the same place. He had in tow, as an intended victim, a
“manufactured sucker,” a man I had previously instructed in the trick,
and to whom I had given a padlock precisely similar to the one which was
being used by the other confidence man. At the proper moment, the
supposed “sucker” substituted the latter for the one handed him by the
other sharper. As a matter of course, when he undertook to unlock the
one which I had given him, he was able to do so without any difficulty.
My rival in business was undoubtedly immensely surprised, but paid the
greenhorn the amount of his winnings without question. I do not pretend
to say that I was actuated on this occasion by any philanthropic
motives. My act was influenced only by a desire to get the better of a
man who prided himself on being so astute at working confidence games
that no one could impose upon him.
“QUARTER UNDER FOOT.”
This swindling trick can rarely be played except for small sums. It is
usually practiced at saloons, and requires the co-operation of a
confederate. One of them first enters the resort, and, after patronizing
the bar, stands around after the manner of ordinary customers. At the
proper moment, the accomplice enters, feigning drunkenness. He accosts
his confederate—the one who first entered the drinking place—and offers
to throw dice with him to see which of the two shall pay for the liquid
refreshments for all present. Some conversation ensues, in the course of
which the second sharper, after drawing some money from his pocket,
contrives to drop a quarter on the floor. Assuming an air of drunken
braggadocio, he offers to bet that no one in the room can take the
quarter from under his foot, which he places directly upon the coin.
Sharper number one begins to “chaff” him, and the apparently intoxicated
individual, staggering to and fro, moves his foot off of the coin. As he
momentarily turns his head, the confederate lifts the money from the
floor and places it in his own pocket. When his accomplice again turns
around, he tells him that he is exceedingly drunk, but that he will bet
them there is no quarter under his foot at all. The “sucker” meanwhile
stands by, an interested spectator, and an appeal to his greed for money
usually induces him to make a bet with the man whom he believes to be
drunk, on an issue which he considers to be a certainty in his favor.
The money having been placed, the second sharper at once drops the
appearance of intoxication, and drawing off his boot shows a quarter
between his stocking and the inner sole. The terms of the wager having
been that there was no coin “under his foot,” he has technically won,
and the stakes—which are always held by the confederate—are handed over
to him and the pair of scoundrels leave the premises at the earliest
convenient moment.
THE “SHOT GUN.”
This is a trick which can be played only upon individuals who are pretty
nearly destitute of all sense. All that is necessary for its
accomplishment, after such a “mark” has been found, is the co-operation
of two confederates and a single barrel shot-gun. Inside the latter are
placed two separate charges of shot, so arranged that one may be drawn
from the gun without disturbing the load underneath. One of the two
confidence men contrives to form the acquaintance of the proposed dupe,
and after pointing out to him his confederate suggests that they
withdraw the charge from the weapon and then offer to bet the individual
whom he has pointed out that he (the confederate) cannot hit the
victim’s hat at the first fire. The countryman usually falls in with the
suggestion and the wager is soon arranged, the upper charge having been
withdrawn by the confidence man in the presence of his dupe. The latter
hangs up his hat and the confederate takes the gun. Of course, the under
charge still remaining in the barrel, the hat is riddled with shot at
the first fire and the “sucker” discovers that he has been gulled when
it is too late for him to recover his money.
This is not always a safe game to attempt. I myself once came near being
lynched by a crowd who were excited by the vociferous remonstrances of
my dupe. I compromised the affair by returning him his money and buying
him a new hat, after which I was only too happy to depart from the
locality with a whole skin.
“GIVE-AWAY.”
This is a confidence game, the origin of the name of which may be
readily understood by any one who will take the trouble to read the
following explanation of the way in which the trick is operated. It is
always worked by a man driving a horse and buggy, who ordinarily selects
a street corner, where two crowded thoroughfares cross, and who depends
for success upon the co-operation of “cappers,” or confederates. The
operator represents himself as the agent of some fictitious jewelry
manufacturing concern—perhaps the “Milton” Gold Co. He informs his
auditors that it is his intention to present each and all of them with a
gift, his object being to introduce to public notice the wares of the
company whose agent he is. He requests those who wish to receive
presents to take their stand, in line, near the buggy, and not leave the
spot until the gifts shall have been distributed. His first move is to
scatter a handful of small coin—nickles or dimes—among the crowd, which
are, of course, eagerly gathered up and the attention of the spectators
is riveted upon a man who appears to be crazy. He then asks if there is
any one in the crowd who will give him ninety cents for a dollar. Of
course, a confederate promptly offers him that sum, and he thereupon at
once proposes to sell it to any one who will pay him seventy-five cents;
the seventy-five cents he offers to sell for a half a dollar; the fifty
cents for a quarter, and so on. He next produces a quantity of collar-
buttons, which he says are made of “Milton” gold, and worth a dollar
each, but which he is willing to dispose of at twenty-five cents apiece,
in order to introduce his wares. He also wishes customers to remain in
line and hold up their hands with the collar-button exposed, in order
that they may receive the twenty-five cents which he intends to give
each and all of them. When he has a line of sufficient length before
him, he hands to each one, in rotation, as he exhibits his purchase, a
silver quarter, to which he not infrequently adds a dime, with the
request that they will spend the latter sum in drinking his health.
He next produces jewelry to which he attaches a higher value, such as
chains, rings or lockets. His next move is to offer for sale watches at,
say, $15, $20, or $25 each. By this time he has aroused the enthusiasm
of the crowd to a high pitch. They are wondering what is going to be his
next move, and it is by no means difficult to find buyers for all the
watches which the confidence man dares to offer. Each purchaser is
informed that he will receive a liberal rebate, and the money pours in
upon the man in the buggy in a continuous stream. As soon as he has
obtained all that he thinks possible to be gathered in from the crowd
before him, he puts the money in his pocket, whips up his horse, and
drives away, leaving the bewildered spectators to mourn the credulity
which induced them to part with their ready cash.
Sometimes the playing of this game is attended with more or less
personal risk, and I have myself known operators of this description
narrowly to escape lynching.
“FIVE CARDS.”
This is a device of confidence men, which is often successfully worked,
but never for large stakes. Two confederates are necessary to its
successful operation. Five business cards, the character of which is
immaterial, are taken by one of the sharpers, who exhibits them to his
intended victim. The swindler informs his dupe that it is his intention
to “beat” a man whom he points out for the drinks or cigars. The
individual designated is, of course, a confederate of the sharper. The
latter shows the “sucker” the five cards—which always bear different
inscriptions—and making a mark with a pencil on one of them, tells him
that the trick consists in inducing the supposed greenhorn to bet with
the “sucker” that the latter cannot select a certain card, naming the
marked one, from the five cards when shuffled and exposed, backs upward.
The dupe assents to the proposal, and the “capper,” after making this
trifling bet, draws the wrong card, whereupon he liquidates the bills
for refreshments for the crowd. The confederate then offers to wager a
sum of money that the “sucker” cannot again pick out the card in
question. The dupe, not perceiving the snare set for him, accepts the
proffered wager, and the cards are again shuffled. This time, however,
his pretended friend reverses the ends of the cards, exposing a mark
precisely similar to the one which the victim has seen before, but
placed upon another card. The poor fool, influenced by a desire to
obtain an unfair advantage over a man whom he regards as an easy prey,
eagerly points out the card which bears the private mark similar to that
shown him before. Of course he loses, and the stakes are handed over to
the confederate of the original swindler.
I have said that this trick is usually played only for small stakes, but
I have myself won $125 thereby from a single victim at one venture.
“SHELL GAME.”
In some of its salient features this game resembles “three card monte,”
which has been already described. It is essentially a confidence game,
and although very old and already frequently exposed, scores of
confidence men annually reap a rich harvest from the credulity and
cupidity of dupes.
[Illustration: shell game]
The only implements necessary are three hollow shells and a small rubber
ball, about the size of a buckshot. Halves of English walnut shells are
the ones commonly employed, although any hollow hemispheres will answer;
sometimes operators use halves of potatoes scooped out. The simplicity
of the apparatus enables the “shell” man to carry his outfit with him in
his vest pocket wherever he may go, and he is accordingly able to ply
his vocation at any spot where he may be able to gather a crowd.
A “capper” is an indispensable accessory. As soon as the operator has
taken up his position and is ready to commence operations, the
confederate mingles with the crowd. The man with the shells places them
upon some flat surface and produces the ball, which he places first
under one and then another of the three hemispheres. He does this
rapidly, and by alternating the position of the ball is able to confuse
the spectators as to its precise location. The “capper,” after watching
him for a few moments, offers to bet that he can tell under which shell
the ball lies. Of course the wager is accepted, and frequently several
bets are made, the confederate winning and losing indifferently.
The confidence men are well aware that after they shall have victimized
a “sucker,” the fraudulent nature of their maneuvers will be so apparent
that it will be imperatively necessary for them to “move on;” therefore,
the first object which they have in view is to ascertain the individual
in the crowd, who is sufficiently gullible to serve as a dupe, who may
have the largest amount of money in his pocket. To acquire this
knowledge, the operator, after rolling the ball, places one of the
shells over it in such a way that the edge of the latter shall be
slightly raised, thus affording a plain view of the ball underneath. He
then offers to bet any man in the crowd $100 that he cannot tell under
which of the three cups the ball lies. The spectators, each and all,
being able to see precisely where it is, those who have money reach for
their pockets, believing that they will be able to secure an unfair
advantage and bet with certainty. Of course, the “shell” man and the
“capper” are now thoroughly informed as to which of the crowd have
money, which they are willing to wager.
The confederate next approaches the individual whose location is thus
rendered easy and begins to converse with him, at the same time feigning
to be much excited. It is not, however, the intention of either of the
two confederates that any such bet shall be made. Accordingly, the
“capper” calls out to his accomplice that he does not wish to win his
money unfairly, and that one of the shells is propped upon the ball.
Confidence man number one looks down, as though he were glad to have his
attention called to the fact, and taking the ball between his fingers
begins rolling it again. After he has placed it under one of the shells,
he renews his proposition to bet. At this point he makes some excuse for
turning away his head. The “capper” thereupon raises the shell under
which the ball is lying, and shows the latter to the dupe. As the
operator again turns around and faces the crowd, his confederate offers
to bet five or ten dollars that he can designate the location of the
ball. “No,” says the accomplice, “I will not accept so small a bet. I
want to wager fifty or one hundred dollars.” Sometimes even a larger sum
is named, the amount depending upon the estimated size of the victim’s
pocket book and the extent of his credulity. The “capper,” who appears
to be in a state of great excitement, urges the dupe to accept the
offer, and bet on the shell under which he has shown him the ball. At
the same time, he hands him five or ten dollars, with which to complete
the amount of his wager. The “sucker” usually assents, and the money is
placed in the hands of the operator. The dupe then raises the shell
under which he has seen the ball, when lo, it is not there. The reason
is simple. The “capper,” when he raised the shell in question, removed
the ball, which, owing to its small size and to its being hollow and of
soft rubber, he is able easily to conceal between his fingers. Of
course, the victim loses the amount of his stake.
The “capper” then professes great indignation at his stupidity, and
tells him that he raised the wrong shell. To prove the truth of his
words, he raises the one next to it, and exposes a ball, which he (the
confederate) at the same moment dropped from between his fingers. It not
infrequently happens, that the victim is satisfied that he himself made
a mistake, and can be induced to make another venture. I have myself
known the same individual to be so utterly devoid of sense as to lose
money through this device four or five times in succession.
Another method of inducing “suckers” to wager their money at this game
is known among confidence men as the “blow-off.” In this case, the
confederate lifts the shell and removes the ball, at the moment when the
operator averts his eyes. The confederate then offers to bet that the
ball is not under any of the shells, and the greenhorn is induced to lay
a wager by means of the same tactics which have been already described.
Of course, the “shell” man shows a ball underneath one of the
hemispheres and the dupe is declared to have lost. The ball which is
shown, however, is one which either he himself or his confederate placed
there at the moment of raising the cup.
One of the best known “shell men” in the country for many years, was
“Jim” Miner, better known as “Umbrella Jim,” who was fond of introducing
his games by singing the following doggerel:
“A little fun, just now and then
Is relished by the best of men.
If you have nerve, you may have plenty;
Five, draws you ten, and ten, draws twenty.
Attention giv’n, I’ll show to you,
How umbrella hides the peek-a-boo.
Select your shell, the one you choose;
If right, you win, if not, you lose;
The game itself is lots of fun,
Jim’s chances, though, are two to one;
And I tell you your chance is slim
To win a prize from ‘Umbrella Jim.’”
“DOLLAR STORE” OR “DROP CASE.”
This is an old game, but none the less successful because of its
antiquity. Wherever cupidity and ignorance are found together, there
this ancient device takes root and flourishes.
[Illustration: drop case]
The outfit required is a wooden case, holding one hundred or more
envelopes. Most of them contain blank cards, though inside a few are
placed tickets bearing numbers. Near this case stands a show case
containing a glittering array of prizes, including watches, chains,
jewelry, silverware and money. The verdant speculator who is allured by
this dazzling display pays a dollar for an opportunity of acquiring
title to a portion of it.
Having paid his money, he is permitted to draw an envelope from the
case, which he proceeds to examine. If it contains a blank card, of
course he has lost. If it contains a card bearing a number, the
proprietor of the case compares the number with the list and informs the
purchaser whether or not he has drawn a prize. As a matter of course,
there are a few comparatively valueless prizes, the winning of which is
left to mere chance, although a majority of the numbered tickets do not
call for any prize whatever.
The most money making feature of the scheme is worked by the aid of a
“capper,” or confederate. One of these individuals saunters up to the
case at a moment when he sees there a person whom he considers likely to
prove a “soft mark.” The confederate and the intended victim look over
the envelopes together listlessly, and the proprietor invites them each
to draw one “just for fun.” The “capper” opens his envelope, and finding
that he has drawn a blank remarks, “that is just my luck; I never drew a
prize yet, and don’t believe that you have one in your whole outfit.”
The proprietor professes much righteous indignation that his integrity
should be thus assailed, and, to prove his good faith, he says: “I’ll
tell you what I’ll do; I’ll make a special prize of one thousand dollars
out of one of those numbers which you two gentlemen have just drawn and
give you a chance to win it for five hundred dollars.” The “capper”
laughs, and hands him the card which he has drawn, which is usually
numbered “eleven.” The operator replaces it in the envelope and lets
down the back of the show-case, in order to enter a special prize on his
list. As he does so, he slips the envelope containing the ticket marked
“eleven” into a little secret pocket, from which at the same time he
draws another envelope holding a ticket marked “forty-four.” He then
places this envelope, together with the one held by the “sucker,” in the
box, in such a way that the edge of one of them rises a little above the
rest. Both the “capper” and the greenhorn perceive this circumstance and
the latter supposes it to have been the result of accident. The “capper”
then draws the envelope whose corner is raised and the dupe takes the
one next to it. The proprietor asks his confederate to advance his
money. The latter replies that he has not more than fifteen or twenty
dollars with him. “Well,” answers the operator, “put up that amount, and
if you have drawn number eleven, I will pay you an amount equal to your
stake.” The “capper” hands over his money, and on looking in his
envelope finds that he has drawn a blank. Simulating deep chagrin, he
curses his “luck.” The proprietor at this moment conveniently turns his
head, and his confederate, snatching the envelope from the hand of the
dupe, hastily raises the flap, pulls out a small portion of the ticket
within, thus showing the tops of figure forty-four, which leads the
greenhorn to believe that he has drawn the lucky eleven. This, in
gamblers’ parlance, is called “giving a flash.” In ninety-nine cases out
of every hundred, the cupidity of the “sucker” is aroused, and in the
firm confidence that he has a “sure thing,” he pays over all the money
which he has, in the hope of winning a like amount. Until the money has
been paid, he is not permitted to examine his ticket. When, having paid
his cash, with trembling hands he opens the envelope, he discovers that
instead of the magic “eleven” he has drawn “forty-four,” having been
misled by the resemblance between the upper ends of the figures “four”
and “one,” shown him in the momentary glance which the “capper” gave him
of the card. Of course, he is utterly without redress, and has to bear
his loss with such degree of equanimity as he may be able to command.
Strange as it may appear, it is a fact that persons are found who are
fools enough to be caught by this trick three times in succession. It is
from the majority of such “suckers” as these that the proprietors reap a
golden harvest. A man at Council Bluffs stood at the case and bought
ticket after ticket until he had dropped six thousand dollars into the
coffers of the scoundrels who were manipulating the device.
This game is most successfully worked by the aid of “ropers,”—by which
term is meant confederates who allure, or “steer,” victims into the
booth or room in which the trick is being operated. The devices resorted
to by these “steerers” are numerous and ingenious. Sometimes the dupe is
induced to visit the place by means of an offer to sell him a piece of
cloth worth two dollars per yard for forty cents; sometimes he is shown
a sample of choice tea, which he is told he can purchase at a
ridiculously low price. When the greenhorn has been brought in front of
the ticket case with the adjacent array of prizes, it is usually an easy
matter to induce him to speculate. The “ropers” are paid a commission of
forty-five per cent. on all winnings which are made from the men whom
they bring in, and I have myself received commissions for this sort of
work amounting to more than three hundred dollars in a single day.
MINOR CONFIDENCE GAMES.
Among the petty schemes to which professional sharpers have resort is
one known as “betting on weight.” A single illustration, drawn from my
own experience, may serve to show to the unsuspecting reader precisely
the way in which this petty scheme is carried out.
The incident which I am about to relate happened at Hot Springs,
Arkansas, where I had been playing poker—of course on the principles of
the “skin” gamblers—in connection with a partner. We had succeeded in
fleecing a “sucker” out of a considerable sum of money. He was moody
over the loss of his cash, and we believed that he was disposed to be
slightly suspicious. In order to disabuse his mind of any such idea, my
partner accompanied him down the street, condoling with him as to his
losses. My accomplice suggested to him that he might possibly “get even”
with me by venturing a wager on some chance subject. “That man, Quinn,”
he said, “is ready to bet on anything; he would even bet on spitting at
a mark or the weight of a stone,” pointing to a rock which lay in the
street. As though struck by a sudden inspiration, he suggested, “Suppose
we weigh that rock and bet on a certainty. That is the only chance which
we will ever have to get our money back.” The greenhorn assented, and
the weight of the stone was carefully and accurately ascertained. The
next morning, having been fully posted by my confederate, I walked down
the street and met my partner and the dupe in company. After cordially
greeting them, I asked if either of them wished to bet upon any chance
whatever. After some little badinage, the “sucker” offered to bet as to
the weight of the stone which he and my partner had caused to be
carefully weighed the day previous. Of course I assented and the bet was
made. Very much to our surprise the prospective victim had only $87 in
his pocket, but this he cheerfully staked. The stone was weighed and my
guess proved to be the exact weight of the rock. The reason was, that
between the moment when my partner suggested the scheme to the dupe and
the time the stone was weighed, we had caused to be chipped off a
section, whose weight we knew exactly. The greenhorn, on this occasion,
“kicked” violently and insisted upon having the stone reweighed. We
found it convenient to have recourse to the scales of a Junk dealer who
had been previously “fixed” for the occasion and who had officiated as
“weigher” the night before. “Oh,” said the descendent of Abraham, “I
din’d know vat you shentlemen’s means, I had as many as doo scales; von
vat I buy mit and de odder as I sells py. I vays dit mid by separate
times on each scale. Vat were you shentlemen’s want nohow?” This
argument proved conclusive and the “sucker” submitted to the loss of his
$87 without further protest.
THE GRANDMOTHER TRICK.
This is a very simple trick to play, after the operator has acquired the
necessary degree of manual dexterity. Its success depends primarily upon
sleight of hand, and secondarily upon the assistance of a confederate.
In fact, the trick itself is so simple that gamblers who enjoy any
standing in the “profession” rarely resort to it until they find
themselves in a position where money is absolutely indispensable. Under
such circumstances, blacklegs,—even those of a better class—never
hesitate to resort to the grossest and most contemptible species of
fraud. When one of these gentry sees that he has but one “sawbuck”
remaining in his pocket, there is no device too contemptible for him to
employ with a view of replenishing his pocket book.
The method of playing this trick is as follows: Two aces are selected
and shown to the prospective victim. They are then placed together, the
pack cut, and the two cards selected are placed upon the top of one of
the piles. At this moment the confidence man—apparently by chance—turns
his head. It is easy to invent a pretext. A coughing fit, a sneeze, a
slight noise made by a confederate—any one of these, or a score of other
excuses will afford the “capper,” (whose assistance is indispensable) an
opportunity to perform his part of the scheme which will be explained
below. Before the manipulator averts his eyes he says that “if they go
in together they must come out together,” which is a self-evident
proposition. At the moment when he turns his head the confederate raises
one of the aces, and removing a number of cards from the other, turning,
places them upon the remaining ace, puts the ace which he has withdrawn
in the place of those which he has taken from the second pile. The
“sucker” is now thoroughly satisfied that the two aces shown him cannot
possibly “come in” to the pack “together.” The operator again turns
around and picks up the two piles, leaving the one containing the
removed ace upon the top. This latter card he conceals in his hand and
commences to draw from the bottom of the pack, turning each card drawn
face upward. Of course he knows the card lying directly next to the ace,
which is in the middle of the pack. As soon as he sees this he is aware
that the next card exposed will be that particular ace. He then repeats
the remark, “if they go in together they must come out together,” and
offers to bet that the card following this ace, which he shows, is its
companion. Naturally, the greenhorn is firmly persuaded that this is
impossible, and bets are made as to the happening of this contingency.
Usually, the “capper” is exceedingly anxious to bet some trifling wager,
perhaps the drinks or cigars. The sharper permits him to win and the
same process is again repeated. This time the victim is induced to bet,
the stakes being made considerably larger. When the bottom of the pack
from which the confidence man has dealt is exposed, it is seen that the
lower card is the other ace, the sharper having adroitly passed it from
his hand to the bottom of the pack.
While this game is not well adapted to winning large sums, it is a very
common thing for men operating it to take $10 or $20 from a dupe, and I
have even known as much as $50 to be won through its manipulation.
A brace of blacklegs in San Francisco once swindled an innocent player
out of what was to him a considerable sum of money through this means.
The victim caused the arrest of the pair, and it is said that when they
were brought before the magistrate for trial the court asked them to
explain the manner in which the trick had been done, the sharpers having
already pleaded guilty. One of them performed the trick for the
edification of the court, after which the judge, turning to one of the
swindlers, said: “Well, sir, I will give you one year;” and then,
turning to the other, added: “I will give you six months. You may go in
together, but I’ll show you that you won’t come out together.”
THE “SOAP GAME.”
This is a trick of confidence operators which often proves exceedingly
successful in extracting money from the pockets of men who consider
themselves fairly well versed in the knowledge of the world. The outfit
is very simple, and by no means expensive. A number of small cakes of
soap of no particular value are procured, or sometimes soap is bought in
bars, which are cut into pieces of the desired size. A quantity of cheap
pasteboard boxes, each having a drawer somewhat larger than is the piece
of soap which it is to contain, are procured and soap placed inside of
them. In order to work the game, a room—usually one opening off the
street—is rented. The “soap man” takes his position on a raised
platform, and when a crowd has gathered to see what is going on he takes
out a cake of cleansing soap, _i.e._, a preparation for removing grease
and similar substances from cloth. He proceeds to expatiate upon its
merits, illustrating his remarks by experimental demonstration. If he is
a good talker, and intersperses his remarks with a few interesting
anecdotes, he succeeds in attracting and keeping the interest of his
audience. When he has proceeded far enough in his remarks he informs his
listeners that the manufacturers of this wonderful preparation are
seeking to introduce it in a somewhat novel way; that they propose to
place a given amount of currency in a certain number of boxes together
with a cake of soap in each. These boxes, he says, will be thoroughly
mixed and every purchaser will be allowed to select any three boxes (the
price of which will be $1.00) from the entire number offered. To prove
his sincerity and truthfulness he draws from his pocket several bills,
of denominations ranging from $1.00 to $20.00, and announces that he
will place them inside the boxes in the presence of the crowd. He takes
the bills in his hand, one at a time, folds them up carefully, and
apparently inserts them in the boxes. Each box, after the bank note has
been placed in it, is dropped into a large leather sachel. When he has
disposed of all the bills, he takes the sachel in both hands and shakes
it, with a view to thoroughly mixing the boxes. He then opens it and
offers to allow anyone present to select three boxes on the payment of
one dollar. It is the easiest thing in the world to sell the soap, but
no legitimate purchaser ever succeeds in obtaining more than a single
dollar bill. The reason is that the vendor adroitly “palms” off the
bills of larger denominations, substituting therefor dollar bills which
he has previously rolled up and which he holds in his hand at the time
that he apparently inserts the large bills into the boxes in the
presence of the spectators. In other words, when the boxes have been
dropped into the sachel and mixed none of them contain a note of a
larger denomination than one dollar, the confidence man having still in
his possession all of the large bills. When it is remembered that not
more than one box in ten contains any money whatever, the chances of
drawing a prize are readily seen to be exceedingly small. The buyers,
however, believe that they have seen the large bills placed in the boxes
before their eyes, and part with their money very readily. It may be
easily seen that “cappers” are almost indispensable in this as in so
many other confidence games. It is not necessary that any signal should
pass between the confederates. The “capper” usually places his three
boxes in his pocket as soon as he has purchased them. Some one in the
crowd is always certain to ask him to open them. At first he objects,
but finally yields to persuasion. He takes out three boxes from his
pocket and one of them is always found to contain a large bill. The
explanation of his apparent good luck is very simple. When he puts the
three boxes in his pocket he had there another one, precisely similar in
size and appearance, containing the bank note which he exhibits to the
crowd. When he drew three boxes from his pocket, he took the one which
he previously placed there together with two of those which he had taken
from the bag.
THE FOOT RACE.
This is a confidence game which is one of the most direct outrages ever
perpetrated upon an unsuspecting dupe. And yet, like most similar
tricks, it can be successfully worked only when the proposed victim is
ready to sacrifice his own integrity to his avarice.
Two foot racers act in concert with a third man, who personates the
“backer” of one of them. The first racer gains the confidence of the man
to be swindled, who must necessarily possess some means. He convinces
him by actual ocular demonstration that he is a speedy runner, and one
on whom it is safe to lay a wager. This done, confidence man number two
makes his appearance, attired very much after the fashion of a tramp. He
says that he is anxious to find some one with whom to run a race for
money. Naturally, his appearance not being such as to inspire any faith
in his ability as a pedestrian, a match is soon arranged with the fleet-
footed runner. The newcomer puts up all the money which he has—perhaps
some $30 or $40—together with his watch, and the race is run. The tramp
is beaten “out of sight.” The latter, apparently considerably chagrined,
says that he is glad that his “uncle” (or some other friend, whom he
named), was not there, inasmuch as he would have wagered $20,000 upon
him. He adds that the mysterious “uncle,” or friend, has a “barrel of
money,” and would have been willing to have staked it all upon his
success.
The winner of the race thereupon proposes that he bring his “uncle”
there, and that another race be arranged, and it will be an easy thing
to “beat” his friend out of a large sum of money, which may be divided
between the pair. Of course, as the reader has probably already
understood, the two racers are confederates. The proposed victim—the man
who has been backing the first racer—falls in with the suggestion and
urges the mysterious tramp to induce his friend to come. The second
sharper, however, professes great reluctance to defraud his “uncle,” and
says that he will go to the latter’s farm and go to work. His
confederate and the dupe accompany him to the train, the former
constantly urging him to consent to the proposed scheme. At the last
moment, the simulated virtue of sharper number two vanishes, and he says
that he will induce his “uncle” to come down and lay a wager upon his
success, provided that his connection with the scheme shall be kept
forever a secret.
In due time the tramp returns, accompanied by an individual to personate
the moneyed man who is to put up the necessary stakes. Arrangements are
made for the race, the bets are made, and at the termination of the
contest it is discovered, much to the surprise of the victim who has
been backing the winner of the first race that the tramp, who was on
that occasion so easily defeated, has won without difficulty. The stakes
are paid over to the winners, and the party of scoundrels at once take
their departure.
Sometimes the swindlers find it necessary to place a long distance
between themselves and their victims. The latter are tolerably certain
to discover, without much reflection, the manner in which they have been
defrauded, and they are apt to follow up the gang in company with
officers of the law. I have known cases where confidence men who have
successfully worked this scheme, have been compelled to disgorge the
lion’s share of their ill-gotten gains.
“FLIM-FLAM.”
This is another of those bare-faced schemes of fraud which are daily
perpetrated upon an unsuspecting public. The method of operation is
extremely simple, and it may be that some of the readers of this volume
may be able to discover, from the description here given, the manner in
which a gross imposition has been practised upon them. The “flim-flam”
operator appeals, not to the avarice but to the good nature of his
victim.
The favorite localities for playing the trick are fairs, circuses and
railroad trains, and—as in the case of a large number of confidence
games—large sums are sometimes paid for the “privilege.” The innocent
looking news agent or peanut boy is often an adept at practicing this
sort of fraud. The accommodating individual whom you see outside of a
circus tent, carrying a small valise, from which he produces tickets
which he offers for sale is apt to be a “flim-flam” sharper, who pays a
percentage of his gains to the proprietors in consideration of being
allowed to carry on his practices with immunity.
The game is always worked in substantially the same way. To begin with,
the train boy, after selecting his victim, (otherwise termed “mark,”) he
approaches him with an offer to sell something—perhaps a book, perhaps
candy, possibly fruit. It is of comparatively little consequence whether
he buys or not. The next move of the sharper is to ask the proposed dupe
to give him a bill of large denomination for several small ones, which
he produces. Sometimes he introduces a quantity of small change. After
counting the money into the stranger’s hands, the swindler begs him to
count it back to him, in order that he may see that it is right. This
done, the scoundrel “palms” one of the bills or pieces of money, _i.e._,
secretes it in the palm of his hand, and turns over the cash (apparently
intact) to the “sucker,” who, nine times out of ten, puts it into his
pocket without looking at it. Men on circus grounds operate in the same
way, though generally for larger amounts. Sometimes a bill is folded in
the middle, so that each end may count for a separate note of the same
value.
[Illustration: METHOD OF WORKING THE FLIM-FLAM SWINDLE.]
CHAPTER X.
GAMBLING STORIES AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
----------
RUINED BY A FUNERAL.
As illustrating the inherent uncertainty of betting, the following story
of the adventure of an old negro slave in Alabama during the days before
the war may serve at once to “point a moral and adorn a tale.” “Old
Mose” was a tried and faithful servant whose inclination towards
amusement his mistress was disposed to indulge. One day the aged African
became possessed with the demon of gambling, and confided his desires to
his mistress. Finding that remonstrance was in vain, she finally
determined to give the old man five dollars, with which he might amuse
himself in any way that he saw proper. The negroe’s eyes brightened and
his ivories were displayed from ear to ear as he grinned his thanks and
disappeared. A few hours later he returned, with the same expression of
supreme satisfaction still illuminating his black face. “Well, Mose,”
said his mistress, “did you have a good time gambling?” “Laws, Missus,
I’se done had heaps o’ fun out o’ dem five dollahs dat you gib me.” “How
much money did you win, Mose?” asked his patroness. “Won lots,” was the
reply; “you jes’ wait an’ let dis chile tell you. You see, I goes down
de street an’ I meets a white gem’man, and we gambles on de kind o’
folks what comes ’long. I took de white people, an’ he took de black
fo’ks. Fust dere comes ’long a white gem’man, an’ he gibs me a dollah.
(Now, Missus, you jes’ count an’ ses how much I wins.) Den dere comes
’long two mo’ white gem’men, an’ he done gib me two mo’ dollahs. Dat
makes free?” “Yes, Mose.” “Den comes free mo’, an’ he gibs me free mo’
dollars; how many’s dat, Missus?” “Six, Mose.” “Den dere was four mo’
white folks, an’ I gets four mo’ dollars; how many was dat, Missus?”
“Ten dollars. Mose; you did very well; give me your money and I will
take care of it for you.” “Hol’ on, Missus,” said the old darkey, “de
game didn’t close right dar’. Me an’ de white gem’man stood dar fo’
about five minutes, an’ ’long comes a cullud fun’ral, and wiped dis heah
niggah right off de face of de yarth.”
At this point in the conversation, Moses’ master made his appearance on
the veranda, entering through an open window. He had overheard the
narrative of the negro and thought that it would be a favorable
opportunity for him to offer a little friendly advice. “Mose,” said he,
“that man knew that funeral was bound to pass that spot inside of twenty
minutes after you got there. My boy, never attempt to gamble with a
professional, for he is sure to ‘ring in’ a cold deck on you every
time.”
“” ‘’
“FLY LOO.”
A typical Western gambler, well known among the profession but whose
name it is unnecessary to mention, tells the following story of his
experience at a game which is not generally known to the public. It is
designated by the euphonious appellation of “fly loo,” and was first
played in this country either in Texas or New Mexico. The method of play
is simplicity itself. Each man lays a piece of sugar on the table and
the first one that gets a fly loses the drinks or stakes. The gambler in
question was one day sitting in a resort at Denver, when a smooth-faced
gentleman from the East walked in and suggested “fly loo.” His
proposition was accepted, and two lumps of sugar having been procured
from the bartender, the pair sat down to await the result. It had been
stipulated that the owner of the lump on which the first fly rested was
to be considered the loser and should pay the other a dollar. The first
fly alighted on the lump of the gambler, as did also the next eight. It
began to dawn upon him that the man from the Atlantic coast must have
doctored his lump, inasmuch as not a solitary fly would approach within
a foot of it. He felt sore, but just then he conceived a brilliant idea.
He proposed that they try ten “goes” at $10 a-piece. The stranger
assented and the money was put up. The loser then insisted upon a change
in the rule, and that the man on whose lump the first fly alighted
should win instead of lose. To his great surprise the smooth-faced
stranger readily assented. No sooner, however, had the lump been placed
upon the table than the flies began to swarm all over the latter’s lump
for ten straight times, not one coming near that of the man who had
proposed the change. Of course the Eastern man pocketed the stakes and
the other was probably the maddest man in Colorado. He knew he had been
fleeced, but he was utterly unable to tell how it had been done. Finally
he called the stranger aside and said, “My friend, don’t think I am
impudent or inquisitive, but I have a curiosity to know how you wound me
up. If you will put me on, I’ll promise not to work the game in your
territory, and buy a bottle of wine.” He laughed and said, “Well, I
don’t mind telling you that I put a drop of stuff on my lump that will
make a fly hunt for the next county mighty quick.” I thought as much,”
answered the loser, “but how about the last time we played?” “Oh, I
supposed you would want to switch, so I just changed lumps on you.”
THE “TOP STOCK” BEATEN.
The most astute professionals sometimes over-reach themselves. I was
once playing poker with a young man, an entire stranger to me before the
commencement of the game, whom I soon discovered to be a practiced
gambler. It did not take me long to discover the particular species of
the trick which he was playing. I recognized what is known among the
“profession” as the “top stock.” An explanation of this trick may be
found in the chapter relating to poker. It is enough to say here that it
consists in so arranging the hands, that the proposed victim, when he
asks for fresh cards, shall receive a good hand, while the dealer
himself, who of course takes the second draw, gets a better one. After a
little experimenting, I found that when I asked for three cards on the
draw, I usually received three of a kind. While my opponent would always
draw three or more, but invariably succeeded in getting three of a
higher denomination than mine. After thoroughly satisfying myself as to
his tactics, I continued playing until I thought that the time had come
for me to act. I had resort to a little policy, whereby I succeeded in
winning all the money which he had with him beside a silver watch, the
value of which, however, scarcely exceeded $1.25. After the deal, when
he asked me how many cards I wanted, I replied that I had made a mistake
in my hand; that I supposed I had a pair, but found that I had not.
Throwing down my cards upon the table, I asked for five. Any old poker
player will understand the effect of such a demand upon the arrangement
of the cards by the dealer. For the benefit of those who have never
played poker, I may explain that the six upper cards had been previously
“fixed” in such a way that I should receive three of a kind, while he
would get another set of three but of a higher denomination. By drawing
five cards I completely overturned his scheme. As a matter of course, I
drew what is known as a “full house,” i. e. three of one denomination
with a pair of another. My unfortunate adversary had been rash enough to
make his wager before the draft, feeling confident that I would either
“stand pat,” i. e. bet on the hand which I originally received, or draw
one, two, or perhaps three cards.
He cherished a conviction that in any event he would be able, through
the aid of his “top stock” to hold a hand superior to mine. When he
perceived that I had seen through his little game and had secured five
of the cards which he had cunningly arranged, he was well aware that I
held a “full.” His face turned all the colors of the rainbow, and he
made no objection whatever to my gathering in the stakes. At his earnest
request, I returned to him his watch, but accompanied this friendly act
by a bit of advice to the effect that the next time he tried to play
“top stock” on a stranger he had better make himself tolerably certain
that his antagonist had not seen the same game played before.
A WOODMAN IS KNOWN BY HIS CHIPS.
The confidence which some men possess in their own ability to play card
games which they know nothing about would be sublime if it were not so
amusing. I was sitting one evening in a gaming house watching a number
of men playing poker. While thus employed a broken-down gambler
approached me and asked me if I would lend him $5.00 with which he might
play against the faro bank. He added that he would much rather that I
should loan him $20.00 in order that he might sit in the poker game. I
asked him if he was “dead broke,” and he replied that he was. I next
asked him if he was a good poker player, and he made answer that he was
the best bottom dealer in the country. I looked at him a moment and
said, “It seems rather strange to me that an expert like yourself should
be without any money. I used to travel a good deal in Arkansas, where
the people managed to support themselves in part by killing ’coons and
selling the skins. These skins they generally hung up on the outside of
the house to dry. When I came across a cabin, the outer walls of which
were covered with skins, I made up my mind that the occupant was a good
hunter. When I saw only one or two hanging out, I felt satisfied that
the owner was either very shiftless or a very poor shot. Now Bob,” I
continued, “if you are as good a poker player as you claim to be, where
are your ’coon skins?’”
The same question might be asked of many men who make great pretensions
to ability in higher walks of life than gambling. Whenever I hear a man
loudly boasting of his own ability who cannot point to any one great
thing which he has achieved, I always feel like asking him “where are
your coon skins?”
THE “MORNING” PRINCIPLE.
On general principles it is usually safe not to lend money to a man who
promises to “pay you in the morning.” Professional gamblers form no
exception to the general operation of the rule. A blackleg, who was
known among the fraternity as “Stuttering Jim,” once fell into
misfortune in St. Louis, while I was a resident of that city. Just what
fraud he had been guilty of, I do not now recall; but I remember that
the police justice fined him five dollars. “Jim” had no money, and
appealed to the clemency of the court for a suspension of the fine. The
justice asked him if he was willing to leave town, and if so how long he
would require to get beyond the territorial limits of the State of
Missouri. The culprit eagerly grasped at the prospect of freedom, and
turning to the magistrate with a beaming smile, said: “J-j-judge, wh-
what’s the b-best time ever m-made over the b-bridge?” His appeal was
not without effect, and the judge allowed him six hours in which to take
his final departure from the western shore of the Mississippi. I was
among the first men whom he met after his exit from the court house.
Concealing the fact of his trial and sentence, he asked me for a loan of
$10 “t-till m-morning.” I saw that he was in distress and at once made
up my mind to give him the money which he needed. However, I determined
to make use of caution. “Jim,” said I, “are you sure that I will see you
in the morning?” “W-well, John,” said he, “n-n-not if I see you f-
first.” It remains to be added that “Jim” has up to this time
scrupulously kept his promise. I have never seen him from that day to
this; probably when I meet him he will take great pleasure in redeeming
his word.
A FRIEND’S BAD FAITH.
Among the common devices of faro gamblers to entrap victims, few are
more common than to suggest to the proposed dupe that he enter a
gambling house and play against the bank, at the same time receiving the
secret assistance and co-operation of the dealer. That is to say, the
latter individual, who works for a salary, will so manipulate the cards
that the outside player shall win the proprietor’s money, after which
the dealer and the winner will divide the profits. This scheme usually
works well and even old gamblers are sometimes entrapped by it. A
veteran dealer of New York City is authority for the following
statement, a reminiscence of his own experience:
“A few years ago I was one of the dealers in a faro bank up town, and an
acquaintance whom I liked very much was a dealer in a similar bank in
the next block. Both were reputed to be, and undoubtedly were, ‘square’
games. The proprietor of the game my friend dealt for, however, was
known to be extremely close and mean in money matters, and everybody
disliked him, but as his game was trustworthy, his place was well
patronized.
“I was not surprised one day when my friend came and told me that ‘Old
Nick’ (that’ll do for the proprietor’s name) owed him $5,000,
representing his interest in the game in lieu of a salary, which he
refused to pay over. My friend proposed that I should come to his bank
and play while he was dealing, and he would fix the deck so that I could
win out what ‘Old Nick’ owed him and something over for myself. Being a
dealer myself, and knowing that a sign from my friend would indicate
just how the cards were to run through a deal, I saw that it was
possible for me to right my friend’s wrongs and make a few hundred out
of ‘Old Nick.’
“The first night everything seemed to go wrong. I got the sign to play
‘single out’ and the cards ran ‘double out,’ and when I played ‘double
out’ they ‘singled out.’ I lost $1,000 and left the place, as mad a man
as you ever saw. The next day I met my friend, who declared that it was
the most astonishing thing he ever heard of, that he had acted squarely
all through, and that somebody must have changed the decks in the drawer
of the table so that he got hold of the wrong one. He offered to make my
loss good if I did not win out the full stake at the next sitting. He
seemed square and I believed him. The next night I lost $2,000 more, and
when I left the place I was crazy mad. I didn’t dare say anything there,
for it would have hurt me at my own place to have it known that I was in
a ‘brace’ at another man’s game. I decided to wait until the next day
and give the false friend a thrashing at least.
“The next day, however, the bank was closed and the dealer had skipped.
‘Old Nick’ had lost money on the races, had grown desperate, had
‘plunged’ and ‘gone broke.’ His partner, my friend, the dealer, knew
that the bank would close and roped me in for a ‘stake’ to get away
with. I was terribly angry, for I had been influenced almost entirely by
my sympathy for my friend and I wanted to help him out.
“Did I ever get my money back? Well, I should say I did! I was out West
two years ago, and one night strolled into a game in Kansas City. Just
as I was about to buy a stack of chips, I noticed my friend in the look-
out’s chair. He saw me at the same time, and motioned for me to come to
him. As I approached he drew out a roll of money and said, ‘Here’s the
dust you loaned me some time ago; much obliged, old man.’ I counted it
and found it correct. Calling another man to the chair, he led me aside
and explained that he had been in a desperate strait at the time and had
always intended to repay me. He was now prosperous, he said, and making
a fortune rapidly. I played at his game all that night and lost just the
$3,000 he had paid me. I felt very queer when I went away, but I felt
too cheap to say or do anything. I have come to the conclusion that
there’s no money in ‘bucking the tiger,’ unless you are behind the game.
I never play in front of the table any more. I can’t afford it.”
THE INFLUENCE OF MONEY ON PARENTAL DISAPPROBATION.
There exists a class of people—and its members are far too numerous—who,
while condemning gambling in the abstract, and particularly outspoken in
their denunciation of the vice when practiced by members of their own
family, nevertheless have such a respect for money, that “lucre,” even
when won at the gaming table, is not too filthy to command respect for
its owner. The motto of such people seems to be: “Get money—honestly if
you can, but get it.” An old acquaintance of mine once told me the
following story, which is an illustration of the foregoing reflection,
for the truth of which he vouched:
The young man, whom we will call James, once lived in a small Western
city. His fondness for amusement led him into bad company, and he
plunged into all sorts of dissipation, soon becoming a devotee of the
green cloth. His parents deplored his lapse from morality, and
frequently consulted together as to the best means of effecting his
reformation. To deny him admission to the house might be to send him to
ruin; persuasion they had found to be utterly without avail; example he
derided and threats were a subject for mockery. Accordingly, they
decided to adopt an attitude of what might be called, for want of a
better name, “armed neutrality.” They determined to allow him to occupy
his room and take his meals at home, but never to speak to him. The
wayward son used to return to the paternal roof at all hours of the
early morning, and after a few hours of sleep would make his appearance
at the breakfast table. His father filled his plate and his mother
poured his coffee. The rest of the family carried on a conversation, but
no one spoke to James. One night the youth had been “playing in great
luck,” and had returned home a winner to the amount of several hundred
dollars. The following morning at the breakfast table his little sister
asked her mother for half-a-dollar, with which to buy a school book. The
old lady referred her to her father, who looked sour and querulously
said that he saw no reason why he should buy it. The prodigal had heard
what had been said, and drawing a roll of bills from his pocket handed
the little one a five dollar bank note, saying: “Here, sis, get your
book and keep the change.” His mother looked at the old man, and the
latter stared at his son. Raising her spectacles and looking at her
erring boy with a glance of mingled affection and pride, she asked in
honied tones: “James, son, dear, is your coffee sweet enough?”
TIMIDITY OF PROFESSIONAL GAMBLERS.
In various chapters throughout this work, I have related experiences of
my own in which I have exhibited myself in the light of being naturally
rather timid. I do not think that my inborn proclivities were towards
physical cowardice, however much they may have inclined me toward vice.
The truth is, that “conscience doth make cowards of us all.” A few
incidents in my own career may serve to illustrate the truth of this
principle.
I was once playing poker with a partner and a stranger. My confederate
and myself had succeeded in winning a large amount of money from the
greenhorn who had been rash enough to try his luck against us. Success
had so far emboldened me that I lost all regard for ordinary prudence. I
dealt the greenhorn four kings and gave myself four aces. He was
irritated in no small degree by his losses and determined to bring
matters to a focus. When he looked at his cards and saw that he had four
kings, he drew a Remington six shooter from his pocket, and laying it
upon the table announced his intention of shooting any man at the board
who had a hand to beat his. My partner was struck with terror and
signalled me to allow the man to win. I felt rather uneasy myself, but
determined that if I must die I would at least pass out of this life
with the best grace possible under the circumstances. Looking at my
adversary with a bland expression I said, in dulcet tones, “you don’t
mean before the draw, do you, sir? I would rather look for a free lunch
than for a fight any day.” This remark appeared to mollify him somewhat,
and I asked him how many cards he wanted. He looked at me grimly and
said, “None.” “Well,” said I, “I believe that I shall have to take two.”
Having said this, I discarded two aces, drawing in exchange the first
two chance cards which happened to lie upon the top of pack. Of course,
this ruined my hand, but I am inclined even to this day, to believe that
it saved my life.
“OLD BLACK DAN.”
I recall another incident which illustrates the same principle. In
almost every country town there are many men who like to be regarded as
“sports.” They consider themselves champion card players, and are fully
convinced of their own ability to get the best of any stranger who may
put in an appearance. When they find that they have “caught a Tartar”
and are losing money, they not infrequently resort to the expedient of
calling in some local bully, whose brawny arms and ponderous fists may
accomplish, through brute force, what they have failed to effect through
skill. I once found an illustration of this fact in a small Missouri
village. I was playing poker in a room at the hostelry, with about as
unsavory a lot of country “bummers” as it was ever my bad fortune to
meet. Among them were men whose physiognomy indicated that for many
years they had held their own through the aid of sling shots, jimmies
and other “implements of modern warfare.” The nose and cheeks of most of
them testified to their devotion to the pleasures of the wine cup,—or
perhaps I should say their fondness for the consumption of corn whiskey.
I was playing with marked cards, and was gradually but surely winning
all their money. Their disgust knew no bounds. It was not long before
there entered upon the scene an American citizen of African descent upon
whose ebony skin charcoal would have made a white mark. His scarred and
battered face gave him the appearance of a veteran of the prize ring who
had returned home for purposes of recuperation and repairs. He modestly
took his seat in a corner of the room, and half closing his eyes began
to sing this plaintive ditty:
“Give me some of dat, or I’ll brok up your game,
I guess you ‘gams.’ knows who I is.
Old Black Dan—dat is my name;
If you ’siders me in, go on with your biz.”
I had heard of “old black Dan” from men of my profession who had visited
the same town before. He was an amateur prize-fighter, who, with proper
training, might have made his mark as an athlete. To pick a quarrel with
him was the last ambition that I had on earth. I thought it was best to
meet him on his own ground. Accordingly, I counted up the value of the
pile of chips which I had before me, in order that I might know just how
the game stood at the moment of his entrance. Without betraying any
apparent emotion, I began to sing the following impromptu doggerel:
“Consider yourself in from this time on;
I am always square with every man;
You’ve no more need to sing that song,
For I want no trouble with old black Dan.”
It is hardly necessary to add that “Dan” got his full proportion of the
winnings.
EFFECT OF A SENSITIVE CONSCIENCE.
In “skin” gambling houses of a low order, it is not an uncommon practice
for those around the table to steal the chips of a player whose
attention is temporarily diverted from the game. I once had an
experience of this character in Wichita, Kansas. I had a considerable
“stack” lying before me on the table and turned away my head for some
purpose or other, to find on again looking at my pile that my chips had
been abstracted. I was aware of the character of the house in which I
was playing and knew that stringent measures must be adopted if I
expected to recover my stolen property. Accordingly, drawing a pistol
(which, by the way, was not loaded) from my hip pocket, I stated in a
loud tone of voice that if the man who had taken my chips did not return
them to me at once I would shoot him on the spot. My action produced a
profound sensation. Not less than a half dozen men sitting near at once
handed me chips, the result being that when I returned my revolver to my
hip pocket and resumed my seat I had more than when I had turned away my
face from the table. As the game proceeded, I observed that a typical
Westerner was watching me very closely with a look the reverse of
friendly. When I had finished playing I arose from the table, cashed my
chips, pocketed my money and walked out of the room and down stairs. On
reaching the side-walk I found the unpleasant looking stranger close at
my heels. “Look here,” said he, “you said something upstairs about
somebody stealing some of your chips. I reckon that you meant me. You’re
kind o’ handy with your shooting iron; I’m going to give you a chance to
use it.” At the same time he drew his own pistol. I perceived that I was
in a dilemma. My weapon was not loaded and the stranger’s manner left no
doubt as to the sincerity of his intentions. “How are we going to settle
this?” he went on. I suggested that we should shake hands, turn back to
back, each walk fifteen paces, and then turn and fire. To this he
agreed. We carried out the programme up to the point of turning back to
back and starting to walk the prescribed number of paces. With solemn
and stately tread he measured off his portion of the stipulated
distance, but when he turned around I was no longer visible to the naked
eye. While he had been stepping off fifteen paces, I had contrived to
cover two hundred.
HOW AN OLD SCOUT HELD AN “ACE FULL.”
One of the best known characters around Sioux City in 1876 was a scout
known as “Wild Bill.” He had a weakness for poker, though he knew no
more about the game than a baby. The consequence was that he was “picnic
for the sports,” and they fleeced him right and left. He was repeatedly
warned that he was being robbed, but he always replied that he was able
to take care of himself. One night he sat down to play with a fellow
named McDonald, a “fine-worker” and expert. McDonald did as he pleased,
and the scout found his pile getting smaller and smaller as the game
progressed. As he lost he began drinking, and midnight found him in a
state of intense but suppressed excitement, a condition that made him
one of the most dangerous men in the West. It was at this juncture that
McDonald, smart gambler as he was, made his mistake. He should have
quit. However, “Wild Bill’s” apparent coolness deceived him. Finally the
scout seemed to get an unusual hand and began to bet high and heavy.
McDonald raised him back every time, until finally the top of the table
was out of sight. At last there was a call. “I’ve got three jacks,” said
McDonald, throwing down his hand. “I have an ace full on sixes,” replied
Bill. “Ace full on sixes is good,” said McDonald cooly, turning over his
opponent’s cards, “But I see only two aces and a six.” Whipping out a
navy revolver, the greenhorn said in a tone of determination, “here’s
your sixes, and here,” drawing a bowie-knife, “is the one spot.” “That
hand is good,” said McDonald blandly, arising, “take the pot.”
THE FAILURE OF A TELEGRAPH WIRE.
The “telegraph,” as explained in the chapter on Poker, is a favorite
resource of professionals. It is not always easy to employ this
stratagem, but when it can be employed successfully the results are of a
sort extremely satisfactory to the manipulators. While I was running a
saloon in Columbia, Missouri—which was in fact, but a cloak for secret
“brace” gambling—I had an apparatus of this sort attached to a peep-hole
in such a manner that I could readily signal to my confederate when it
was safe for him to bet high. Of all victims in the world the “skin”
gambler is especially rejoiced to meet a man who is in the habit of
drinking to excess. During my entire career as a gambler I always felt
reasonably sure of winning the money of such a man. On the particular
occasion to which I am about to refer, two individuals, both somewhat
inebriated, dropped into the saloon, and it was by no means difficult to
engage them in a game of poker. My partner, whose name was Forshay, sat
at the table together with the strangers, while I retired to a
convenient spot in order to work the telegraph apparatus. The device
succeeded admirably. Forshay experienced no difficulty in winning the
money of the chance visitors, but in his exhilaration over his success
he forgot prudence. The wire went through the floor; two casual
customers entered the place and called for drinks; Forshay jumped up
from his seat to wait on them, and forgetting in his excitement that the
secret wire was attached to the bottom of his trouser’s leg by means of
a fish-hook, omitted to detach the same. The result was that he went
sprawling full length upon the floor, the entire mechanism of the
machine being exposed to the curious eyes of any member of the vulgar
herd who might have happened to be about. The situation was a critical
one, but Forshay rose equal to it. One glance towards the table
satisfied him that the two “suckers” were so far gone in their cups that
any man of average intelligence might have driven a royal Bengal tiger
across the table without attracting their attention. Forshay himself was
so far gone under the influence of the “ardent” that a small object,
such as a jack rabbit, might have escaped his notice, but his fall had a
sobering effect upon him. When he arose from the floor his clothes were
covered with sawdust, and he was altogether as disreputable an object as
one would wish to see. Brushing the dirt from his knees and apologizing
for the torn condition of his nether habiliments, he resumed his seat at
the table, which he occupied just long enough to detach the hook from
his clothing. He waited upon the customers and returned to his place
without having attracted the attention of the greenhorns. This anecdote
has a moral of its own. In the first place, it is in itself a condensed
temperance lecture; in the second, it may serve to convince the reader
that however attractive a saloon may be, he can never determine by
himself what sort of risk he runs by engaging in a “friendly” game, at
any of the tables which the hospitable proprietor offers for his use.
A QUEER STAKE.
The excitement of play has prompted men to wager almost everything that
they possess, and sometimes a good deal that they did not own, but it is
doubtful whether any game was ever played for quite as strange a stake
as that once indulged in by a professional gambler who was temporarily
“under a cloud” in Georgia. The blackleg in question had become involved
in a dispute with one of the natives over a game of cards, and the
disagreement had resulted in the Georgian going to the hospital and the
gambler to jail. Popular prejudice against gambling ran high in the
community at the time, and the professional was advised by his counsel
that he was likely to have a rather hard time in getting out of the
scrape. While a prisoner, he cultivated the acquaintance of the sheriff,
whom he found to be a good-natured, jovial sort of a fellow. One day he
discovered, by accident, that his custodian was a devotee of faro. It
appeared that he had been moderately wealthy at one time, but had lost
nearly all his property in playing against faro banks, and would still
walk ten miles through a swamp to get a chance to play again. The
gambler saw his opportunity. He chalked out a layout on the floor of his
cell, procured an old pack of cards and proceeded to deal faro for the
sheriff. Buttons were used for chips, and the officer of the law would
squat outside the grated door of the cell and tell the prisoner where to
place his bets. In a few days the gambler had all of his ready cash.
Then he sold a mule and lost the proceeds. Head by head of the sheriff’s
live stock went the same way. Then he put up his watch and chain and a
suit of clothes. The professional won them and insisted upon their
delivery to him. In a week the prisoner’s cell presented the appearance
of a country store. It contained boots, hams, a pair of scales, all the
sheriff’s stationery, a barrel of flour, a saddle and a feather bed. At
last the Chief Executive Officer of the county came to the cell to
interview his prisoner. “John,” said he, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
You have won everything I can move except the old woman and the kids.
Now I’ll play you a game of seven-up for all that I have lost against
your liberty.” The prisoner promptly assented. They played through the
grated door, and it was probably the most exciting game to both parties
that either of them had ever indulged in. At last the score stood six to
six. The gambler turned up a jack. “That puts you out,” said the sheriff
and he unlocked the door; “now get out.” The blackleg lost no time in
taking advantage of the permission. The Sheriff fired a shot at his
retreating form, undoubtedly claiming that this right was reserved to
him by the terms of the wager. Probably his excitement rendered him
nervous; at all events the charge passed over the head of the fleeing
ex-prisoner and crippled a darkey in an adjoining corn-field. The
gambler who narrates this bit of experience always assures his auditors
that only the pressing nature of his business prevented him from
stopping to inquire how seriously the negro was hurt.
‘’
DAN RICE’S BIG POKER GAME.
The following story relative to “Uncle Dan Rice,” the veteran showman,
has appeared before, but will certainly bear repetition. The following
version of it is given, as nearly as possible, in his own language.
“When they talk about winnin’ money at cards,” he said, “they make me
tired. Why they don’t bet big money nowadays. They ain’t got the money
in the first place, and if they have they ain’t got the nerve to put it
up. What’s $30,000? Sho! Why I won $280,000 one night playin’ poker. I
won it from two smart gamblers, too—Canada Bill and George B. Pettibone.
O! they were cunnin’ but your ‘Uncle’ Dan was too smart for ’em. George
Pettibone taught me to play chuck-a-luck and won my money, but I got
even with him.
“It was this way: I had my circus in Cincinnati in 1851. The cholera
broke out and we had to get away quick. So I loaded the whole durned
circus onto a boat and started for Pittsburg, drew all my money from the
bank and put aboard. I had about $350,000 in cash. Carried it in a safe
in my state-room. People was a-dyin’ on the lower decks, and Canada
Bill, Pettibone, my ringmaster, named Fowler, and I went upstairs to
play poker. Did that to keep our minds off the cholera, don’t you see?
We started in at a quarter limit. Then we got to playin’ a no-limit
game, and I had ’em then. I had dollars to their buttons. About 4
o’clock in the mornin’ we got to bettin’ on a hand. All had big hands.
We played with a short deck. Took everything below the tens out and
threw ’em overboard. Bill and Pettibone had everything on the
table—money, watches, diamonds, and everything. I told Fowler to watch
’em, and I went back to my state-room and got $250,000 out o’ the safe.
My wife says—good woman, my wife—she says:
“‘Where are you goin’ with that money?’
(“I had it in canvas bags. It made an armful.) ‘I’m goin’ to bet it,’
says I.
“‘No you ain’t,’ she says.
“‘Yes, I am,’ I says, and I slammed the door.
“I threw it on the table. ‘There,’ I says to Bill and Pettibone, ‘I
raise you that.’ They demanded a sight. I wouldn’t give it to ’em. It
was a no-limit game, don’t you see, and they couldn’t see my hand
without putting up the money. They didn’t have any more.
“They drew bowie knives. Yes, sir, bowie knives—great big long fellers.
I whispers to Fowler. I says: ‘Swipe the swag and sherry your nibs.’
That’s slang you know. Then I says to Bill and Pettibone, I says: ‘Hold
on, hold on; don’t let’s have any trouble,’ and while I was sayin’ that,
I picks up a chair and hits ’em both. O, I lammed ’em good. Lord, I was
a strong young feller then. People came runnin’ out in their night
clos’—great excitement. The cap’n wanted to throw Bill and Pettibone
overboard but I wouldn’t let him. I gave ’em their watches back. I
handed my wife a big diamond ring. That shut her up. Then I promised her
I’d never gamble any more, and I never have.”
A DISCOURAGED SPECULATOR.
I have always regarded faro dealing as being but a very few degrees less
respectable than operating upon the floor of the stock or produce
exchange. The same essential elements are present in both cases—a
disposition to obtain something for nothing, a rash venture by an
inexperienced player, and a determination on the part of a practiced
veteran to win the money of his antagonist. As illustrative of this
point I might recount a narrative told of a certain gambler who once
visited Chicago. For two or three days he played poker with decided
success, and found himself the winner of several hundred dollars. Elated
by his good fortune the idea occurred to him that he possessed all the
qualifications necessary to operate upon a wider scale. He determined to
try his luck upon the Chicago Board of Trade. One of his friends
suggested to him that however much he might know about dealing or
“holding out” a poker hand, he was utterly ignorant of the course and
manipulation of the wheat market. His friend also urged that a capital
as small as his would not go far toward the control of a “corner.”
However, serenely confident of his own sagacity, the poker player
determined to take the chances. Employing a broker, he made a purchase.
For a day or two the market went in his favor, and he smiled at the
contemplation of his own superior wisdom. He wrote to his father, who
lived in a country town not more than a hundred miles away, to meet him
at the depot with a carriage the following Saturday; that he was about
to return home loaded down with presents for all members of the family.
But, “woe betide the cruel fate!” In less than twenty-four hours after
sending this exultant message a decline in grain wiped out all his
margins and left him comparatively penniless. His next message to his
father was of a decidedly different tenor. It ran thus: “Dear father;
meet me at the nearest railroad crossing with a hat and pair of shoes. I
have a blanket myself.”
THE LUCK OF A ONE-EYED MAN.
One of the most bare-faced, yet at the same time most successful
confidence tricks which I ever saw perpetrated was played upon an
individual who prided himself on the strength of his eyesight. Going
into a bar-room one day, he offered to wager that he could look directly
at the sun longer than any other living man. There were three or four
professional sports sitting around, one of whom promptly offered to
cover any amount which he might wish to put up, provided he was allowed
ten minutes to produce a contestant. The terms having been accepted, the
stakes were put in the hands of a third party. The “sport” went out of
the room, and soon returned, accompanied by a rather dilapidated looking
individual who said that he “reckoned he could look right smart.” At the
same time, he stated that he did not wish to risk blindness in both
eyes, but was willing to venture one of his optics in any good cause.
The party went out into the sunlight, and the man who had proposed the
wager looked steadily at the orb of day for a number of seconds that was
actually surprising. When pain compelled him to lower his gaze, the
“dark horse” which the gambler had brought forward covered one of his
eyes with his hand, and, raising his head, apparently looked at the sun
without being in the slightest degree affected. He easily surpassed the
record of the first gazer, and the confidence man claimed and received
the stakes. The stranger reluctantly acknowledged that he had fairly
lost his money and departed much chagrined. Probably he is not aware to
this day that the man who had excelled him had only one eye and was
looking at the sun through a glass substitute for the one which had been
removed.
BOTTOM DEALING.
This term, as understood among gamblers, refers to that method of
dealing which consists of drawing a card from the bottom of the pack
instead of, or at the same time with, one from the top. I once met a
gentleman at St. Louis, who had been a physician of some standing, but
who had yielded to his gambling instincts to such a degree that he had
lost not only his money, but also his self-respect. We will call him
Doctor Rodman. As an illustration of the inveteracy of his passion for
play, I need only mention the fact that one night, while engaged in a
game of poker, I saw him draw from his mouth his artificial teeth, which
were attached to a gold plate, and offer to stake them for $2.00. He
claimed to be a professional, and undertook to enter into a partnership
with me. I asked him to indicate what was his “strong-hold” in the line
of a professional card sharper. He said that he was as good a “bottom
dealer” as there was in the country. I sat in a room while he was
playing and watched him closely with a view to ascertaining how much he
knew about running the cards from the bottom of the pack. I soon saw
that while he could draw two cards at the same time, one from the top
and the other from the bottom, he did it so clumsily that the operation
was accompanied by a resounding thwack, sufficiently loud to attract the
attention of every player at the board. When he left the table and came
into the open air, I told him that an idea had just occurred to me,
through working which he and I together might beat the world at playing
poker. I added that I knew it to be a “sure thing.” His interest was
awakened at once, and he impatiently asked me to tell him what my
project was. “Well,” said I, “Doctor, I have a horse pistol right here
in my pocket. I’ve noticed your skill as a bottom dealer, and I believe
if you will only give me a signal when you intend to draw a card from
the bottom of the pack, I’ll fire off my gun at the same time, and so
fully attract the attention of every man in the room that nobody will
notice what you are doing. At all events nobody will hear that horrible
noise that you make in practicing your little game.” The doctor’s face
fell, and I have never been able to tell why, from that moment forward,
he always appeared to avoid my company.
A WHIFF FOR A NICKEL.
I was once traveling through the country with a partner named Barnes. He
was not without some good traits, but he was unquestionably the smallest
pattern of a man in money matters that I ever had the misfortune to
meet. I used to twit him with this fact, and he was accustomed to
account for a peculiarity which he did not attempt to deny by saying
that he owed it to his grandfather, who had brought him up. He was fond
of telling stories of his ancestor’s meanness. When the old gentleman
used to send him down stairs, of a winter night, after apples, he used
to insist upon his whistling all the time, in order that there might not
be any doubt as to the fact that he was not eating any on his way back
to the kitchen. Another narrative which he was fond of relating about
his grandfather was to the effect that the old man once hired him to go
supperless to bed in consideration of the payment of five cents. The
next morning his affectionate grandparent, finding that he was
exceedingly hungry, insisted upon the return of the five cents before
allowing him to eat his breakfast. How much truth there may have been in
these stories of Barnes I cannot tell, but I had an opportunity once of
observing the closeness of his calculations. We were stopping together
at a hotel. He was going out to visit a young woman that evening, and,
being engaged in making his toilet and wanting some perfumery, he asked
me if I would take a good-sized bottle which was standing upon the
dressing case, and repair to a drug store to buy five cents worth of
attar of roses. It occurred to me that five cents was not much money to
invest in perfumery, but as I knew nothing of the value of attar of
roses, I took the bottle, together with the nickel which he handed me,
and started for the drug store. When I arrived there I handed the bottle
to the man behind the counter, and told him that I would like to get
some attar of roses. He smiled graciously, and asked me how much I
wanted. In an off-hand way, for I felt rather ashamed of the mission
with which I had been charged, I replied: “Oh, give me a nickel’s
worth.” I shall never forget the expression that came into that man’s
eyes. He glared at me for a full minute without a word. Then, in a
commiserating tone he said: “My friend, attar of roses is worth twenty-
five cents a drop, but if you’ll hand me your nickel I’ll let you smell
of the bottle.”
It is not necessary to say that from that time forward I did not
undertake to execute any commissions for Barnes of a precisely similar
character. As I have said before, like a yellow dog, he was not without
his good points, but to discover them required more patient assiduity
than I possessed.
A GOOD SWIMMER.
As is explained in another chapter, a favorite device of confidence
operators is to induce a victim to back a good runner for a race which
it has been previously arranged that he shall lose. The method in which
the trick is played is one set forth at that part of the work above
indicated and need not be more fully described. One of this class of
gentry once undertook to “work” a similar trick upon a wealthy man in a
western town. He succeeded in making his dupe believe that he was an
expert skater. The “sucker” was fond of athletic sports and much given
to betting, and in the hope that he had a fair prospect of winning a
large sum during the following winter, after the ice had formed and the
weather was propitious, he supported him all through the summer. The
sharper lived in clover until the cold blasts of winter had touched the
lakes and streams with an icy kiss. The smooth, glassy surface being
well adapted to the use of skaters, his patron suggested that they
should talk business; _i.e._, make arrangements for the skating contest.
The confidence man saw that the “jig was up,” and placidly looking his
host in the eye, said: “Well, Colonel, to tell the plain truth, I don’t
know much about skating nohow, but I’m the doggondest best swimmer in
the country.”
A HUNGRY TRIO.
The preference which some men give to whisky over food is not only
surprising, but at times, decidedly embarrassing to those who do not
share in the same disposition. A striking illustration of this assertion
once happened in my own experience. In company with two partners I was
operating a game on the fair-grounds at Macon, Missouri. Luck had not
been particularly propitious to us during the day, and night fell upon
three hungry and tired gamblers, whose combined resources did not exceed
$7. To get something to eat was the main trouble with us all. One of the
party was deputed to go into town and purchase some provender, the fact
that we were all camping on the grounds preventing our visiting a hotel
or restaurant in the village. Unfortunately, the man selected for this
all-important duty was one who never hesitated between a glass of liquor
and a loaf of bread. I am fully aware that the same statement might be
predicated concerning many a consistent prohibitionist; the difference
between the prohibitionist and our messenger, however, was that while
the former would take the bread, the latter invariably chose the
stimulant. We waited long and patiently for his return, and as the hours
passed away our hunger increased. We began to doubt whether he might not
have deserted us, and the question presented itself, should we ever see
him again? At last, in the glimmering darkness we discerned his form
approaching with rather uncertain tread. As soon as he came within
hailing distance, he accosted us. “Boys,” said he, “I’m all there.” To
say that we felt relieved is to state the case mildly. From the length
of time which he had taken to execute his commission, we felt he must
have provided a “lay-out” which might have tempted Epicurus himself. The
reader may judge of our disappointment when he put down a package which
he evidently regarded as the most precious object of life, and on
opening which, we found it to contain precisely three bottles of
“appetite bitters,” for which he had paid $2.00 per bottle. We said
nothing; we felt that language was inadequate to express our feelings.
The hour was near midnight, and we retired to our beds upon the ground,
in the hope that the sweet oblivion of sleep might bring to us a
happiness, equal in degree, if differing in kind, from that which was
enjoyed by our companion.
A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY.
Much is said in this volume regarding the venality of the police. An
efficient municipal administration can always suppress gambling, if the
task is undertaken in genuine sincerity of purpose and with an
inflexible resolution to succeed. As tending to show how susceptible is
the average policeman to the influence of a bribe I might relate stories
which would fill a work of considerably larger size than this. I have
had an extensive and varied experience with the officers of the law. I
was once arrested in a Missouri city for having perpetrated a scheme of
fraud upon a verdant and gullible stranger. When the policeman placed
his hand upon my shoulder and informed me that I was under arrest, my
first impulse was to get away, and I twisted my body into as many
contortions as are discernible upon the face of a man who is shaving
himself with a dull razor. I soon found that escape was impossible. The
blue-coated minion of authority held me with a tenacious grip. Then I
began to appeal to the finer instincts of his nature. I told him that I
was innocent; he laughed at me. I told him of my poverty, talked to him
of my family, and otherwise appealed to the gentler side of his
character. He listened to all I had to say in silence, and with a smile
that Artemus Ward would have described as “coldly cynical.” Inserting
the thumb and forefinger of my right hand in my vest I drew out a ten
dollar treasury note, which I quietly slipped into the hand of the
protector of public morals. His large fingers closed over it with the
same firm grasp with which they had prevented my escape. Stepping back
from me one or two paces, he looked earnestly into my face and
exclaimed, “Well, begorrah, an’ Oi believe Oi’ve got the wrong man.”
THE WOULD-BE CONFEDERATE DISAPPOINTED.
There is a class of amateur gamblers who are always ready to fasten
themselves upon men whom they discover to be professionals, with a view
to induce or to compel them to divide their winnings. They are wont to
claim that without their assistance the blackleg would not have been
able to have won anything. These men are as essentially dishonest as any
confidence man either inside or outside the penitentiary, but they are
not usually particularly astute. I was once playing in a poker game in
an Indiana town, where one of these gentry sat directly over my left
hand. As the game progressed and the gentleman from the rural district
perceived that I was winning largely, he began to kick me under the
table. I at once perceived what he wanted and returned his kicks with
great vigor. When the play was over and we had left the room, the
unsophisticated individual approached me and inquired how much I thought
was his share of the money which I had won. I was not at all surprised,
and answered him in the blandest tone, “nothing.” “Why,” said he,
“didn’t I kick you under the table that I was in with you?” “Yes,” I
replied, “and didn’t I kick you right back that you weren’t?”
FIVE EQUAL HANDS.
One evening, while I was running a saloon at Columbia, Missouri, in the
absence of business I began carefully to study the characteristics of
the loungers about the place. They were all broken-down “bums,” men who
claimed to be gamblers, but who were never known to have a dollar in
their pockets. As I have said, trade during the day had been very quiet,
and I felt that something must be done to enliven the proceedings.
Taking the gamblers apart, one by one, I lent each one of the four two
dollars, with which to sit in a poker game which I told them I was about
to open and in which I proposed to take a hand myself. To an old and
penniless gambler, the prospect of enjoying all the excitement of poker
playing without any risk is an alluring prospect. After I had “staked”
them all, I produced a deck of cards and we all sat around the table to
play. I had previously prepared a “cold deck,” with precisely similar
backs, by taking all the aces from five packs, and abstracting sixteen
cards from the original deck, to make the correct number. After playing
a few rounds, the deal coming to me, I gave to each man at the table,
including myself, four aces. To see the smile of satisfaction which
lighted up each one of those four faces was worth all the money that it
cost. Every man believed that he had a “sure thing.” Betting began and
the limit of each man’s pile was soon reached. One player became so
excited that he took off his coat and vest, and placing them on the
table said, “let ’em go for what they’re worth; I’ll bet all I’m worth
on this hand.” When the hands were “shown down” each man around the
board displayed four aces. It did not take long for the true inwardness
of the situation to dawn upon the minds of the crowd. A general “guffaw”
followed, and I invited all hands to repair to the bar and indulge in a
little liquid refreshment. My joke had cost me just $8.00, but the story
was soon noised about town, and the following day I did the largest
saloon business on record in the town since the first white man erected
the little log cabin which marked the site of the present thriving city.
A CHANGE OF DEMEANOR.
Once, while I was in partnership with a gambler named Martin, to whom I
have frequently referred, I received a telegram from a lawyer in
Jefferson City, Missouri, urging me to come to the latter place with a
view to winning some money at poker. The source from which the
invitation proceeded, left no doubt in our minds that it was possible to
make a snug little sum, and we accordingly went. My partner represented
himself as a drummer for a wholesale liquor house, while I posed as a
traveling representative of a concern engaged in the manufacture of
playing cards. We were introduced into the poker party without
difficulty and with but very little ceremony. We found that there were
seven players, and that the ante was five cents. They called it “playing
for amusement.” We concluded that it would not be policy on our part to
manifest the slightest anxiety to sit in the game, and therefore when
invited to play we declined. One of the party repeatedly urged me to
take a hand, saying that “it was only a five cent ante game which they
were playing just for fun.” By way of reply I told him of an infatuated
card player who had once entered a gaming house and was accosted with a
similar invitation. Shivering and trembling, he declined the invitation,
saying that a previous indulgence in the same sort of “fun” had
compelled him to wear his summer clothes all through the winter.
Among the players was an individual whose dignified mien I shall never
forget. When I was introduced to him he recognized my existence only by
the most distant nod. I at once made up my mind that he was a member of
that numerous class who, having a little money in their possession,
consider themselves the superiors in point of wealth, intelligence and
respectability to all the rest of mankind. I made no effort to force my
company upon him, nor did I seek to cultivate his acquaintance.
Within a day or two, after much solicitation, Martin and I consented to
play. Day by day the demeanor of the arrogant stranger became more and
more cordial toward me. At first he condescended to speak to me by name,
gradually he so far forgot himself as to offer me his hand, and finally
grew so familiar that he used to slap me on the back on any and all
occasions, however inopportune. The secret of this change of conduct on
his part was that my partner and myself had succeeded in winning between
$800 and $1,000.
This sum, however, did not represent a net gain to us, inasmuch as we
were obliged to pay the distinguished member of the bar who had
introduced us into the game, the sum of $200 as a commission for his
services. The limb of the law was so elated over his sudden acquisition
of this ill-gotten wealth that in a moment of confidence induced by a
too free indulgence in the cup that both cheers and inebriates, he
disclosed the secret. The result of this imprudence on his part was that
an icy barrier was raised between him and his acquaintances. The stilted
individual to whom I have already referred assured me that the attorney
little thought that his fingers were “involuntarily contracting in a
desire to grasp his throat in a suffocating clutch.” Martin and I left
Jefferson City with damaged reputations, but with tolerably well filled
pockets. We afterwards learned that the lawyer had been “barred out”
from playing poker in any decent circle. This may have proved to have
been a blessing in disguise, inasmuch as of all the poker players that I
ever saw I think that he knew the least about the game.
CHAPTER XI.
MY WIFE.
Fannie May Harvey was the daughter of Dr. W. C. Harvey, of Roanoke,
Howard county, Mo., a physician who, in addition to the social
prominence which his profession conferred, had accumulated a competence
and enjoyed a lucrative income from his practice. Tenderly nurtured in
the surroundings of a home of wealth and luxury, of which she was the
pride and pet, gifted with rare graces of mind and person, and endowed
with education and accomplishments unusual even for one of her age and
station, through the anxious care of parents ambitious for her future,
brilliant in wealth and station, May Harvey had reached the bloom of
womanhood singularly unspoiled by her advantages and surroundings, and
possessed a sweet amiability of disposition and a gentle and loving way
that endeared her to all who were brought into contact with her. As one
has said, “none knew her but to love her, nor named her but to praise.”
My father’s farm was but four miles distant from the home of Dr. Harvey,
and being thus almost neighbors, we were thrown into contact at that
stage of life when the heart of each was most susceptible to the
tenderest and truest impulses of affection. That I should have
surrendered to the influence of such a nature all the ardor of a
youthful and undisciplined enthusiasm of love was not to be wondered at.
That my affection, earnest and sincere, and unbroken as it remains to
this day to her memory, should be returned might be wondered at, when it
is remembered, as the reader will have before learned, that my name had
already been associated with crime. The standing of my family had,
however, shielded me to some extent from the consequences of the
reckless tendencies of my life, and what might have been characterized
by a harsher verdict was to some extent condoned as youthful wildness.
This was sufficient to excuse our earlier association, and when the
parents of May Harvey had awakened to the serious nature of our
intimacy, our hearts had become knit with an affection stronger than
parental remonstrance or interference was able to move. Once aroused,
Dr. and Mrs. Harvey took active measures to separate their daughter from
the danger which they foresaw from such a union. But, as it very often
happens, opposition served but to fan the flame of devotion between us,
and to strengthen our mutual resolve to unite our love and fortunes in
an indissoluble tie. Finding her parents unrelenting, it became evident
that the only course was to accomplish our happiness by means of an
elopement, and this was carried into effect on the night of August 24,
1870. May’s natural aversion to this extreme and undesirable step, and
her knowledge of the anger which it would awaken in the hearts of her
parents were undoubtedly overcome not alone by the promptings of her
love for me, but by the belief growing out of the tenderness of her
heart, that her parents loved her too dearly to be long unreconciled and
that regard for her happiness would overcome a temporary displeasure.
Well do I remember that night on which she left the home of her
childhood, the surroundings of luxury and the love of parents; a
sacrifice to a greater love. Before leaving the house she played on the
piano and sang “Good-Bye, Old Home,” with an intensity of feeling that
none but herself realized. She bade good-bye to several friends with a
seriousness which was mistaken for badinage, and I with a horse from the
barn being waiting in the vicinity, she was soon speeding on the way to
the opening of life’s tragedy. We rode eighteen miles to Renick, where
we were married by ’Squire Butler, a justice of that place.
As may be imagined, when Dr. and Mrs. Harvey learned of the event, their
wrath knew no bounds. The brilliant hopes which they had entertained of
a career of social distinction for which they had aimed to fit their
favorite daughter, and to which they had looked forward to a marriage of
wealth as the key, were not only dashed to the ground, but they had the
added bitterness of knowing that it was not poverty alone to which their
daughter had been wedded, but a poverty tainted by social disgrace, for
the object upon whom she had bestowed the wealth of her affection was
comparatively an outcast, a gambler by profession, and even at that time
resting under suspicion. Looking back now, without prejudice and in the
light of a fuller experience, I can hardly feel justified in condemning
them for the bitter feeling which they displayed toward me. Yet, at the
time, the animosity with which they pursued me awakened a deep, and, as
I thought, justifiable resentment, for I had acted with honest motive,
and, as I then thought, with pure and unselfish regard for the happiness
of one who was dearer to me than life, for even to this day I can say
with truth and sincerity that one of the sweetest faces in all the world
to me is one that comes to me as a hallowed memory; and the sweetest
thoughts are those which cluster around the life which, through good and
ill report, we led together. And I can add now without resentment that
it was not politic toward me nor christian duty toward her whose life
was irrevocably linked to mine, that they should cast her off and bid
her never again to darken their doors, and thus add to such unhappiness
as her life encountered by long years of cold and unfeeling denial of
the boon of forgiveness, for which the heart hungered from the parental
love by which her childhood had been blessed and brightened. It is right
to say that her father would probably have relented after our marriage
but for the influence of her mother, a cold, haughty and determined
woman, who said in a voice of steel, “she is dead to us all,” and who
kept her relentless renunciation a cruel and living fact for nearly
eight years.
Her father said: “As for my daughter—the worst punishment that could be
inflicted upon her is to leave her alone with her villain of a husband.”
It is sad to think that parental love could so soon become cold, and
that a social disappointment should transform a mother’s tenderness into
obdurate and unforgiving rancor to last, as it transpired, through so
many years. In later years I had a boy whom I loved with all my heart,
and had I under any circumstances forsaken him I would have expected God
to desert me.
This separation and its cruel circumstances, and the disappointment of
her expectation of a reconciliation after reasonable time were very hard
upon the tender and affectionate heart of my wife. At times she would
weep as if her heart would break, and yet I am confident that at no
time, nor in any of the vicissitudes of her married life, did she ever
falter in her faith in the love that had led her to make the sacrifice.
We struggled along through the varying changes of fortune which make up
the gambler’s career; at one time abounding in comforts, at another
pinched for the necessaries of life. It is an old saying that love and
poverty cannot dwell together in the same cottage longer than between
two meals. Out of my experience I can dispute that proverb in at least
one exception, and testify that while love and poverty during the ten
years we were together struggled through many a close place, love,
though sometimes saddened with suffering and misfortunes, survived to
the end in all its sweetness and sincerity, trust and hope.
On one or two occasions my wife wrote home, but always received the same
reply—“I will never see you again.” After several years’ residence about
Roanoke, we removed to Moberly, Mo., and there my wife was seriously ill
and was anxious to have her father attend her. He came, and the fact of
his visit did her more good than his prescriptions. We were told that
her mother came with him on the occasion, but remained at the hotel,
saying that if her daughter died she would then come and see her. What a
grim and terrible illustration of the implacable and unhallowed spirit
which now filled the bosom that once had swelled with pride and
affection under the love of this unforgiven daughter’s childhood.
Soon after May’s recovery we removed to St. Louis, and here life began
to wear a brighter outlook and the future to be gilded with a rosier
hue. Dr. Harvey purchased for us a suite of furniture—the only thing he
ever gave us after our marriage—and comfort and happiness seemed to give
assurance of a permanent stay. But, alas! for a time, only! Soon the old
vice of gambling reasserted its alluring sway, with the result which
inevitably follows its capricious favors. Straightened circumstances
again pinched us with their implacable necessities, and one day my wife
sat down and penned the following letter to her mother:
“MY DEAR MA:—Since you sent me from you in such deep, and from your
point of view, just anger, because of my marriage, I have often longed
to be reconciled to you and dear Pa. Is my offense so heinous that you
cannot forgive me? The worst that can be said of John is that he is a
gambler; God knows that is bad enough, but as a husband he has always
been good and kind to me. At present he is doing nothing. Could you
see the poverty to which we are reduced, I think you would have some
pity upon your daughter. I do not like to ask any favor of you but if
you will help us a little now I will pay you back. Will you never
soften your heart?
Your loving daughter,
MAY.”
Sealing this letter, which had melted her heart to tears, she handed it
to me to mail. I went out, and after remaining a short time, returned
but with the letter still in my pocket. A few days passed in which the
clouds of adversity had seemed to gather thicker around us, and we were
as a last resort, compelled to mortgage our furniture. “Well, John,” she
sadly remarked, “it seems as if ma and all the world have forsaken us.”
Seeing her so deeply affected, I took the letter from my pocket and
placed it in her hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “it makes me feel so much
better to know that my mother did not refuse my letter.”
Eight years had elapsed since she had looked upon the home of her happy
childhood, when at length came an invitation from her mother to pay her
a visit. For a long time the pride of the wife and a sensitive spirit
wounded by long repulse, battled against the yearning love for father,
mother, sisters, and home. At length she decided to go, but when only a
few days there, her mother endeavored to persuade her to renounce me. At
once her constant and faithful heart revolted, and she went out and
ordered a man to call for her trunk. At the family’s entreaties she
finally consented to remain, but it was with the understanding that she
had made her choice and would abide by it; that if she deplored our
misfortunes she did not regret her love. This second separation from
home and from the luxury and magnificence which she saw around her,
tempting her the more by their inviting contrast to the hard conditions
by which experience had tried her married life, have always seemed to me
to be the noblest sacrifice and adds a hallowed lustre to the brightness
with which memory enshrines the recollection of her unfaltering love and
devotion.
Two years more we struggled on through varying fortunes. Her father on
one or two occasions visited her, but having failed to separate us, her
mother gave no more sign of reconciliation. One Saturday evening my wife
and self and our colored boy, Charley, went to market, and while out I
purchased for her a satin dress, jokingly remarking that it would “help
her to catch a new beau.” She replied, “I might be buried in it.” After
purchasing our Sunday supplies, I put her and the colored boy on the car
to return home, while I left all that was best and dearest to me to
follow the irresistible and fatal fascination of the green cloth table.
I gambled till a late hour and then started for home. On the street
everything seemed to be “turned around” to me, so that I was compelled
to ask a policeman for direction home. Arriving, I retired to bed, but a
strange and somber feeling had taken possession of me. An unaccountable
sadness seized my soul; a vague and irrepressible sense of impending
calamity, without any palpable or definable reason, weighed upon me, and
I burst into a passion of tears. My wife asked me what the trouble was,
but that I did not know myself.
On Monday her mother called during my absence, and induced her to go
down town. They remained together at the Laclede Hotel during Monday and
Tuesday nights. This absence seemed to intensify the gloomy forebodings
which I could neither explain nor comprehend, nor shake off. It almost
seemed as if I were going to lose the one joy of my life. The pall of
gloom upon my mind was such that sleep or rest was impossible. For hours
I would get up and walk the floor, wrestling with the shadowy terror
which seemed so close and incomprehensible. Was it the warning from
another world of a direful grief so soon to befall? The dread rustling
of the wings hovering even now over the happiness of my hearthstone?
Wednesday morning she returned home. I remember that we had a box of
sardines, and ate them out of the same saucer. She said we would go down
in the same car together and might possibly meet her mother at one of
the stores. She requested me to speak to her mother if we met, which I
at first declined, but on seeing that it grieved her, consented to. She
also requested me to buy some little presents for her little invalid
sister, Zollie, whom she tenderly loved, and on leaving her I went to
the St. Bernard’s dollar store and made some purchases for this purpose
and proceeded with them to the hotel. Enquiring for Mrs. Harvey, I was
told that she and her daughter had left for home. “My God!” I exclaimed
to myself, “has May forsaken me?” I immediately took a car home, and
there, to my inexpressible relief and delight, was May, herself, looking
a thousand times fairer than ever before. Doubtless, she had employed
this last interview with her mother in endeavoring to promote the
reconciliation which her tender heart, filled with affection for both
husband and parent, so fully desired. She told a friend of ours that
when her mother left her that morning she had said: “Daughter, I would
rather see you in your grave than continue to live with that man.”
Little she recked that before the sun should go down upon the bitterness
of her heart the fell wish would become a tragic reality.
I was at this time interested in a foot race and was in training at
Court Brilliant race track. I kissed her good-bye about 10 o’clock of
the day her mother left St. Louis, saying that I would be back for
dinner between 3 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Little did I dream that
this embrace had parted us forever on earth! When I arrived home the
colored boy, Charley, met me at the door, saying, “Miss’ May fell down
stairs and was hurt bad.” Alarmed, I hastened into the house. It was
full of strangers. I rushed to the bedside, and there, white and still,
lay my wife, the dear one who had so often told me she would lay down
her life for my sake. I put my lips to hers; they were not yet cold.
With a cry of agony I knelt by her side and my heart seemed to cease to
beat. It could not be possible that my May, so full of life when but a
few hours before I had left her, was now lying dead before me! That
those eyes would never again open to look upon me with an affection that
never wearied or grew faint! That those lips were never more to open to
speak to me one word of hope or love! Words fail to depict the anguish
and the utterness of the loss which it seemed so hard to realize. Death
is hard and cruel even when it comes to those whom age or disease has
long marked for its own; but how unutterably sad when it comes without
warning and sweeps away in one moment the brightness and sweetness of
life alike from the victim and from those who are left to mourn!
I was informed subsequently that in descending the stairs she had caught
her foot in her dress and fallen headlong, striking the door sill with
her head. She was carried up to her room, insensible, and lay for about
three hours in a comatose condition. At length she rose up in bed,
exclaiming, “Where is John? Oh, ma! ma! you break my heart! You won’t
forgive me! Take down my hair, I am dying!” This was the last effort of
consciousness. She lay back in bed and passed quietly into the silent
sleep from which there is no waking. She expired at half past three on
April 29, 1880.
Her father, who had that morning arrived at the Union Stock Yards, was
notified and came immediately, and I have often wondered what were his
thoughts as he stood by the bedside of his dead child, to whose life his
unforgiving spirit had brought so much sadness. In this trial there was
one circumstance that has always afforded me a melancholy satisfaction.
Although we had been poor almost the entire portion of our married life,
at the time of her death I was in a position to give her honorable and
reverent sepulture, and to respect her wishes oft expressed in life with
regard to burial. She had always desired to be laid to rest in a corner
of the lawn at her parental home, at Roanoke, and there it was agreed
her remains should be taken. This time, as she crossed the threshold of
the old home, there was no unkind look or word of reproach, for upon her
pallid and peaceful brow there was enthroned the majesty of the
sovereign fate of all, before which the paltry passions of pride and
anger shrink away in shame. As she lay there surrounded by father,
mother, sisters and friends, the look of trouble and care which had
rested there of late had all disappeared, and only the sweetness and
peace of eternal rest remained. Listening to the expressions of love,
sympathy and admiration which came from those who surrounded her bier, I
could not but think that it might have been better if a few of the
tokens of affections now extended around her lifeless form had been
bestowed while her warm and loving heart had hungered and yearned in
vain during the struggle of our married life. But pride and anger had
been allowed to stand in the way of natural affection, and both hearts
had suffered. It was now too late for vain regrets to make atonement or
to undo the wrong from which only death gave relief to her gentle
spirit.
I certainly think if her parents could have seen us on several occasions
struggling through the hard places, they would have come to our relief.
Her father showed at times that he felt kindly for his child and was
willing to take her back into his heart as he had taken her in his arms
when a little child, but her mother, who exercised a great deal of
influence over him, would not forgive nor allow him to forgive. I
suppose she thought she was doing a mother’s duty and that morality
compelled her to treat her child as a stranger and an outcast. I have
sinned often in allowing the tears to gather in the eyes of my dear
wife, but I know this: she was troubled more by the way her parents
treated her than by any sorrow that came through my life. True, I was a
gambler, and as she said, “God knows, that’s bad enough!” but I was
always good to her, and so far as it was in my power, strove to make her
happy.
I have sometimes thought that I did her a wrong in our marriage. From
the time I was sixteen years of age I had been familiar with the
vicissitudes of a gambler’s life, and had always in good luck or bad
fortune remained light hearted. If fortune smiled upon me I was the
gayest of the gay; if fortune frowned I whistled and waited for a better
day. With my wife it was otherwise. She had been brought up so tenderly
that she knew not what it was to have a wish ungratified or a want
unsupplied. She was not in any way prepared to meet the fickle and
uncertain experiences to which a gambler necessarily subjects his
family. As a flower bends before the wind which blows too rudely upon
it, so she bowed when ill luck brought us to want and privation. The
only excuse I have to offer is that I sincerely loved her and thought I
could make her life happy. If I failed may God forgive me, but I did the
best I could.
As I look back after the experience of years, I come to this
conclusion—she was too good for me. In the hours of gloom there was
never a look or word of reproach. Had there been more of the force of a
sterner character about her I might have yielded to her influence and
stopped gambling, settled down and become a steady, industrious, God-
fearing man. I say God fearing because I always had a deep sense of
religious truth. My companions used to say, “John, you were never cut
out for a gambler; you would make a good minister.” This element of
sternness she did not possess. Her nature was all love and gentleness,
and so, like two heedless children, we played with life; ate of its good
things when fortune brought us plenty; drank of its bitter water when we
had lost our all.
I thought then that it was terrible for her to be cut off almost in the
springtime of her life; that my affliction was unendurable, and that
life without her would be intolerable. But I feel now that all things
are in the hands of One whose wisdom is beyond our thought. Better for
her to rest in the dreamless sleep of eternity than to bear the shame
and trouble that a gambler brings upon his family. Her power over me for
good has been greater in death than in life, although at first I did not
listen to the voice of love which came to me; yet there was a constant
power drawing me to the better life. If angels are allowed to pray for
and visit their holy influence upon those they love upon earth I know
now that my dead wife followed me through all the years of my subsequent
career until the light of God’s truth broke in upon my heart in the
prison at Jeffersonville.
“Oh, friends, I pray to night,
Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow,
The way is lonely, let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel worn;
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive I plead!
When dreamless rest is mine, I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to night.”
[Illustration: MRS. MAY HARVEY QUINN.]
CHAPTER XII.
LOCAL GAMBLING.
Like all kindred vices, gambling flourishes best in large cities.
Centres of commerce are also centres of speculation, and the man whose
brain has been busy all day in the consideration of perplexing problems
of trade finds it easy to transfer the theatre of his ventures from the
counting room to the gambling hell. There is, besides, a class of
men,—and notably of men engaged in the learned professions—who claim
that they find at the faro or poker table a relaxation and a healthful
amusement. It is unnecessary to point out the fallacy of such a view.
Any recreation the nature of which is to stimulate some of the most
ignoble of the passions that sway the human heart, to debauch the morals
and to work the ruin of those who have resort to it, can scarcely be
characterized as legitimate, far less as innocent or healthful.
Moreover, the transient population in every metropolitan city is
enormous, and strangers are regarded by professional sharpers as their
peculiar prey. The holding of a fair, the assembling of an encampment,
in a word, the gathering of any great crowd draws gamblers to a town as
a carcass attracts vultures. Hence it is that the gambling element
becomes a power, both pecuniary and political, in large cities.
Professional cheats are numerous; they band themselves together for
purposes both offensive and defensive, and their cunning is matched only
by their rapacity. None know better than they that it is entirely within
the power of the municipal authorities to prevent the successful conduct
of their nefarious calling. It follows that they must have a tacit
understanding with the latter, in order that they may enjoy what they
denominate “police protection.” In other words, officials sworn to
enforce the laws must be induced to “protect” those who openly violate
them! The influences brought to bear to accomplish this end are
multiform, but may be resolved into three general categories. Money is
freely used, and the acceptance of a bribe places the receiver within
the power of the payer; political influence is also employed, liberal
subscriptions being made to the campaign funds of both parties, but
besides these two agencies there is yet a third. The professional
gambler has an intimate acquaintance with the criminal classes; he knows
their movements and their haunts, and more than one arrest which the
public considers as “unusually clever” is made upon information given to
the detectives by men who are willing to hand over a friend to the
gallows in consideration of their own immunity from interference. The
statements regarding local gambling contained in this chapter are in
part based upon the personal knowledge and in part upon trustworthy
information derived from authentic sources.
GAMBLING IN CHICAGO.
Among the most prominent gamblers in Chicago in the early ’40’s were
George C. Rhodes, the Smith brothers—George, Charles and Montague—Conant
(familiarly known as “King Cole,”) John Sears, Cole Martin, Walt
Winchester, Blangy and Curtis. Some of these men lasted until a few
years ago, but I believe that at present few of them survive. The last
one to conduct business in Chicago was George (nick-named “One-Lung”)
Smith, who not many years ago ran a handsomely equipped establishment on
State street, opposite the Palmer House. He was a gambler of the old
school, fond of “high rolling,” and fearless even to recklessness. On
leaving Chicago he went to New York, where he passed through all the
varying vicissitudes of a gambler’s life. One day a run of luck filled
his coffers to overflowing; perhaps within a week his losses had reduced
him almost to penury. He died gambling on borrowed capital; using money
loaned him by men who retained confidence in him because of their
knowledge of his abstemious habits and his long (if unsuccessful)
experience.
In those early days faro had not attained its present popularity, and in
some houses whole days might pass without anything but “short games”
being played. In the latter case, however, ten per cent of the stakes
went to the proprietors as a percentage, or “rake-off” due the house.
Brag, poker, seven-up, cribbage and even whist were favorites, and in
some rooms chess, checkers and backgammon were occasionally played, the
proprietors, however, invariably receiving their stipulated proportion
of the wagers. The roulette wheel did not make its appearance until
after 1850, and hazard, “stud” poker, the “big wheel,” twenty one,
rouge-et-noir, the “squeeze spindle” and high ball poker are of
comparatively recent introduction.
John Sears was another of the “old time sports,” whose commanding
figure, attired richly but in perfect taste, was formerly a familiar
figure upon Chicago streets. He was a singularly handsome man, of jovial
and generous temperament, and with faultless manners, the latter
characteristic being perhaps partially traceable to his French descent.
Possessed of a fair education, he was very fond of reading, and was well
versed in the writings of the standard poets. He adored Shakespeare and
worshipped Burns. He was an entertaining conversationalist, and was fond
of interspersing choice and apt poetical quotations with funny stories,
of which he had an inexhaustible fund. His friends (and their roll
numbered many, outside gamblers’ ranks) loved him dearly. He enjoyed the
reputation of being a thoroughly “square” player, and though he died
poor, his demise was widely and sincerely lamented.
“King” Cole (Conant) was endowed with some of the same traits as was
Sears, and popular among his associates. He played boldly and won
heavily, but spent his winnings lavishly. In 1852, in company with Cole
Martin, he went to St. Paul, where they opened one of the earliest
gambling houses in that city. The firm prospered, but having squandered
their gains in riotous living, returned to Chicago, comparatively
penniless. There Conant died, a financial, physical and moral wreck.
“Skin” gamblers came to Chicago at a very early period in the city’s
history. At first they conducted no regular houses, but dealt banking
games at various places, as opportunity offered, paying ten per cent. of
their winnings to the owners of the rooms used. It was not long,
however, before this class of professionals began to find for themselves
permanent locations. For many years, and even down to the mayoralty of
“Long John” Wentworth, patrons of the race courses were familiar with
the faces of H. Smith, Bill McGraw, Dan Oaks, “Dutch” House and “Little
Dan” Brown. Roulette and chuck-a-luck were run in full blast at these
gatherings, and “Dutch” House was considered as particularly skillful in
conducting “the old army game.”
All these men have passed away. With the exception of one who died at
Milwaukee possessed of some property, their “last end was worse than the
first.” Bill McGraw died of delirium tremens, and “Little Dan” Brown
ended his days in the poorhouse.
Gambling became more and more open, and the ranks of professionals were
swelled, year by year, until at length the business was conducted with
scarcely a pretence of concealment. This was the state of affairs when
“Long John” Wentworth was elected mayor for the first time. He at once
inaugurated a policy of reform. His first crusade was against swinging
signs and other street obstructions, a vast number of which were
“gathered in” during one night and piled in one heap at the corner of
Lake and State Streets. The next morning the _Democrat_ (the mayor’s
paper) announced that all persons who had lost property of this
description the preceding night would find it at that locality.
Claimants began to appear early, and each and all were promptly and
impartially fined under the city ordinance.
The gamblers began to feel apprehensive. Wentworth warned them through
the columns of the _Democrat_ that they would be the next victims of the
besom of reform, but long immunity made them incredulous. They were not
left long in doubt as to the sincerity of the mayor’s intentions. One
warm summer afternoon he opened his war of extermination by sending two
policemen to visit Burrough’s establishment, which was in a building on
Randolph Street, standing on the present site of Epstean’s Dime Museum.
The officers climbed upon an adjacent roof and gained entrance to the
rooms through the rear windows on the second floor, which they found
open and unguarded. They proceeded leisurely, and captured no one but
the dealer, who tarried to secure the contents of his cash drawer. The
players incontinently fled down the stairs, at the foot of which they
rushed into the arms of a cordon of police, behind whom towered the
gigantic frame of “Long John” himself. He it was who headed the mournful
procession that wended its way to the calaboose in the basement of the
Court House, encouraging the drooping spirits of the gamesters by
insuring them in stentorian tones, and in language more forcible than
elegant, that he “intended to teach them a lesson that they would
remember.” He personally superintended the booking and locking up of the
prisoners, and announced that if any person holding a city license
appeared to offer bail for any one of them, the license would be
summarily revoked. This threat was leveled particularly at saloon
keepers and hackmen, whom Wentworth cordially detested, and between whom
and the gamblers there existed the warmest friendship.
An exciting episode of the raid was the appearance at the calaboose of
an attorney, “Charley” (now Colonel) Cameron, who demanded an interview
with a client—one of the four Smith brothers, all of whom were in the
lock-up. His request was refused, and going outside he attempted to hold
a consultation through the grated window. The watchful eye of the mayor
espied him. “What are you doing there, you —— rascal?” fairly shrieked
His Honor. “Get away, I tell you; get away!” Cameron replied that he was
exercising the right of an attorney in consulting a client. Angered
beyond endurance, Wentworth rushed at him. “Don’t you dare to touch me,”
shouted Cameron. “Oh, no; Oh, no” yelled the mayor; and grasping the
attorney with a vise-like grip, he forced him into the city prison,
never relaxing his hold until he had seen him safely placed behind the
bars.
All these proceedings may have been the very acme of arbitrariness, but
they are worth recounting, as showing how raids were conducted under the
first administration of “Long John.” Everything found in the rooms was
confiscated, and when the tenants returned they found only bare walls
and a carpetless floor. The proprietors plead guilty and were fined
heavily. The “inmates” appealed to a higher court and were each mulcted
in the sum of twenty-five dollars and costs; the total expense of each
player, including attorney’s fees, being about sixty dollars. Cameron
caused the arrest of the mayor for assault and false imprisonment, but
the case never came to trial.
Thus ended the first, and, up to the present time, the only raid upon a
Chicago gambling house conducted by the city’s chief executive in
person. It proved one of the most effective known to history. Open
gambling ceased at once, and the “hole-and-corner” variety of the vice
was soon hunted out. Banking games were no longer to be found, and the
few poker rooms that were started in out-of-the-way places were speedily
discovered, raided, and forced to close. Occasionally a game of faro was
dealt; Saturday night being the time usually selected and the game
lasting until well-nigh into Sunday morning; but when an adjournment was
had, it was “sine die,” and no two consecutive games were played at the
same place.
It must be remembered that all this occurred before the beginning of the
present era of club life, which has done so much to pervert the morals,
if not to overturn the foundations of society. It is a notorious fact
that the heaviest play in Chicago to-day may be found in the most
aristocratic and exclusive clubs. The police, of course, are not aware
of it. Every man in Chicago doing business in what is known as the
“Board of Trade district” has heard of the existence of a small club,
whose membership is chiefly composed of operators on the floor of
’Change, and most men about town know where it is located. The
appointments of the rooms while not luxurious, are of simple elegance
and the cuisine and _buffet_ are said to be matchless. Stories are
current of fabulous sums having been lost and won across the tables in
this exclusive resort. It is charitable to suppose that the authorities
lack either the knowledge or the legal power to interfere with the
gambling here conducted. However this may be, the fact remains that the
patrol wagons laden with blue-coated officers of the law rattle over the
stones beneath its very windows, intent upon proving at once their
watchfulness and their fidelity by arresting a half-score of Mongolians
for indulging in “fan tan,” or “running in” a dozen negroes who may be
found “throwing craps.”
Still, even before the days when Wentworth reigned autocrat of Chicago,
and even during his administration, there existed in the city a club,
composed of choice spirits selected from both the professional and
commercial walks of life. Among its shining lights were such men as
Doctor Egan, Maxwell, Maxmire, Judge Meeker, Justice Lamb, Judge Wilson,
Col. Carpenter, “Bob” Blackwell, and a host of other men equally well
known in their day. Politics and religious creeds were forgotten.
Relaxation, unrestrained social intercourse, and mental improvement were
nominally the objects sought. At the same time often a game of brag was
played. This was the favorite pastime, although poker had its devotees;
whist held its own, while cribbage, and even old sledge, were not too
plebian amusements. Games were sometimes played for high stakes, among
the most venturesome players being Egan, Maxwell and Carpenter.
At these gatherings hilarity was unbounded. Thomas F. Marshall, of
Kentucky, during one summer that he spent in Chicago was wont to charm
the members with his oratory, logic, wisdom and wit; John Brougham, E.
L. Davenport, and James E. Murdock, famous the world over for their
histrionic talent, were frequent and welcomed guests. Of these perhaps
the former was somewhat the favorite with the members. He wrote a poem
addressed to Egan’s daughter, and dedicated a book to the doctor:
[In this connection, it may not be amiss to repeat a well authenticated
story of Murdock, which has come down as a tradition from the days when
the club flourished. The members took their guest to the race course to
see Chicago’s favorite win. So elated was the crowd over the triumphs
that champagne flowed like the pent up rivulet bursting through a rocky
chasm. That evening Murdock was to play Claude Melnotte. When he
undertook to recite the description of the palace by the lake of Como
his articulation became thick and indistinct. Recognizing the demands of
the situation the great tragedian hurriedly bowed himself off the stage.
His place before the foot-lights was promptly taken by Manager
McFarland, who, in tones of the severest courtesy, apologized for the
“sudden and unaccountable (sic) illness of Mr. Murdock,” in consequence
of which he craved the indulgence of the audience during the few moments
necessary for him to consume in dressing, when he, himself, would assume
the part. Assent having been secured, McFarland finished the role to a
crowded if not over-critical house.]
Keno was just beginning to grow into favor with the gaming public at the
time when Mayor Wentworth so ruthlessly suppressed the vice. Some of the
games were “square;” others “brace.” The latter were at first conducted
by “Billy” Buck, and later by “Ed” Simpson. Both men were fond of drink,
and the games were run in meanly furnished rooms in localities ill
suited to their successful operation.
The gambling fraternity, recognizing in Wentworth a foe who could be
neither cajoled, bribed, nor intimidated, began, with practical
unanimity, either to look for some other walk of life in which they
might exercise their peculiar talents, or to seek localities where the
head of the city government was more amenable to “reason.”
“Long John” was succeeded by Mayor Haynes, and the hydra-headed monster
once more began to lift its head from the seclusion into which it had
been forced. In other words the gamblers determined to see whether the
new city administration was to be controlled by the same influences and
actuated by the same principles as had been its predecessor. Slowly they
felt their way. At first Daniels, Avery, Sears, and Winchester opened
their houses in a quiet and unobtrusive manner. Other members of the
fraternity, finding that these were not molested, followed suit, and
during several successive administrations, down to the time of Medill,
everything was smooth sailing. Raids were of infrequent occurrence, and
altogether farcical in their character. They appeared to be conducted
not so much with a view of suppressing the vice or injuring the business
of the houses raided, as for the purpose of raising a sort of indirect
tax, or levying an illegal assessment. No one ever thought of destroying
the personal property found in the resorts, and the fines imposed were
usually very light. In fact, so little attention was paid to them that
the proprietors were wont to admit the officers with the utmost
cheerfulness; and when a hell was “pulled” hacks were at once called
into requisition and the dealers and players rode together to the office
of the nearest police magistrate, where bail was at once accepted, and
the party again entering their carriages, returned to the rooms and
resumed play. Of course, under such a _regime_, gambling houses
multiplied rapidly, and to attempt an enumeration of the resorts or of
their keepers would occupy too much space. A few of the more prominent,
however, may be mentioned. These were the Smiths, Holland, Howland,
Scott, Robbins, Lawler, Holt, Jones, Bachelor, McDonald, Martin,
Walpole, Cameron, Dowling, Peters, Page, Hynes, Wicks, Blanga, Curtis,
Wallace, Buchanan, Kellogg, Bowers, Taylor, Donaldson, Corcoran, Nellis
Adams, Daniels, Hugh Dunn, Dutch Charley, Cy Janes, H. Jeff & Co.,
Hankins, H. Smith, and Beach.
One of the best known houses during this period was that of Theo.
Cameron, at the Northeast corner of Clark and Madison Streets. Fred
White was employed as dealer. The profits of the establishment were very
large, owing to the fact that the proprietor employed competent
“steerers,” who found little difficulty in securing dupes, whom he was
fond of calling “fat suckers.” But Cameron was a man who, had he made a
hundred thousand dollars in a night, would have contrived to get rid of
it during the next twenty-four hours, even if he had to burn it up.
Among his compeers he was known as “a bad man from Texas and handy with
a gun.” One evening several “tough” citizens, among whom was a recent
graduate from the State institution at Joliet, dropped into his place
and lost all the money which they had. Meeting a friend on the outside,
the latter informed them that they had undoubtedly been “skinned.” After
holding a council of war they concluded to return to the place and
demand that their money be returned to them. Accordingly, the three went
up stairs, and while two stationed themselves at the door, the ex-
convict entered the apartment, pistol in hand, and demanded the money.
While the dealer was endeavoring to placate him, Cameron entered the
place and took in the situation at a glance. Stealing, with cat-like
step, to the sideboard, he took a revolver from one of the drawers and
opened fire on the intruder, wounding him at the first shot. A mutual
fusillade followed, which continued until the victim dropped dead.
Cameron promptly surrendered himself, but when his trial occurred, found
no difficulty in securing abundant evidence that he had acted strictly
in self-defense.
Subsequently the same man opened a “brace” game at 68 Randolph Street.
The place was expensively furnished, and was conducted on a scale of
prodigal extravagance. The “sporting” fraternity knew it as a “bird
house.” The lodging rooms were fitted up most luxuriously, and were
always at the disposal of the guests and employes. The sideboard was
stocked with the choicest liquors, and with cigars of the finest brands,
while the wines were the best the market afforded. “Dr.” Ladd was
Cameron’s partner, owning a half interest in the house, and it was his
duty to supervise this part of the business. Notwithstanding all this
lavish outlay, the house made a great deal of money; yet when the hells
were again closed and the gamblers forced to seek other fields of
action, Cameron was so poor that he left the city with scarcely five
hundred dollars in his pocket.
“Colonel Wat” Cameron ran a house at 167 Randolph Street. It enjoyed the
reputation of being a “square” game, and was liberally patronized by a
good class of players. He finally came to grief, it is said, through the
machinations of “Gabey” Foster and “Old Ben” Burnish, who, however,
allowed him a percentage of the winnings. They made a great deal of
money there and in other parts of the city.
“Gabey” Foster, whose name is mentioned above, was not well liked by the
fraternity at large, who regarded him as a decidedly mean specimen of
humanity. He became a confirmed victim of the opium habit, and “hitting
the pipe” at last brought him to his death. His brain became affected,
and while at Little Rock, Arkansas, he wandered away into the woods,
where his body was found frozen stiff. His paramour sent for his remains
and gave them a decent interment.
Another noted “brace” dealer of those times was a man known as “Jew”
Hyman. He possessed a fine physique, and a mind of more than average
capacity. He was fond of playing against the bank in other houses, and
found no difficulty in scattering his winnings. He was much devoted to
all the pleasures of sense; a high liver and fond of women. He married a
notorious courtesan some thirty years ago. He died in a West Side
Chicago lodging house, broken down in health, and with a disordered
brain, and was buried by the woman to whose fortunes he had linked his
own, and who had supported him for many years.
In 1863 the city received a new influx of “skin” gamblers, some of whom
are still residents of Chicago, but not at present actively engaged in
the practice of their “profession.” As tending to illustrate the
characteristics of a certain class of “brace” dealers, and as serving to
show the depth of degradation to which the gambling vice will sometimes
sink its votaries, the following incident may prove not only
interesting, but instructive. The story is literally true, only the
names of the actors being withheld. The gang of sharpers who came to
this city in 1863 was one of the most unscrupulous that has ever cursed
any city. They commenced operations as “ropers in” for the most
disreputable resorts. It was their custom to gain access to the hallways
of gaming houses in which players were allowed some little chance of
winning, and turn out the gas. As soon as a visitor appeared, some
member of the coterie would inform him that the place was closed for the
night, and at once “steer” him to some hole where he was certain to be
shamelessly plundered. At length, one of them contrived to become
proprietor of a small den, which his fellows at once made their
headquarters, and where “suckers” were robbed without the slightest
regard to even the semblance of decency.
Among the visitors to this place was a man who occupied a position of
high trust in a well known private corporation. The keeper of the hell
assiduously cultivated his friendship, and easily won his money. He then
insinuated into the mind of his dupe the belief that his only hope of
recovering his losses was to plunge still deeper into the game. Step by
step the unfortunate man fell. Knowing the combination of the company’s
vault, it was easy for him to gain an entrance thereto and abstract
large amounts of currency. This he did night after night. At length he
abstracted $5,000 in one package, carried it with him to the den in
question, staked it at the faro table, and lost every cent. The
proprietor had always posed as his friend, and the wretched devotee of
play took him into his confidence. He told him that he was a defaulter
to the extent of $31,000. “Better go and get it all, and see if you can
play out,” was the advice of the gambler. He added that if he lost it he
would be in no worse condition than he then was. After considerable
argument and no little persuasion, the official of the corporation
consented, and the two went together to the company’s office. The
gambler held a lamp in order that his dupe might be able to see more
clearly the combination of the safe. When it was opened he extended his
hand for the money, which the victim handed to him. With the money in
his possession, the scoundrel’s manner soon changed entirely. He told
the unhappy defaulter that it would be far better for him to go to
California, where he would keep him well supplied with money, while
meanwhile a compromise might be effected with the company. This was not
at all satisfactory to the embezzler, who insisted upon taking the money
and risking it at play. But the gambler was obdurate, and flatly refused
to turn over any more cash than was necessary to enable the miserable
man to leave town. They drank and quarreled until morning. The position
of the official was a most distressing one. He dared not return to the
office; he was absolutely penniless; and to attempt to compel the
surrender of the money by the gambler would be to proclaim his own
shame. Accordingly, he found himself compelled to accept the terms
proposed to him. His pretended friend stuck close to him, escorted him
to the train, bought him a ticket and gave him a little money and much
advice, bidding him farewell with a profusion of promises. The money
which the absconding treasurer had taken with him was soon spent, but
the man who had been the cause of his ruin refused to take any notice of
his appeals for further assistance. At last the unhappy man concluded,
like the prodigal in the parable, to “arise and go to his father.” The
latter was a man of wealth, and on learning of his son’s whereabouts, at
once sent him money with which to come home. As soon as the victim
reached Chicago, the gambler was arrested and placed in jail, where he
languished for some three months, being unable to secure bail chiefly
because of his notoriously bad character. He finally secured his release
through a compromise, restoring the $20,000 which he had taken from the
defaulter on the night before he left the city. The victim of his
knavery died soon afterwards of consumption, supposed to have been
aggravated, if not induced, through the dissipation to which he resorted
in order to drown his shame.
At the expiration of Mayor Haines’ term of office, Mr. Wentworth was
again elevated to the chief magistracy of the city. He found a very
different state of affairs from that which he had left. While things had
not exactly “gone to the dogs,” the laws were by no means strictly
enforced and many of the minor city ordinances had become dead letters.
Particularly was this true in the case of those relating to bawdy houses
and gaming hells. This circumstance may be accounted for in part by the
fact that there did not exist an overwhelming public sentiment in favor
of their suppression. Then, as now, there was a large and influential
element in the community which openly claimed that while these resorts
were to be condemned on principle, their toleration in a large and
constantly growing city was a necessary evil. Another class protested
loudly against any interference by the legislative or executive
departments of the government with what they were pleased to denominate
the “personal liberty of the citizens.” Others, still, who never gambled
themselves, looked upon the harm done by this class of houses as being
no affair of theirs, and regarded the ruin of the occasional players at
faro with the utmost indifference.
Wentworth was quick to feel and respond to the public pulse upon this
question. During his second term he was by no means the terror to evil-
doers that he had been throughout his first. He had already shown what
he could do, and the cognomen of a “reform Mayor,” appeared to have for
him no further charms. While his enforcement of the laws cannot be said
to have been lax, neither was it particularly stringent. Nevertheless,
he occasionally made life exceedingly interesting for the gamblers.
The years during which Mayors Rumsey and Sherman held office, were
halcyon days for Chicago sporting men. This was the era of the war, when
gambling flourished all over the country and raised its serpent head
with a brazen effrontery never seen before. Paymasters, contractors and
army officers gambled with a reckless prodigality which was as
surprising as it was reprehensible. These classes constituted, perhaps,
the richest prey for the professional gamblers. Next to them, the
numerous professional bounty-jumpers, who rapidly scattered at the
gaming table the money out of which they had defrauded the government.
Those were mad, wild times, when money was abundant and speculation ran
riot. It was pre-eminently a period of “brace” games, the reckless
players being apparently utterly indifferent as to the character of the
game at which they staked their money.
Among the professionals who came prominently into public notice at this
time were William Leonard, (sometimes known as “Old Bill”) Otis Randall,
George Trussell, and Judd.
The latter was known as a “forty-niner.” He entered upon his career as a
gambler in the far west, carrying a roulette wheel on his back from one
mining camp to another. He accumulated a considerable amount of money
through gaming, and retired from its active pursuit. Going from Chicago
to New York he became associated with John Morrissey in the
proprietorship of some of the most elegant gaming houses in that city.
Rumor has it that he also had an interest in several resorts of an
inferior grade. He was what is known among the fraternity as an “all-
round sport,” equally adept at all games. His fondness for liquor proved
the cause of the loss of his fortune, and compelled him once more to
become a wanderer.
George Trussel, who during the time of which we are writing, owned and
conducted one of the most popular resorts in Chicago, was a man of fine
physique, scrupulous in his dress, and extravagant in his tastes and
habits. His establishment was elegantly, if not sumptuously furnished,
and the refreshments provided for the guests were noted for their fine
quality, no less than for the fastidiousness displayed in the manner of
their service. He came to a wretched end. His discarded mistress shot
and killed him at the entrance to Rice’s livery stable, as he was
returning with a horse and buggy in which he had taken her rival for a
drive. The case awakened no little interest at the time, and the trial
was fully reported in the daily prints. The woman was acquitted by the
jury, whose sympathies were aroused by the deplorable tale of seduction,
neglect, abuse and desertion which she revealed.
Another gambler who met a somewhat similar fate was Charley Stiles, who
was shot and killed at his room in the Palmer House by a courtesan whom
he had outrageously abused. The verdict of the jury in her case was a
somewhat anomalous one. They found her mentally irresponsible at the
time of the commission of the deed, yet fixed her punishment at one
year’s imprisonment in the penitentiary.
Mayor Rumsey ruled with a by no means iron hand. The blacklegs found
comparatively little occasion to find fault with his administration of
city affairs. Occasionally, a complaint on the part of some victim or an
unusually bitter newspaper attack would compel him to resort to harsh
measures. At such times, one or two raids would be made; the gamblers
were forced to open their safes, and the tools and furniture taken away,
though their destruction was rarely attempted, the owners being usually
allowed ample time in which to sue out writs of replevin.
Reference has been made to the prosperous times which the fraternity
enjoyed under the rule of Mayor Sherman. Connected with his
administration, however, was Chief of Police Washburne. In the latter
official the gamblers found a bitter and uncompromising foe. He raided
the hells constantly, earnestly and viciously. Furniture and tools
costing thousands of dollars were ruthlessly destroyed; and if the
owners replevined the property seized and attempted to resume business
“at the old stand,” they soon found they had reckoned without their
host. Washburne at once paid them a midnight visit, and again removed
the paraphernalia of their houses. It was his custom to insist upon
heavy fines, and this circumstance, taken in connection with the
destruction of property, soon made the business unprofitable. He gave
the “sports” no rest, harrassing them night and day.
His laudable efforts to suppress the gaming houses were materially
hampered by the treachery and insubordination of his officers. The
sympathy of a very large proportion of the police force was with the
proprietors of the hells, and the latter were constantly apprized of
intended raids, and were generally kept tolerably well posted as to the
intentions and doings of the chief. As a matter of course, for services
such as these the “crooks” were willing to pay, and pay well. As a
result of this state of affairs, it was no uncommon occurrence for the
raiders to find a house empty and securely closed at the time of their
nocturnal visit. Sometimes the keepers adopted other tactics. Instead of
closing the house, they quietly awaited the arrival of the police, in
company with a few pretended players, whom they had hired to submit to
an arrest. On such occasions, the only property found consisted of an
empty tin box and a few stacks of old and worn out chips.
Notwithstanding all these hindrances, Washburne was vigilant and
energetic. His exertions knew no cessation. He not only rendered it
unsafe to conduct a gaming house, but made it dangerous and costly to be
caught in one. The contest proved to be an unequal one, and the gamblers
abandoned the field to their determined antagonist. To their patrons
they said that it was their intention to “close up for a little while,
until the storm blew over or the authorities were fixed.” For a time,
there was no public gambling in the city, but soon some of the more
venturesome members of the fraternity began to “play a little on the
quiet.” They at once discovered that this would not do. The risk of
playing was so great, however, that only “brace” or “snap” games were
opened. The efforts of the blacklegs in this direction were supplemented
by the opening of “bunko” rooms, with occasional ventures at rouge-et-
noir, while “top and bottom” joints were scattered about the city.
Gaming, as such—by which is meant the playing of a game of chance—was
unknown. The sports were penniless and needed money; they were aware
that their operations must be conducted quickly if they were to avoid
arrest, and in consequence, they had resort to every sort of device
known among professionals as “sure things.” The robbery carried on was
of the most outrageous and shameless description, and the harvest, if
confined within a brief period, was golden while it lasted. Temporary
games were numerous and gamblers thrived. Hotels, lodging houses, the
back rooms of saloons, in fact, every available place was utilized.
Rooms were rented for a short time only and cheaply furnished, here,
there and everywhere. Yet Washburne hounded them from place to place,
although embarrassed by lukewarmness, if not positive corruption on the
part of his subordinates. Indeed, there was an element in the force
which was constantly plotting against him and incessantly scheming for
his removal. Many of his descents upon the hells proved futile for the
reasons already stated. Despite all these hindrances, however, the
strife went on, and Washburne showed no sign of weakening.
When Mayor Rice assumed control of the city’s executive department, the
gamblers began to resume operations more openly. They soon found that
prosecutions were by no means so numerous as they had been while
Washburne filled the position of Chief of Police, while raids were
comparatively infrequent. Boldness soon succeeded timidity, and during
the latter part of Mayor Rice’s term, as well as throughout the
mayoralty of Mason, the list of gaming houses was constantly augmented.
In fact, “crooks” found no better territory for their operations
throughout the length and breadth of the land than Chicago. Confidence
men swarmed upon the public streets and plied their nefarious vocation
without let or hindrance. The fame of the city as a safe stamping ground
for swindlers soon spread abroad, and there occurred a general hegira of
gamblers to a place where they knew that they ran no risk of
molestation. As a result, Chicago was soon filled with a set of sharpers
drawn from all quarters of the United States, and comprising as motley,
disreputable and dishonest a class as ever cursed any city under the
face of Heaven. Wealthy “suckers” were found in abundance, and “brace”
dealers, “bunko” men and rogues of every description carried off money
in bundles.
Among the most prominent men engaged in gambling in Chicago at this
period were Harry Lawrence (afterward a dealer in “Rock and Rye,” and
partner of Morris Martin), Mike McDonald, “Bill” Foster, “Big John”
Wallace, “Little John” Wallace, “Trailer,” “Appetite Bill,” “Nobby Tom,”
Sam Hueston, Harry Monell, “Bill” Close, “Hank” Maguire, Tom Daniels,
“White Pine,” “Snapper” Johnny, “Rebel” George, “Long” John, “Billy”
Singleton, Grant, “Jake” Lehman, “Johnny” Molloy, Lew Lee, “Jew” Myers,
and at least fifty more of the “small fry” class.
The winnings of some of the men named above were a theme of gossip among
gamblers all over the continent. The “bunko” men were particularly
successful. To rob a man out of $5,000 was a common occurrence; $7,000
was occasionally made; while there were those who repeatedly won $10,000
from a single victim; and one of this class of sharpers succeeded in
taking $20,000 from one of his dupes. Meanwhile the profits of the
“skin” houses were enormous.
This was the state of affairs existing at the time of the visitation of
the city by the holocaust of 1871, when the United States military were
called upon to protect the people and the city was placed under martial
law. Thugs, thieves, confidence men, “skin” gamblers and rogues of every
sort might be found on any street corner. From Harrison Street on the
south, to Lincoln Park on the north, roamed a homeless, hungry,
penniless mob, whom the prospect of starvation soon drove across the
river to the West Side. With the crowd went Martin, Kellogg, Batchelder,
McDonald and Dowling. “Watt” Robbins and John Lawler opened a house on
State Street, and the games measurably flourished until the election of
Joseph Medill in the spring of 1872.
He assumed office with many promises of reform, which he carried out to
the best of his ability. One of his first acts was a declaration of war
upon the gamblers, and vigorously was it prosecuted. The houses were
promptly and permanently closed, and the only gambling done during his
term of office was attended with great risk to those who engaged in it.
Still, the task of supplying the needs of the destitute and guarding the
other interests of the city were so great that some were found who
ventured to incur the hazard of playing an occasional game, which was,
of course, always of the “brace” variety. Yet, on the whole, Medill
fully merited the high encomiums bestowed upon him by the enemies of
gambling for his effective, restrictive policy and his manly enforcement
of the laws.
He was succeeded by H. D. Colvin, familiarly nicknamed by the sporting
men as “Harvey,” just as the same class afterwards spoke of Mayor
Harrison as “our Carter.” His was an administration which might be
fairly described as one under which “everything went.” Scarcely had he
taken his seat before the gamblers began to furnish and open many houses
in all quarters of the city. Those who had emigrated from the South to
the West division, returned to their former haunts. Among the rest was
one who located himself at the corner of Clark and Monroe Streets where
he conducted the European Hotel, with a saloon and gambling rooms
attached. This place continued to run for many years. The worst elements
of the community were in the ascendent. Dance halls, concert saloons and
disreputable houses of every description abounded and flourished.
“Toughs” of every grade walked the streets without fear; and the bunko
men, “brace” dealers, monte players and “crooks” of high and low degree
openly plied their vocations. The “sucker” who wished to lose his money,
had his choice of no less than eight “brace” gaming houses, twelve bunko
shops, and an innumerable assortment of joints where rouge-et-noir,
wheel of fortune, and “top and bottom” were but a few of the devices
employed to fleece greenhorns. The mayor manifested utter indifference
to the enforcement of the laws, and it was said that his personal
example was not of a kind to instill into the minds of the average
citizen a respect for authority. Of all the “free and easy” cities in
the Union, Chicago was at this time the worst. The town was literally
handed over to the criminal class who held high carnival by day as well
as by night.
One of the best known gamblers who flourished at this period, and who
has since attained considerable influence in local politics soon forged
to the front and became the recognized “boss.” It was commonly stated at
the time that he was personally interested in not a few resorts of
questionable character, and that he was wont to levy a contribution upon
every gambler who came to Chicago. Be that as it may, it is certain that
the games no longer lurked in dark corners and out of the way
localities, but opened their doors upon the city’s principal streets,
their proprietors carrying on their nefarious business with as little
concealment as though they had been engaged in legitimate commercial
pursuits.
Another professional sport who figured prominently before the public at
that time as proprietor of two “dollar stores,” with back-room
attachments where “bunko” and “top and bottom” were played, has since
become a reputable citizen, the proprietor of a large store in Chicago,
and is reputed to be millionaire.
The press scored Colvin roundly, and the indignation of the decent, law-
abiding citizens against him knew no bounds. Threats of impeachment were
freely made but never enforced. Vice and crime continually stalked
brazenly through the streets until the close of his term when he was
succeeded by Mayor Hoyne, who gave way, in turn, to Heath.
The rule of the latter was as radically stringent as that of Colvin had
been disreputably lax. He at once set about righting many wrongs,
establishing order, and enforcing the laws. The work which he thus
mapped out was an herculean task, for pandemonium reigned and the “gang”
was determined not to be driven out without making a severe struggle.
One of Heath’s first orders was to the effect that the gambling houses
should be closed. The proprietors seemingly acquiesced, but actually
carried on business surreptitiously, and raiding was at once begun. When
the police endeavored to force an entrance into the gambling rooms at
the “Store,” a well known resort on Clark Street, connected with a
hotel, they committed the blunder of breaking into the rooms of the
caravansary. The wife of the proprietor promptly resented this intrusion
upon the premises by firing at the officers, although no one was hit.
She was arrested and defended by A. S. Trude, who secured her discharge
from Judge McAllister on the plea that her house was her castle and that
the law justified her in defending it. The incident caused much
excitement in the city at the time, and Mayor Heath became yet more
aggressive and was as unremittent in his attentions to the gamblers,
whose houses he kept closed.
In 1877 a loud cry was raised against “bunko” and “bunko steerers,” and
it was charged that this class of swindlers found victims in alarming
numbers, and that the unsophisticated “stranger within the gates” was
being guided to his financial ruin with great rapidity. On motion of
Alderman Cullerton the mayor was instructed to appoint a special
committee to ascertain if public gaming houses were tolerated in the
city. His Honor named as such committee Aldermen Cullerton, Phelps and
Waldo. The “bunko” men were subsequently thinned out by the police.
Carter H. Harrison succeeded Heath as mayor. The radical policy of his
predecessor was not pursued by the new incumbent, and charges were
constantly made by the press that gambling was rampant in the city.
Austin Doyle had been chief of police under Mayor Heath, and for a time
filled the same position under his successor. The frequency of
complaints by victims and the numerous and bitter attacks upon the
administration in the public prints stimulated Mr. Doyle to take active
measures toward suppressing the vice. Through his energetic tactics the
houses were compelled to close their doors, and for a time public gaming
came to an end. Doyle, however, was offered a responsible position in
the employ of a private corporation, and resigned his public office. His
successor did not meet with the same success in suppressing the
nuisance.
Harrison served two terms and it is not too much to say that throughout
the greater part of the four years during which he was mayor those who
wished to encounter the “tiger in his lair” found little difficulty in
gratifying their inclination.
Roche followed Harrison, holding the reigns of city government for two
years. He owed his elevation to office in a large measure to the support
which he received from the “law and order” element of the community, and
was tacitly if not avowedly pledged to carry out their wishes. He soon
began to make things interesting for the gamblers. They were given fair
notice of his intentions and instructed to close. Those who failed to
comply with his command soon discovered that the city’s executive meant
what he had said and had the power to enforce his behest. Public houses
were forced to close their doors, and the city for a time enjoyed a
comparative rest. Occasionally games were played at the hotels, private
club rooms, and over saloons, but generally speaking it was a “hole-and-
corner” sort of play, and it was by no means an easy matter to discover
where the games were going on. The result was that many of the “sports”
who had prospered during the years preceding, found themselves forced to
seek “fresh fields and pastures new.”
When Roche’s name was presented to the public as that of a candidate for
re-election the hostility of the fraternity toward him quickly found
vent. His opponent, Cregier, received the support of the men who had
learned to hate the administration which interfered with their business,
and he was elected by a very decided majority. At the present time the
number of gambling houses in the city may be said to be legion. The
proprietors have taken leases of the premises for two years, in some
cases giving the previous tenants a bonus to move out; removing
partitions, enlarging entrances, building new stairways, and otherwise
intimating their belief that, for a time at least, they cherish no
apprehension of molestation. Raids are infrequent, although,
occasionally, a few Mongolians are captured while playing “bung-loo,”
and once in a while a squad of negroes is taken to the station as a
punishment for being detected in playing “crap.” The larger houses
suffer but little from police interference. When a raid is made on one
of these establishments, the officers placidly await the coming of the
patrol wagon while the players escape through a convenient window or
sky-light. Enough “pluggers” are captured to fill one or two wagons and
are driven to the nearest police station with much clatter and display.
The proprietors promptly bail out their employes, and the next morning
pay the small fines imposed upon them. Within an hour or two after the
descent of the police the game is again in full operation.
Some idea of the success which attends public gaming houses in Chicago
at the present time may be formed from a consideration of the fact that
the largest and best patronized house has, on an average, forty men on
its pay-roll; that sometimes twenty games are in full blast at one time;
and that the estimated net winnings of its owners amount to $20,000 a
month. To this place professionals are not admitted, it being found more
remunerative to encourage the patronage of amateur players. So notorious
is this fact that the _habitués_ of this resort are commonly termed the
“dinner pail brigade.”
The following may be accepted as a correct statement of the regular
weekly salaries at a Chicago house doing a good business: Two faro
dealers at $40 a week; three ditto at $35; two roulette croupiers at
$30; two hazard dealers at $30; two stud-poker dealers at $30; one
outside watchman at $20; one doorkeeper at $25; sixteen “pluggers” and
“cappers” at $2.50 per day; total salary list, $690 per week.
It is fair to presume that this is an average outlay for weekly salaries
by the numerous gaming houses. The estimate does not, of course, include
miscellaneous expenses, such as rent, fuel, lighting, free eating and
drinking for the _habitués_, nor the large percentage on profits paid to
“ropers” and “steerers.” It must be plain to the dullest comprehension
that a business of such magnitude as to be able to pay nearly $700 in
weekly salaries, is in favor of the army of unemployed gamblers who are
temporarily “down on their luck.”
However, there are some gaming houses in the city where high rollers can
always gain admittance and find congenial company; where the obliging
proprietors are always willing to “remove the limit” for a regular
patron; and which enjoy the reputation of being comparatively “square.”
One of the peculiar features of Chicago gambling is the reported
existence of a “gamblers’ trust.” The use of the word “trust” as applied
to establishments which cannot in any sense be called commercial, seems,
on its face, to be anomalous, yet, if all reports be true, the term is
not a misnomer. It is understood that a combination of sporting men
exists, the nature of the tie that binds them being the contribution by
the proprietors of each establishment belonging to the pool of either a
fixed sum weekly or an agreed percentage of the winnings toward a common
purse. Just what is done with the money is known only to those who
handle it, but when it is remembered that the contributors enjoy
practical immunity from police interference, its disposition is a fair
subject of conjecture.
Within the last month (July, 1890), the question of selling pools upon
races has loomed up into prominence. One of the chief operators in this
line, a man who is reputed to have cleared $190,000 through this means
during the racing season of 1889, has invoked the aid of private
detective agencies for the suppression of his business rivals. The
latter have retaliated by employing the city police to interfere with
his operations. The result has been a sort of Kilkenny fight, in which
charges seriously reflecting upon the city’s chief executive have been
filed in the courts.
SELECTIONS FROM A PRICE LIST OF SPORTING GOODS MANUFACTURED AND FOR
SALE BY A FIRM IN CHICAGO, ILL.
FARO TOOLS.
Trimming Shears, double bar, brass block $40 00
” ” with attachment for cutting briefs 45 00
Cutter, for cutting round corners on cards 20 00
Trimming Plates, will cut any style of cards 8 00
_Trimming Shears repaired and sharpened._
Dealing Boxes, Lever movement $35 00 to $60 00
” ” End, or Needle movement $50 00 to $100 00
” ” Sand Tell $13 00, $15 00 to $18 00
” ” ” ” to lock up square $20 00, $25 00
_Dealing Boxes repaired, or changed to end or needle squeeze._
Faro Dealing Cards, unsquared, per doz. $15 00
” ” ” squared, per doz. 15 00
” ” ” ” per pack 1 25
” ” ” Linen, second quality 6 50
” ” ” ” ” ” squared 7 50
->_Dealing Cards of every kind furnished to order._
Card Punches, best steel 2 00
” Sighters, set of 4 in case 2 00
Glass Paper, better than sand, per doz. sheets 1 00
DEALING GAMES FOR BOX AND CARDS.
Card Hazard, cards, box, layout complete $25 00
” ” Layout 15 00
Red and Black Dealing Boxes, to lock and unlock 25 00
” ” ” ” Skeleton boxes, to lock and unlock 10 00
” ” ” ” Boxes, to work with gaff 25 00
Short Faro, or Card Chuck Luck, Enameled Layout 3 00
Diana Dealing Boxes, for two packs 15 00
ROULETTE, RONDO AND BALL GAMES.
High Ball Poker Balls, ivory, flat face, each $ 25
Patent Bottle, with Keno mouthpiece, bottle only 10 00
(Rubber Tubing for above, per foot, 15c.)
Red, White and Blue Layout, box and balls 12 00
POOL AND SPINDLE GAMES.
Chuck-luck Wheel, complete with layouts $30 00
Spindle Game, red, white, blue and horses 15 00
Jenny Wheel, for high or low, or red or black 10 00
” ” with two centers, and paddles 15 00
Rolling Faro, 28 Aces, and 2 Stars—with fake 60 00
” ” 28 Cards, and 4 Jacks ” 60 00
” ” 1-2-3-4-5-6 and Stars ” 60 00
” ” on table, to work with knee or pressure 125 00
” ” Extra Spreads, with Rings to match 20 00
Jewelry Squeeze Spindle 40 00
Needle Wheel, complete with Layout 80 00
Bee Hive (Hap Hazard), new and _sure_ 50 00
O’Leary Belt, with one box, complete 75 00
Striking Machines, two fakes, with chart 40 00
Miniature Race Tracks, seven horses, to order 300 00
(Packed in cases for traveling, $50.00 extra.)
“Corona,” or “Mascott” 200 00
Tivoli, or Derby Pool, faked 100 00
_$20.00 required with order for faked goods._
DICE GAMES.
Bunko Chart, “Special Drawing,” without tickets $ 5 00
Bunko tickets, per set of 56 2 00
Ivory Dice, for top and bottom, three fair,_with_ ringer 80
” ” double, 3 high, 3 low, 3 fair, with box 2 00
” ” LOADED, ” ” ” ” 5 00
” ” ” ⅝ inch, _each_ 1 25
” ” ” ¾ ” ” 1 50
Craps ” ½ inch, Ivory, per set of 6 1 50
Ball ” HYRONEMUS, per set of 3, 1 inch 3 00
” ” ” ” ” 1¼ inch. 4 50
” ” ” ” ” 1½ inch. 6 00
” ” ” ” ” 2 inch. 10 50
_Measured by the diameter of ball._
Ivory Dice Tops, to throw high or low 1 50
SHORT GAMES.
Monte Tickets, or “Broads,” per doz., by express 5 00
Patent Knives, with lock, new pattern 5 00
Tobacco Boxes, to lock and unlock 1 50
Patent Safes, with two openings, ebony 2 00
Padlocks, per pair 50
Penny Game, complete with dice 60
Bank Note Reporters, by mail 50
Sliding Boxes, for street work, per 100 1 00
Double Boxes, with Soap, per doz., 75c., per 100 5 00
Vest Hold Out, with late improvements 10 00
Table Hold Out, something new, works with knee 10 00
The “Bug,” for holding out an extra card 1 00
SHORT CARD GAMES.
Sleeve Hold Out, arm pressure $25 00
” ” ” ” Keplinger’s patent 00
Nail Pricks, for finger nails 50
Shiner, for reading cards dealt opponents 1 00
” ” ” ” ” in half dollar 2 00
Poker Table Plates, each 50c. and 75
Floor Telegraph, for Poker Rooms 5 00
Marked Back Cards, per doz., _round corners_, by express 12 00
” ” ” Flag Backs, per doz. 12 00
Strippers, for any game, cut to order $6 00 to 8 00
Crayon Pencils, case of 12 colors 1 00
Spanish Monte Cards, _will wash_, per doz. 9 00
Dealing Boxes, for Monte 10 00
->_Monte cards cut and prepared in any manner._
GAMBLING IN ST. LOUIS.
With the exception of New Orleans—and possibly of Chicago—it is doubtful
whether public gambling ever took deeper root in any Western city than
the metropolis of Missouri. This fact may be attributed partly to the
mixed character of the early population, in which were blended the
elements of the French and Southern natures. Games of chance seem to
appeal more strongly to the hot-blooded temperament which is kindled
into warmth by a Southern sun, than to the more phlegmatic disposition
of those who have been reared in Northern latitudes. Another cause for
the popularity and prevalence of gambling in St. Louis is to be found in
the fact that for many years that city enjoyed the distinction of being
the chief commercial centre of the Mississippi valley. Not only was it
the _entrepot_ and point of transfer for vast quantities of freight, the
handling of which gave employment to a large number of men, but
emigrants on their way to the far West found the city a convenient place
in which they might rest and recruit, and at the same time purchase
supplies.
The result of this latter circumstance was that professional gamblers
from all points of the compass flocked thither, making the city a sort
of headquarters from which to make predatory excursions upon the
steamboats that plied the lower Mississippi. Scores of the best known
sporting men in the United States have, at one time or another, made St.
Louis their abiding place.
Among the earliest professionals to locate there were “Jim” Ames, Henry
Perritt, Bob O’Blennis, David Foster, William and Rufus Sanders, Pete
Manning, Thorwegian, Hewey Gains, George Phegley, Jr., Henry Godfrey,
Jim Greely, Alex. Tyler, Capt. Roberts and Ecker.
Of all these, perhaps O’Blennis was the best known; not so much for his
skillful dealing as for his pugnacious disposition. He was the terror of
all who knew him, and was always ready—as the slang phrase runs—“to
fight at the drop of a hat.” He was struck by paralysis, and for several
years before his death was unable to do anything for himself without the
assistance of a colored servant, who accompanied him wherever he went.
These were succeeded by Ryan—who killed a man in Nebraska City and
served a term in the penitentiary therefor—John Dewing, Ed Dowling,
Kelley, “Bill” Close, “Dr.” Ladd, “Tonny” Blennerhassett and “Count”
Sobieski.
The latter married a woman who had been the plaintiff in a breach of
promise suit, which was one of the _causes celebres_ of the city’s
judicial history. He occupied gorgeously appointed apartments near
Mercantile Library Hall, in which, on Sundays, he was wont to entertain
a choice party of congenial spirits with banquets which Epicurus himself
might have envied. At the conclusion of the feast the “Count” would
produce his dealing box and layout, and proceed to entertain his
visitors by dealing a quiet game of faro, the result usually being that
when the party broke up for the evening the guests found that they had
transferred most of their surplus cash from their pockets to those of
their courteous but more fortunate (?) host. Liquor, however, proved
Sobieski’s ruin. His wife separated from him because of his
intemperance, and he wandered about, aimlessly, until death overtook him
at Salt Lake City. His widow went after his body, which she buried in
St. Louis. She received $10,000 on his policy of life insurance, the
payments on which she had kept up during the years of their
estrangement.
Other “old timers,” who flourished here before the war, were Dow Catlin,
Charley Coulter, Joe Butch, Frank Smith, Dan Ward and “Bill” Williams.
In the early days of public gaming it was popularly supposed that play
was conducted “on the square,” and as a matter of fact, “brace” games
were not so notoriously common then as in later years. Yet there was
never a time in the history of this vice when professional gamesters
would hesitate to resort to unfair advantages when their funds were at a
low ebb, or they believed that the trick might be safely played. But in
the exciting days which marked the beginning of the war, “skin” gambling
became more common, and in 1862-63 there were “brace” dealers in
abundance.
Of the skilled artists in the manipulation of the pasteboards at that
period, whose faces were familiar to all who sought the “tiger” in his
lair were George Griffen (a Bostonian, who, coming to St. Louis well-
nigh penniless, soon acquired an interest in four gaming
establishments), Stuart Eddy, George Phegley, August Whitman and Jack
Silvia. Of the latter, it is credibly reported, and generally believed
by the fraternity, that on one occasion when he had lost all his ready
cash, together with all that he could borrow on his watch and jewelry,
he actually pawned his artificial teeth (mounted on a gold plate) in
order to obtain fresh funds with which to play against the bank. He died
in Leadville, a pauper, after having won at gaming many thousands. Money
was subscribed to bring his remains to St. Louis for burial.
Besides there were “Gabe” Foster and Ben Burnish, afterward well known
in Chicago, who ran a place opposite the Planters House, there being
three others in the block. It was about this time that “Dick” Roach made
his appearance in St. Louis. He came from Detroit, a beardless youth,
but soon found employment as a dealer in a house located at the
Southeast corner of Pine and 4th streets. He had not been long so
engaged when his peculiar talents in this direction began to develop
themselves. As a player against the bank he “made a large stake,” and at
once secured an interest in a gaming establishment. His fortune is to-
day estimated at $500,000, and his career furnishes a striking exception
to the general rule applicable to the lives of men of his profession.
The members of the fraternity who have been mentioned may be said to
have constituted the first and second “crops” of St Louis gamblers. The
craze which followed the discovery of silver ore at Leadville, Colorado,
brought a third. Among them were such men as Hank Wider, Johnnie Morgan,
Lou Lee, Tom Daniels, Al Masterson, “Jimmy” White and John Hall, the
latter being generally better known under his sobriquet of “Coal-oil
Johnnie;” Bensby Brothers, Charley King, Pete Manning, Bill Binford, Joe
Duke, Charley Durgie, Cave Brothers, Harry Embree, Bill Kirrick,
Lightborn Brothers, Cill Howard, Bob Ray, and Sam Cade, who died
suddenly.
Of all these perhaps “Coal-oil Johnnie” is the best known. His career
was an eventful one, he having contrived to compress, within his
comparatively short life, enough adventurous escapades to fill a volume.
His end formed a fitting termination to his vicious course. On leaving
St. Louis he went to Chicago, where he obtained employment as dealer in
a “brace” house. He left the latter city suddenly “between two days,”
taking with him the “bank roll” of the parties for whom he was working.
His wife followed in quest of him. She found him at Terre Haute,
Indiana, dead drunk. In his company was a woman. Enraged beyond
endurance at the sight, Mrs. Hall drew from her pocket a revolver, the
contents of whose chambers she emptied into her husband’s body. She was,
of course, at once arrested and in due time tried, but her counsel
experienced no difficulty in securing from the jury an acquittal of his
client on the ground of emotional insanity.
At the time of which I am speaking “skin” houses were far more plentiful
in St. Louis than “square” ones, and the city at the junction of the
Mississippi and Missouri afforded even a better field for the operations
of blacklegs than has even her rival by the shores of Lake Michigan in
the latter’s palmiest days. There was little effort made to clothe the
business with even the flimsiest veil of secrecy. All the resorts were
wide open and, in the slang of the fraternity, “everything went.”
“Steerers” were almost as numerous as “suckers,” and, when the city
detectives announced their intention to arrest these gentry on sight the
latter snapped their fingers at the police, openly set the authorities
at defiance, and brazenly continued to ply their nefarious calling.
Gambling was practically unrestrained, and play ran high. Business men,
lawyers, doctors, artisans, actors—men from every walk of life—gambled
as a pastime, while those who made the practice of the vice their sole
business thrived proportionately.
“Squeals” from victims were of daily occurrence, and the authorities
found themselves compelled to take notice of the complaints. It is not
too much to say, however, that the executive department of the city was
for many years honeycombed with corruption. One police official, who
occupied a position very near the top round of the ladder was understood
to have realized $28,000 as the result of his extortion of blackmail
from gaming-house keepers. It followed, as a matter of course, that when
the officers of the law found themselves compelled to make a raid upon
one of these resorts the descent was accomplished in a most perfunctory
manner. The common practice was to send notice to the proprietors in
advance that they might “expect visitors” at an hour named. The gamblers
being thus forewarned, the police rarely found anything to justify
stringent measures. The paraphernalia was generally safely stowed away
out of sight; and if, by chance, any gambling instruments were captured,
their owners were generally privately advised as to where, when and how
they might recover their property.
As tending to illustrate how the mania for gaming had taken hold of all
classes of society, I cannot forbear to relate the following anecdote of
Mr. F——, who, at the time of which I am speaking, was president of one
of the St. Louis banks. While the tale may bring a smile to the lips of
the man who, even as an amateur, has taken a hand in a “little game of
draw,” it is not without its moral. The story runs thus: One morning as
the janitor of Mr. F——’s bank was swinging open the heavy doors which
guarded the treasure of the institution from the marauding hands of
covetous midnight strollers, he discovered sitting on the steps three
tired-looking citizens, one of whom clutched tightly in his hands a
sealed package. But a short time elapsed before the cashier appeared
upon the scene. “Gentlemen,” he suavely asked, “how can I accommodate
you? Do you wish to make a deposit?” The man with the package eagerly
assured him that he had come to negotiate a loan. “What security do you
offer?” asked the cashier; “government bonds?” “Government nothing!”
answered the would-be borrower. “I’ve got something that knocks 7-30’s
clean out of the ropes.” And producing the bundle which he had so
jealously guarded, his two companions gathering close around, he
proceeded to explain the situation: “You see,” he went on, “these
gentlemen and myself have been playing poker all night. I’ve got a dead
sure thing, but they’re trying to ‘raise me’ out. I want $5,000 to ‘see’
them with. See here.” And he unsealed the packet and showed its contents
to the astounded bank official. “This,” he explained, “is my hand. I’ll
show it to you, but don’t let them (indicating his companions) see it.
You see we sealed it up so the cards couldn’t be monkeyed with.” The
cashier looked at the cards; they were four kings and an ace. (This was
before the days of a “royal flush,” and beat any other hand then
recognized.) Coldly did the financier regard the precious pasteboards,
and austere was his glance as he returned them, saying in freezing
tones, “this bank, sir, doesn’t lend on cards.” The disappointed
applicant for a loan turned sadly away, dejectedly saying to his
comrades, “boys, I’m a chump if he isn’t going to let me be frozed out
on this hand.” And he gazed ruefully down the street. At this moment Mr.
F—— opportunely came in sight, and was at once recognized. Quick as
thought the distressed gamester appealed to him for assistance. The bank
president had himself been spending the night at the poker table, and he
comprehended the situation at a glance. Rushing behind the bank’s
counter he seized several bags of double eagles and accompanied the trio
to the room where the game had been in progress. In a brief time he
returned to the bank, threw down the amount of the loan, together with
$500 interest on the accommodation, and glared at the cashier. “Ever
play poker?” he asked. The abashed official meekly confessed his
ignorance of the game. “Well, sir,” pursued the president in tones of
deep earnestness not unmixed with a touch of sarcasm, “if you had you
would know better what good collateral is. You might as well understand,
once for all, that four kings, with an ace for a confidence card, is
good in this institution for our entire assets.”
One of the best known characters in St. Louis in those days, and who
afterward achieved no little notoriety all over the West, was John
Lawler. He was a jovial, reckless, devil-may-care fellow, but possessing
many traits which rendered him popular among his acquaintances. He first
appeared among St. Louis sporting men as a “roper” and venturesome
player against the bank. Innumerable anecdotes are told of him
illustrating his character and setting forth his experience, both in
that city and elsewhere. His ups and downs were numerous and abrupt. One
evening, while sitting in a restaurant waiting for his supper, there
entered a man from Newark, Ohio, with whom he had a slight acquaintance.
He lost no time in engaging him in conversation, and soon succeeded in
“steering” him into a “brace” house, where he lost $340. As soon as
Lawler could get away from his companion he returned to the room to
claim his percentage on the amount won, which was handed to him at once.
Repairing to another resort he seated himself at a faro table and began
to play. Luck favored him and it was not long before he found himself
$1,100 ahead. He “cashed in his checks,” and privately determined to
purchase an interest in a small game on the succeeding day. Among the
bystanders, however, was George Ross, a faro dealer, a Philadelphian,
and a most jovial companion. He suggested to Lawler that it was a
pleasant night for a drive. The latter assented, and the two drove to
the Mansion House, where they had supper, which they washed down with
several bottles of wine. On their return to the city, Lawler said that
it was his “lucky night,” and announced his intention of winning enough
to reimburse him for the expenses of the jaunt. He went to a gaming
house and again began to “buck the tiger,” but the fickle goddess
deserted him and he arose from the table without a dollar. He was a man
of most irascible temper, and when he lost would frequently butt his
head against the wall and attempt to pull off his ears. On one occasion
when he had dropped his last cent at the faro table, he became so
excited that he threw an oyster loaf which he was taking home with him
at the ceiling of the room directly over the dealer’s head. The scene
that followed was a laughable one. The string broke and the oysters fell
in all directions, a fair portion of the loaf bespattering the dealer’s
face. From St. Louis he went to Chicago, where, in 1867, he became
interested in some of the best houses in that city, being associated
with such men as Captain Ash Holland, George Holt, Mat Robbins, and
McDonald. At the time of the great fire he was reputed to be worth
$40,000. It is said that he sank $20,000 in leasing, altering and
refitting the Southern Hotel, at the corner of Wabash avenue and Twenty-
second street. He also lost heavily at faro, often walking up to the
table and betting $1,000 on a single turn.
While in Chicago he became involved in a shooting scrape, the result of
which proved very serious. The party whom he shot was named George
Duvall, a “sure thing” player, as they are styled, who had played
“monte,” “top and bottom,” and “high hands” at euchre up and down the
Arkansas, Red, and Upper Mississippi and Missouri rivers. He had won
considerable amounts, of which he lost in playing against faro bank. A
few years ago he married at Cincinnati, and since then has published a
book on gambling, in which he recites many of his own personal
experiences.
At the time of the shooting above mentioned, a woman with whom Duvall
was well acquainted complained to him that Lawler had insulted her upon
the street. Duvall proceeded to hunt him up, and on meeting him
assaulted him, knocking him into a mud puddle, where he left him. As
soon as possible Lawler returned to his room, where he changed his
clothing, and having armed himself with a revolver sought out Duvall,
whom he found on the south-east corner of Clark and Madison streets. He
opened fire at once, hitting his adversary in the hand. Duvall took
refuge behind a telegraph pole and thus protected himself from the three
additional shots which Lawler fired before he was arrested. He was
indicted for assault with intent to kill, tried, convicted, and
sentenced to the penitentiary. A new trial was granted, and eight months
after the shooting he was acquitted. During his incarceration his hair
had turned from black to white, and by the time he had liquidated his
indebtedness to his counsel he was entirely penniless. Although he
afterwards succeeded in getting upon his feet again, and owned an
interest in several gambling houses, his old-time luck seemed to have
deserted him, and he was compelled to commence dealing for stipulated
wages. When Mayor Roche closed up the games, he opened an elegant club
room on Clark street, with cozily furnished apartments in the rear, in
which he kept house with an estimable lady whom he had married. The
police raided his place. The mortgage on his chattels was foreclosed,
and he succeeded in saving only $100 out of the wreck. With this sum he
sent his wife to her relatives, and he himself started for the Pacific
Slope. He is at present understood to be at Tacoma, where he is reported
to have acquired some real estate and to be doing well.
“Bob” Potee another well-known and exceedingly popular sporting man of
St. Louis, met a sad fate. He was sober, gentlemanly, and well bred, and
a high roller. He was married and well-to-do. He removed from St. Louis
to Kansas City, where fortune so frowned upon him that, becoming
despondent and weary of life, he disappeared and his body was afterwards
found in the river, into which he had thrown himself.
Another suicide among the gamblers at St. Louis was John Timmons, who
killed himself at Leadville, for some unexplained cause. His rash act
occasioned much surprise among his numerous friends, to whom he had
always seemed the very incarnation of cheerfulness and high animal
spirits.
Yet another victim of faro who came to a similar end was Captain Ash
Hopkins, one of the most popular river captains who sailed from St.
Louis to New Orleans. He was loved and respected by all who knew him,
but after a debauch in which he had lost several thousand dollars at one
bout with the “tiger,” he was found dead at sunrise of the following day
at the Southern Hotel. He found himself unable to meet his
responsibilities in this world and had madly appealed to the court of
eternal justice.
Far different, however, was the manner in which Charley Teenan met
death. Although a professional gambler, he had many of the elements of a
hero. He was dealing faro in a resort opposite the Southern Hotel at the
time of the burning of that immense caravansary. Seeing the flames, he
rushed from his rooms across the street to the blazing building. Up the
ladder he went and into the hallway, seeking whom he might rescue. Once,
twice, thrice, four times, he brought half suffocated victims to the
window and sent them down the ladder. Once more he went back on his
errand of mercy, but the flames and smoke repulsed him and he saw that
he had no time to lose if he were to save himself. Returning to the
window he saw that the ladder had been removed to another casement, in
order to rescue others. He climbed upon the sill and sprang toward the
ladder, hoping to catch it. Fatal leap! Missing his hold, he fell an
inert mass upon the stone flagging below, and was picked up mortally
wounded. He was carried to his gambling room and laid out on his faro
table.
John Mackey, another old-time St. Louis gambler, fell from his chair,
dead; alcoholism being the cause of his demise. Fisher, a case-keeper at
a Fourth street gaming house, was found dead on a lounge in the rooms
when the place was opened for business in the morning. He sprang from a
good New England family, and was well educated and well read. He was a
natural card player and was an expert at many games, and particularly
proficient at boston, cribbage and whist. Professionals had won large
sums of money through betting on his play. The original cause of his
downfall was his love for liquor, and his downward career was rapid. He
was a man of brains who might have made his mark in some one of the
learned professions, but who deliberately yielded himself a victim to a
strange infatuation, which caused him to end his life as a case-keeper
in a common “brace” house.
It surely seems as though Heaven had attached to the vice of gaming a
peculiar curse. Money won through this means rarely proves of benefit to
its possessor, as is shown by the large number of gamblers who have
accumulated considerable sums and yet died paupers. Another circumstance
which cannot fail to impress itself on the thoughtful mind is the fact
that so many of the profession have, as the slang phrase runs, “died
with their boots on,” while their death has remained unavenged by the
law. Charley Dalton, a St. Louis sport, was shot in the back in the
post-office at Salt Lake City, by one Obie, who charged him with having
insulted his wife. Alex. Crick, a protégé of “Old Jew” Abrams, a St.
Louis pawnbroker, who served a term in the penitentiary for receiving
stolen goods, was shot and killed by a courtesan in a house of ill-fame.
A somewhat similar case of those already described was that of “Star”
Davis, a popular sporting man of St. Louis, after whom the celebrated
racer, “Star Davis,” was named. He had a large acquaintance, by whom he
was well liked. He was a man of intelligence and refined tastes, and an
exceedingly venturesome player. While on one of his periodical sprees,
being grossly intoxicated, he fell down stairs and broke his neck.
The author well remembers a member of the fraternity who frequented the
gaming resorts of St. Louis during the period of his residence in that
city. He was familiarly known by the sobriquet of “Sugar Bob.” When I
first began to “steer” for faro banks in St. Louis, I found some
difficulty in inducing the victims to enter the house for which I was
acting. Accordingly, I employed “Sugar Bob” to decoy men whom I
selected, dividing my percentage with him. He received this singular
cognomen from the oily manner in which he used to sympathize with
“suckers” after they had been fleeced. If his honeyed words failed to
console them for their losses, it was universally conceded that there
was no further use for attempting to employ the influence of kindness.
[Illustration:
HON. CHARLES P. JOHNSON, EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI,
AUTHOR OF THE “ANTI-GAMBLING LAW,” WHICH
ERADICATED GAMBLING FROM
THAT STATE.
]
EX-GOVERNOR CHARLES P. JOHNSON.
Governor Johnson was born in St. Clair County, Illinois, on the 18th of
January, 1836. His natural tastes early inclined him to the study of the
law, and he was admitted to the bar at St. Louis in 1857.
His official career forms a part of the history of the State which he
has so well served; it does not call for extended narration in a work of
this character. But one remark need be made in passing—that as his
private character has been without blemish, so is his public record
unassailable. It may not be out of place, however, to call attention to
the fact that it was through his unshaken firmness and unswerving
fidelity to the law which he had sworn to uphold that gambling was
finally successfully suppressed in St. Louis. In vain had every agency
been employed before to accomplish the same result. The pulpit had
thundered denunciation; the press had lifted up its voice against the
evil; fleeced victims had complained to the police, who had in turn
periodically raided the gambling dens with sledge hammers and batons;
yet all efforts had proven futile until the arrival of Governor Johnson
upon the scene. In him the gamblers recognized a foe of keen intellect,
sterling integrity and iron will, a man to be neither deceived, cajoled,
bought nor bullied.
In person Governor Johnson is spare, but well proportioned. His
countenance is grave, yet benignant; thoughtful, but unclouded,
indicating a mind well stored through deep research and capable of
grasping at once the most profound problems, and the most intricate
details. Nor does the face belie its promise. To comprehensive sagacity
he joins unfailing accuracy, and to a subtle faculty of discrimination
he unites a well-nigh inexhaustible fertility of expedient. Add to this
rare combination of qualities in their highest form of development an
almost incredible power of long-sustained application, and you have an
ideal lawyer, and it is only as a lawyer that he will be considered in
these pages.
Either from natural predilection, or through force of circumstances,
Governor Johnson’s most pronounced professional successes have been
attained as a criminal practitioner. To sway a jury is his forte and his
delight, and in the accomplishment of this end he well knows how to
employ the keen shafts of polished sarcasm, the scathing denunciation of
fiery invective, the cold logic of convincing argument, and the
impassioned appeal to tender sympathy. It has been well and truly said
of him that jurors enter the box as strangers to him, but leave it with
a sentiment of respect akin to regard. He has learned how to reach and
touch the secret springs of the human heart, and need acknowledge no
master in originality, tact or delicacy of touch, before which tears
succeed mirth, and in turn yield to indignation.
His practice in the criminal courts has pitted him against such
brilliant luminaries of the legal firmament as Uriel Wright (deceased),
Senator George G. Vest, William Wallace, Judge Henry D. Laughlin, and
Joseph G. Lodge (deceased), with a number of others equally as prominent
in Missouri; Ex-Governor Palmer and William O’Brien, of Illinois; Ex-
Governor Jenkins, of Colorado; besides a long array of other eminent
men. Before all these he has poised his lance like a true knight, nor
can it be said of him that any of them have laid him low.
But distinguished as he is as an advocate before a jury, he has attained
no less distinction as an examiner of witnesses. No fixedness of
feature, no previous drilling in a cunningly-devised tale can hide the
truth from his trained and watchful eye, which reads the secrets of the
witnesses’ soul as though it were an open page.
Among the multitude of cases whose successful conduct has made him
famous, a want of space forbids a mention of but a few.
One of his most noteworthy triumphs was obtained in the trial of the
train-wreckers at Paola and Wyandotte in Kansas, when he and associates
defeated the array of legal talent opposed to him by the trusted
lieutenants of Jay Gould.
Another was his triumphant vindication of Fotheringham, the alleged
dishonest messenger of the American Express Co., whose character he
exonerated and for whom he secured the substantial damages of $20,000.
Another was in the successful defence at Gallatin, Mo., of the
celebrated Frank James.
But what has always seemed to me to have been his crowning professional
success was attained in the trial of Michael Horner, charged with murder
in the first degree for the killing of Boswell, at Mt. Vernon, Lawrence
Co., Mo. Both the accused and his victim had been farmers of Lawrence
Co. for about five years before the commencement of the feud between
them, which had its origin in a charge brought by Boswell against Horner
(and denied by the latter) of seduction of the former’s sister. A
succession of personal encounters ensued, but the combatants were always
separated by mutual friends. At length, on July 18, 1885, Boswell, while
at work in his field, saw Horner riding down the lane. Leaving his
reaper and climbing the fence, he began a vigorous bombardment of his
old enemy with fragments of rock. Horner, without dismounting, drew his
revolver and emptied the contents of three chambers into the body of
Boswell, who fell lifeless to the ground. In due time the slayer was
arraigned, tried, found guilty of murder, and sentenced to confinement
in the penitentiary for ninety-nine years. A second trial was granted,
and occupied two weeks, 300 witnesses being summoned. The excitement
throughout the country was intense, and the court-room was daily crowded
by ardent sympathizers with either side. But Charles P. Johnson was for
the defence, and so ably did he conduct and plead the cause of his
client that the jury, after brief deliberation, returned a verdict of
manslaughter in the fourth degree, and the penalty was fixed at a fine
of $600. The scene which followed the reading of the verdict would need
the pencil of a Hogarth to portray. Horner—who, despite all the efforts
of his friends to secure his release on bail, had lain in jail since the
killing—remained for a moment motionless through agitation; then jumping
three feet into the air and wildly gesticulating, he shouted the
Southern warhoop (known in the North as the “rebel yell”), which was
taken up and repeated again and again by the vast crowd which packed the
chamber to overflowing. In a delirium of joy, his young wife, hastily
entrusting her baby to the nearest pair of arms, sprang toward the jury,
whom she hugged and kissed by turns. Then both she and her husband
mounted to the bench and grasped the judge by either hand, which they
shook as vehemently as though they had been veritable pump-handles. In
vain did the sheriff seek to restore order, but he was finally compelled
to suffer the wild enthusiasm to find its vent. Horner was overwhelmed
with congratulations, in which joined both friends and former foes. And
in the midst of the wild confusion—in it, but not of it—stood the great
advocate, whose genius, labor and eloquence had rendered such a result
possible.
It may be that the reader will think that the author has been too lavish
in his encomiums of this truly great man. Possibly so; yet the praise
proceeds from the love of a grateful heart. Were I to find myself in the
antipodes, and involved in difficulties calling for the aid of sound
legal advice, the one man of all others to whom I would apply, and whose
services, did my means permit, I should certainly retain, is Charles P.
Johnson.
The reasons for my preference are easily explained. Governor Johnson,
unlike many other lawyers who have attained prominence as practitioners
in the criminal courts, does not desert his clients after he has secured
their acquittal. To me he has proved a friend in need and in deed at the
darkest hours of my life. He knows my character thoroughly; he has
defended me more than once; and that I have not fallen into graver
crimes than those which I now confess with shame, is due to his wise,
fatherly counsels, and to the fact that he first implanted in my breast
the desire to reform my life.
Nor is my case a solitary instance. His great brain is no less quick to
conceive than is his great heart to execute. His quiet charity is as
unostentatious as it is far reaching and comprehensive, and the number
of those who owe their reformation to his patient, untiring efforts,
will be known only when the secrets of all hearts are revealed.
THE GAMBLING HOUSES OF NEW YORK.
Despite the fact that there is upon the statute books of New York a
stringent law against gaming, the great American metropolis has been
called—and not unjustly—the very paradise of gamblers. It is said, by
carping critics, that there is scarcely a street without its gambling
resort, all private, of course, yet the location of which is well known
to those who indulge in that excitement.
The favorite game—as all over the North American continent—is faro, and
the stakes vary according to the class to which the house belongs in
which the game is played. In some of the lowest hells a stake of five
cents is not despised. These houses are frequented by the poorest
working men, discharged soldiers, broken down gamblers and street boys.
In this connection it may be said, that of all the street boys in the
world perhaps those of New York are most precocious. It is no uncommon
sight to see a shoe-black, scarcely three feet high, walk up to the
table or “bank,” as it is euphoniously termed, and stake a nickel with
the air of a young spendthrift to “whom money is no object.”
At any of the later hours of the night, in any one of the cheap eating
houses which abound in or near Broadway, from Spring Street north to
Tenth Street, can be found one or more shabby-genteel men who bear
unmistakable evidence in their speech, manner and appearance, of long
continued, and generally disastrous, “fighting with the tiger.” These
are the _canaille_ of gamblers, who hang precariously on the edge of a
terrible fascination, and manage to supply the necessities of life in a
cheap way, from chance success in small bets and by a few dollars picked
up by guiding more profitable customers to the houses where they are
known. Strictly speaking, there are more “cappers” than gamblers. They
are not only at the bottom of the “profession,” but their right to the
proud (?) title of “sporting men” is stoutly denied by their more
prosperous and reputable brethren of the green cloth. Improvident,
uncertain in habits and language, unscrupulous, they are the natural
products of sporting life, but which the faro banks nevertheless strive,
although in vain, to shake off. Every house has several of these forlorn
attaches, who play when they have money, and introduce a desirable
stranger when they can; who are constant in their attendance upon the
banquets that are daily spread in these houses, but are thus obliged to
take the chances as to lodgings, and raiment. When they have worn
threadbare the hospitality of the gaming house-keeper (as sometimes
happens), they subsist—God and themselves alone know how.
Very different in most respects is another class of gamblers who can be
seen any fine afternoon decorating Broadway with the splendor of their
apparel, for, as a rule, the sporting fraternity is unexcelled in
elegance of attire. If you meet in Broadway a man who lounges listlessly
onward as though he had no well-defined object in life, and whose
garments are cut in the latest style and of the finest material, you may
wager he is a gambler in good luck, provided his silk hat is in the
highest possible state of polish and his watch chain unusually massive.
Very elegant in appearance, very quiet and gentlemanly in their
demeanor, are these professional sports of the better class at all times
and in all places. Gamblers of this type are usually men of intelligence
far above the average, and among the hundreds of men eminent in science,
literature and art who flock to the high-toned hells of New York, it is
no easy task to find greater brilliancy of wit, higher polish of
deportment, or more geniality of manner than are exhibited by the
dealers at first-class metropolitan gaming-houses.
In the Bowery and on the side streets, may be met professionals of a
very different class; brazen-faced men, with bristly mustaches and hair
closely cropped like a convict, with apparel obtrusively gaudy and
loaded with jewelry apparently of gold and precious stones. These are
men to be avoided as the sharks which their appearance and their every
act proclaim them to be. They are proprietors of, or “steerers” for the
third-rate dens, where a “square” game is never played, even by
accident. Should faro fail to return a profit, these fellows are ready
to try anything else, from a game of poker down to outright robbery, as
a means of obtaining money. Honest labor they abhor and despise. Any
man, they say, can make a living by work, but it requires a smart man to
get it without. They cherish a deep and abiding conviction of their own
shrewdness; and their egregious conceit sometimes leads them to attempt
some one of the confidence games in which “skinners” are adepts, in the
perpetration of which they usually ingloriously come to grief through
their native clumsiness. When they have no small dens of their own,
their chief occupation and main reliance is as “ropers in,” and in view
of their uncouth, repulsive appearance and address it is surprising that
they are as successful as they are in enticing strangers into the
wretched holes where they can be fleeced.
These strangers, thus inveigled, come under the name of “occasional
players,” and are the vivification of all gambling, whether guided by
the better class of ropers into gilded resorts, or by these vampires
into the lower cribs. So long as one sporting man wins from or loses to
another, no harm is done to the community at large, but no good is done
the gamblers. It is the “occasional players” who furnish the means to
replenish the faro banks, without which, they would soon be empty; the
strangers who play not more than two or three times in their lives are
the meat upon which these harpies fatten. It is not singular, that the
novice is so apt to try his luck when he has once been induced to enter
the gambling house. The universal game is faro; and looks so simple, so
safe, so entirely fair, that the chances appear rather in favor of, than
against the outside player.
It is made yet more alluring by its surroundings. Nowhere has sumptuous
elegance been attained in such perfection as in the first-class gambling
saloons of New York. Generally each has a suite of rooms, the largest of
which is devoted to faro, with perhaps a roulette wheel in one corner,
while others are sacred to short card games, and one is always
exclusively used as a banqueting hall. All are furnished without regard
to cost, but there is never anything in any of them to offend the most
fastidious taste, although there may be sometimes a grim humor in some
of the decorations, as is the case in one house where a magnificent oil
painting of a tiger is suspended from the wall immediately over the
table, so that none of the players can look up without meeting the
glaring eye of the beast, which is held to be the presiding deity of the
game. But such suggestions as this are very rare, as in general there is
nothing anywhere but the faro table to declare the uses of the place.
Take that away, and the visitor would imagine himself in the private
parlors of a gentleman whose great wealth was fortunately equaled by his
refined taste. This delusion would be strengthened by a seat at the
banquet, where the viands are of all possible varieties, and the best
quality, and are served with a finished elegance in the plate and all
table appointments, including the waiters, which are not exceeded even
in the most select private houses. At the table and on the sideboard in
the saloon are liquors of excellent quality, which, although freely
offered, are never pressed upon the visitor, and it is possible for a
man to frequent these resorts for years without acquiring a taste for
liquor. There is, in fact, very little drinking in them, and none at all
of that fast and furious potation which hurries so many thousands of
Americans to physical, mental and moral ruin. No sight is rarer in a
first-class gaming house than to see a man maudlin drunk. An intoxicated
man is never allowed to profane the place. If he appears in the person
of a valuable patron, he is quietly led away, to be put to bed in some
remote room; but if he comes as an unknown casual he is put into the
street with little ceremony but without violence.
These statements, however, apply, of course, only to the first-class and
most prosperous establishments. The places next in order ape them in
everything, but are far below them in all. A second-class house has
sometimes even more of glitter than its rival, but it is easy to see
that it is pinchbeck grandeur. There is an absence, too, of the refined
taste which presides over the decoration and furnishing of the better
house. These rooms are glaringly painted, filled with odds and ends of
furniture of all ages and patterns, so that they look not unlike the
wards of a hospital for superannuated and diseased household goods
turned over in their old age to the auctioneer’s hammer. The suppers and
liquors, however, most plainly proclaim the lower caste of the place.
While the variety of both is abundant, the first are execrably cooked
and served, and the quality of the latter would not be strange to the
most experienced patron of the ordinary Bowery saloons, which are
proverbial for furnishing every kind of beverage except good.
But if the second grade houses are bad in these respects, there are some
below them which are much worse. If a man can digest the so called “game
suppers,” and survive any considerable drinking of the liquids which are
offered as pure whiskey and brandy in the lowest classes of faro houses,
he ought to be able to insure his life on the most favorable terms, and
the appointments of these houses are in keeping with their
entertainment. The chairs, sofas and carpets were of the most tawdry
description when new, but are ragged with long and ill usage; the
gambling checks, which range in price from twenty-five cents to one
dollar, are grimed and dented with much handling; the faro table,
elsewhere enticing with its newness and cleanliness, here is old and
smeared with grease; the dealing-box, which in first-class houses is of
pure and polished silver, here is of pewter, and dingy. So are all the
_minutiae_ of these places. They are repulsively suggestive of squalid
and unprosperous vice; and if by any chance a gentleman enters, he
leaves at once, to lose his money under more elegant, or at least
cleaner, auspices.
Faro houses in New York have rarely exceeded one hundred in number,
except during the latter part of the war, when speculation, going mad in
Wall street, stalked over the land, demoralizing and ruining thousands.
In those feverish times faro-playing naturally increased with stock
gambling, and the faro houses multiplied until they fluctuated between
one hundred and twenty and one hundred and thirty in number. Of late
years, however, they have decreased, and a few years ago, when public
excitement on the subject had given rise to the sensational statement
that the city contained six hundred of them, ninety-two was the largest
number that could be found open at any time. The number seems small in
comparison to the size of the city, which, beside the large resident
reckless population, contains tens of thousands of strangers, anxious
not to miss any of the sensations of the metropolis. Yet these faro
banks not only are enough to do all the business presented and enticed
to them, but some of them have a very precarious life owing to the lack
of custom. The first and second-class houses are under very heavy
expenses, a principal item of which takes the shape of rent. They must
be and are located in the principal thoroughfares near the leading
hotels, with the exception of those anomalous institutions known as “day
games,” which are found in Ann, Fulton, and Chambers streets, for
accommodation of the business men, many of whom have acquired the bad
habit of seeking solace for the vexations of legitimate transactions in
the delights of faro. A seizure was made of these places lately, upon
the ground that they are of all the gambling establishments in the city
the most dangerous to the public. It is not necessary to endorse this
statement in order to justify the attempt to suppress day gambling, but
if activity in this direction is intended to excuse the toleration of
all other houses, it will result in more of evil than good. The night
houses, into which strangers are inveigled and robbed, are the resorts
of young men of fortune, who here take the first step on a downward road
which leads them and their families to shame and ruin, are worthy of at
least equal attention. Beside being more frequented, these night houses
have a much greater number of hours for play. The day houses are in full
operation four or five hours per day, but in the night houses a game can
be had in the afternoon and at any hour at night, while the average of
play, take them altogether, is fully eighteen hours of each twenty-four.
In the absorption and waste of capital, the half-score of day houses
cannot be compared to those where most of the play is at night.
It is well-nigh impossible to get accurate statistics upon this point,
and resort must therefore be had to approximate figures, which are,
however, very near the exact truth. The faro banks of New York have as
capital a little less than one million dollars, which is very unequally
divided, as the ninety-two houses vary from $2,000 to $50,000 each,
although only three or four have the latter amount, and the average
banking capital is about $10,000. It is impossible to say what amount of
money changes hands upon this basis. It is asserted that the average
yearly winnings of all the banks taken together is about fifty per cent.
over and above the expenditure required to keep up the establishments,
so that every year these gamblers absorb about $500,000, while the gross
profits are more than 100 per cent. These figures are conclusive that
the way of the transgressor, if he be an occasional player rather than a
dealer, is hard.
“Bunko Land,” on Broadway, of a fair summer evening, extends from
Twenty-third to Thirty-third street. Here, meandering softly along in
the twilight, or boldly facing the glare of the electric lamps, New
York’s gamblers are to be seen in mid-summer and mid-winter alike. They
know well enough who their friends in authority are. They are fully
convinced that charges against McLaughlin and Carpenter, like charges
against Williams—which have been so often and so unsuccessfully made—are
not likely to come to anything as long as their friends are on deck. And
that means, of course, just as long as the gamblers’ weekly stipend is
forthcoming.
Until the furor over the raids on Nos. 86 Fulton street and 15 Ann
street shall have faded out, as all the anti-gambling furors do, it will
no doubt continue to be true that “gambling has stopped in New York.”
That for the public. Of course, gambling never stops; it is only a
little harder now to find a “game,” and a little harder to get into it
after it is found. A couple of years ago all gambling was stopped in New
York—officially—for eighteen months. John Daly moved from his familiar
stand, No. 39 West Twenty-ninth street, to a private house on Forty-
second street, and only admitted his “true friends,” and such of the
public as could produce at the door, cards of invitation. There was a
similar and general shifting of quarters and barring of doors in Ann
street, Fulton, Barclay, Fourteenth streets, and at the famous old 818
Broadway, which goes on forever, apparently, however raids come and go.
That sudden revolution in the habits and habitats of Gotham’s “sports”
was due, just as their present stringency of circumstances is due, to a
raid from authorities other than those locally in charge of the
precincts where the gambling houses are situated.
All raids, to be in any degree effectual, must be made either directly
from Police Headquarters, or by Comstock’s or Whitney’s men. This bold
assertion is not made—everybody knows it is true—for the purpose of
warranting inferences as to the integrity of the officers immediately in
charge of the district where the games are in progress, but because it
states an undeniable fact. Inferences are easy. This is one of the few
readily accessible facts about gambling.
WHERE GAMES ARE RUNNING NOW.
There are gambling games to which the initiated can gain access now at
No. 39 West Twenty-ninth street, in Fourteenth street, the second door
from Thiess’, at No. 818 Broadway, at Gallagher’s in Barclay street, at
Delacey’s in Chatham Square, at Nos. 12 and 15 Ann street—all close
together—Bret Haines’ in Barclay street, and at a good many quiet haunts
of tigers so well trained that their footsteps are like velvet and their
howl is inaudible. So it is scarcely necessary to go for mere sport to
Phil Daly’s Long Branch Club, against which “Baron” Pardonnet has been
waging such an ineffectual warfare, or to the famous Saratoga Club, at
which “Colonel” Shepard has been vainly launching the awful curse of his
boycott.
The raid which made John Daly move, and which produced so great a
stringency in the chip market for the time being, started at No. 1 Ann
street. It is rarely that an eye-witness describes, from the inside, an
official descent on a gambling house. There are generally too many
personal reasons for silence. Here is a description by a player at the
time of that famous raid. It might also serve as a good description of
almost any raid on New York games:
“I had just ‘coppered’ $5 on the queen to the intense disgust of a half
dozen fellows who were playing her to win, when the ‘nigger’ who kept
door came bounding upstairs, three steps at a time, fairly pale in the
face, and whispered to the proprietor:
“‘Boss, there’s some men at the door that won’t go away, and say they’ll
break the door down if I don’t let ’em in.’
“‘Quick!’ answered the proprietor, ‘open the door and ask ’em to step
right up.’ The words were not out of his mouth before he had slipped the
bank roll into the safe, gathered all visible chips of the banks, and
asked all the players to gather up theirs, stuck the chips into the safe
and locked the safe door, saying, ‘Boys, put your chips in your pockets
and come around this afternoon and I’ll cash ’em in for you.’ In a flash
all evidence of present gaming were wiped out. There were only a couple
of tables, a dozen or so players, the proprietor, smiling blandly, and—a
policeman in sight.
“In less time than it takes to tell all this the still shivering door-
keeper had ushered in three ‘plain clothes’ men from headquarters. At
the same time the police officer, in full uniform, who was already in
the room—and who had been playing with the rest of us, mind you—edged
towards the door so as to seem to have come in with and after the
raiding officers. He was the worst frightened man in the crowd. But,
with quite remarkable presence of mind, considering the strain on him,
the officer in uniform stepped promptly back into the foreground, with a
pitying smile on his face, and seizing the beard of the proprietor of
the game, said to the raiding officers, who looked as if they wondered
where he had come from:
“‘Gentlemen, this Mr. Bud Kirby’—
“‘And sorry I am, gentlemen,’ ‘Bud’ interrupted, with a bow and a smile,
‘to make your acquaintance under such unfavorable circumstances! What
will you have to drink?’
“You could have knocked me down with a feather. ‘This then,’ thought I,
as all hands stepped up to the sideboard and took a friendly drink;
‘this then, is one of those terrible raids we read so much about!’
“The players, fortunately for me, were not molested in the least. They
melted away into the early morning gloom (it was then about 2 o’clock),
and the officers who carted away the cards, the faro layouts and the
roulette wheel, melted away to headquarters and made their report, and
that afternoon we all went back and Kirby cashed our chips—of course he
knew just about how many were out—and everything was lovely. No officer
thought of touching the safe which contained the ‘roll,’ the only thing
of any great value about the establishment, and nobody suffered any
great loss or discomfort. But there wasn’t any more dealing there for a
great many months. And maybe the officer in uniform, who was playing
there in blissful ignorance that a raid was to be made, didn’t catch it
from Kirby for not giving him warning!”
WHAT “PROTECTION” COSTS A GAMBLER.
A few weeks ago, before the spasm of virtue which constricted the public
circulation of chips, a New York business man—whose name may be put down
as Allan Allriver, being not altogether unlike the same—was approached
on Twenty-eighth street by a professional gambler of his acquaintance
who had paraded Broadway and hung about the corners until he was almost
on his uppers. “Look here, Mr. Allriver,” said the gambler, “let’s you
and I open a gambling house. I know of a good ranch on this very street
that we can rent cheap, and if you’ll furnish the roll and let me run
the game we’ll both make a barrel of money.”
“That’s all right,” answered Allriver, “but what’s to prevent us from
being pulled the very first night?”
“I’ve inquired into that,” replied the gambler, “and am assured on high
authority that we will be guaranteed police protection for exactly $25 a
week. The usual price is from $25 up $100; we are getting off cheap.”
Mr. Allriver is still thinking about this offer and the remarkable
statement with it. There is food for thought in it for the tax-payers.
But the charge that police officials are bribed by gamblers is—as the
old English Judge said about the charge of assault on women—“most easy
to make and most difficult to disprove.” It has the advantage, however,
of being even more difficult to prove.
Suppose a police captain or lieutenant were paid $25 a week by the
proprietor of a gambling house for protection or advance notice of
raids, no papers, or writing, or receipt, or voucher of any kind will
pass between them. The proprietor and the police officer will not meet,
nor will they be seen or known to communicate with each other in any way
except through trusted intermediaries. Through them, one representing
the “sports” and the other the “boss cops,” the agreement will be made
and the money will be paid. They may meet each other and slide a “wad”
from fist to fist as they shake hands on Broadway of a fine afternoon,
or they may do their business over a friendly glass of beer at a Sixth
avenue saloon table about 2 A. M. If either of these agents tries to
squeal, his principal promptly denounces and disavows all knowledge of
him. Then who is believed, the poor, unknown, characterless go-between
or the “reputable business man” and “faithful police official?”
The elaborate system of bolts, bars, chains, double doors, and the like,
which confronts one—either stranger in search of sport, or officer in
search of prey—at the entrance of an established gambling house is not
intended as a direct barrier to the admission of those in authority.
Unauthorized raiders are of course kept out by this means. But no
proprietor of a gambling house in New York would dare to maintain that
system of defense in the face of known police or detective authority. It
would “get the force down on him” forever. When an opening is demanded
“in the name of the law,” the bolts are shot back, the chains loosened,
the big nail-studded doors are unlocked. But all this undoing, and
unloosening and unfastening takes so much time that the proprietor has
had an opportunity before the police get into the “hell” itself to put
away that which he wishes to conceal, and to put it away so securely
that all the police in town couldn’t find it unless they tore down the
walls and pulled up the flooring. It is quite needless to say that the
players, if they choose, may also utilize this interval by escaping over
the roof or down the back stairs.
That some of the New York gambling houses are, or have been, directly
connected with Police Headquarters by means of a private wire, or at
least with the nearest station house from which a raid would be most
likely to be made, is firmly believed by some sporting men. But how
prove it? _Quien Sabe?_ Certain it is that there are no “slicker”
citizens nor more artful dodgers, no more long-headed law breakers in
this great city of “slick” citizens and artful dodgers, than are the
professional gamblers. Not so very long ago, when the notoriety of John
Daly’s, as a first-class gambling house, almost across the street from
the Gilsey was becoming a little too loud, a stranger who in the
language of the street, thought he was “fly” and who had found out—he
thought—just what door to knock at to find Daly’s and a game, hammered
at the door in question vociferously and was surprised to have the door
opened in his face by a neat maid-servant, who asked him what his
business was, assured him the place was an apartment house for gentlemen
and offered to show him the rooms. He was dumfounded and retreated in
good order.
Next door, all the while, was an innocent-looking millinery shop. He
watched out of the hotel window hour after hour the next day, until he
saw a gambler, with whom he was acquainted, come down the steps from
“the apartment house.” He sauntered over, joined his friend whom he had
known in Denver, and asked him to show him a game, and was taken into
“the apartment house.” A large and massive-looking hat rack adorned the
back hall. Seizing it by two of the hat pegs, the gambler gave it a
slight twist and turned it on its well-oiled axis, disclosing a door
into the rear of the first floor of the next house. Here, back of the
“millinery store,” the festive roulette ball was clicking and the tiger
was bucking and being bucked vigorously. Such is life in a large city!
GAMBLERS COMING HOME FROM THE RACES.
It is on the parlor cars returning from Monmouth and Brighton Beach that
the New York gamester is seen in little groups of three or four in the
gayest of his mid-summer aspects. No matter if he hasn’t won a single
bet all day, the gambler is “blooded” and must ride home in a parlor
car. There is a group composed of three of the typical Gothamite race
gamblers. The car has hardly started from the track before the porter
has slipped into its nickel-plated sockets the tidy little table, which
may serve either for cards or lunch. A crisp white napkin is deftly
spread over it and a “cold bottle” produced, with three glasses, on a
silver tray, from the porter’s larder. A cold chicken is brought out
with some slices of white bread and a pot or two of golden butter. No
Rothschild or Vanderbilt could order or eat a better meal under the
circumstances, or sit down after a day of “sport” to a more inviting-
looking board while whirling homeward on the rail in an easy chair. Yet
these three men are plain, ordinary, common, badly-dressed, thick-
fingered, blear-eyed and uncouth-looking “gams.” There is no “gentleman
John Oakhurst” about them. Many New Yorkers recognize them and some nod
as they pass on.
The big-boned man, with the ruddy, clean-shaven face, short, stiff gray
hair and puffy eye-lids, eats the food earnestly and laughs, and talks
in an even coarse voice. At present he is the life of the party. He
wears a grayish-brown check suit, not very “loud,” a faded derby, and
his fingers need a manicure. They are thick at the ends and do not look
capable of deft manipulation. No doubt their owner can deal off the
bottom of the pack if he wants to, without detection. He looks about
fifty-two. His companions are younger. One of them wears an outlandish-
looking round-crowned straw hat and a shabby suit of clothes. He has a
pert, feverish-looking, but insignificant face, a red mustache and a
tilted nose. The third is good-looking, dark and quiet. They talk
eagerly and simultaneously, and not at all quietly of the races and of
the bets, and their winnings and losings. By and by the table is cleared
away and the “cold bottle” put on and big cigars are brought by the
steward, who is told to “fetch the best he’s got.” Nobody has any more
fun coming home from the races than professional gamblers have. They are
not half bad at heart, perhaps. Before lighting the biggest cigars the
steward’s got, they take off their hats and ask the only two ladies in
this parlor car full of men if they have any “objection to smoke.”
The most interesting plunger at cards in New York to-day is, in all
probability, that broken-down shoe-cutter yonder, who looks scarcely
“good for a ten-cent drink,” but who, not very long ago, made the old-
timers’ hair stand on end. His name is Bolt McHackin, and his home is in
Newark. McHackin is, when not “on a tear,” one of the most skillful
shoe-cutters in the country, and able to earn from $60 to $75 a week at
his trade. His shears turn out fashionable “uppers” with a celerity and
skilfulness rarely found and highly prized. When he has worked hard for
three or four weeks and earned a couple of hundred dollars he gambles
with a reckless prodigality. In more than one game he has risen from the
table a loser to the full amount of his stakes, returning to his work
not one whit wiser, and only waiting to try his experiment again. He has
been known to make large winnings. Yet to “break a bank” where all the
appliances for playing a “brace” game are ready at hand has been
demonstrated to be an impossibility.
A NEW YORK GAMBLERS’ CATALOGUE.
If any doubt exists in the mind of the reader as to the truth of the
exposure of the “faked” devices described in this volume, the author
would especially commend to the attention of such skeptics the following
catalogue, issued by a New York house, which is here reproduced,
_verbatim et literatim_; only the publisher’s name being suppressed.
Similar catalogues are being scattered broadcast over the land. They
fall into the hands of young men, to whose curiosity and imagination
they appeal with fatal effect. They are easily obtained, anyone may
secure one by asking for it, and the United States mail service will
safely carry and promptly deliver it. Do parents wish their sons, just
entering into manhood, to be exposed to such snares as these here set
for the unwary? Need any further argument be adduced to justify the
author in the publication of this work?
That fraudulent devices of the character described are manufactured and
sold is conclusively demonstrated by the issuance and dissemination of
catalogues such as this. It is the mission of the FOOLS OF FORTUNE to
strike at the root of this evil by holding up to the ridicule as well as
the condemnation of the public the schemes and tricks by which such
unprincipled scoundrels seek to debauch the morals of the young, and
defraud any victim whom chance may send to their net.
The author believes that the average reader will peruse this catalogue
with mingled emotions of interest, surprise and disgust. To the
uninitiated it will prove a revelation of depravity at once horrifying
and appalling. Yet in itself it confirms and corroborates every
statement herein made as to the practices and methods of professional
gamblers. The picture is a dark one, yet if it is defective in its
fidelity to truth, the fault lies in a deficiency rather than an excess
of coloring. Like vampires, these men fasten themselves upon the body of
society, ready to draw from its veins the very life current on which its
existence depends.
The following letter from a New York dealer in sporting goods explains
itself:
“DEAR SIR:—In reply to yours, there is only one sure way to win at
cards, etc., and that is to get Tools to work with and then to use
them with discretion, which is the secret of all Gambling and the way
that all Gamblers make their money.
Yours truly,
—— ——.
ADVANTAGE, OR MARKED BACK PLAYING CARDS.
By which you can tell the color, suit and size, as well by the backs
as by the faces. They are an exact imitation of the fair playing cards
in common use, and are adapted for any game, where it would be
impossible for your opponent to win, as you would know just what he
had in his hand and could act accordingly. These cards can be learned
in an hour with the instructions which are sent with each pack, so
that you can tell every card the instant you see it, both size and
suit.
N. B. Be sure and ask for the Key or Directions, as without them the
cards would be of no use to you unless you are a first-class
professional gambler.
THE POKER RING.
An ingenious little contrivance for Marking the cards while playing,
in a perfectly safe and systematic manner, so that in half an hour you
can tell each card as well by the back as by the face. Although it is
not as yet generally known, it is now in use by a few of the oldest
and best professional players in the country. Anybody can use it at
once.
For second dealing they are invaluable, and no second dealer should be
without one for a day. But comment is unnecessary, as anyone
understanding second dealing will see in an instant its value, the
moment the subject is brought to his mind.
SKELETON BOXES.
German Silver. A sure thing for dealer to win every time at Red and
Black, or Red, White and Blue.
ROULETTE WHEELS.
Faked Roulette Wheels that can be made to come Red or Black, or High
or Low Number, just as the dealer desires, a sure thing every time.
MARKED BACK PLAYING CARDS.
Square Corners, per pack, by mail, postpaid $ 1 00
” ” 6 packs 5 00
” ” 12 ” 9 00
Round ” per pack 1 25
” ” 6 packs 6 50
” ” 12 ” 12 00
FARO TOOLS.
Hart’s Faro Dealing Cards, unsquared, per doz. $15 00
Also, the same in any form, “Rounds and 2 25
Straights,” “End Rounds” or “Wedges,” per pack
Same, per dozen, by express 25 00
Two Card Dealing Boxes, top sight tell, top $50 00, $75 00
balance, improved Lever or End Squeeze
Back Up Second Card Box for Red and Black, Gaff $30 00, $35 00, 40
and Pull Back, 00
Dealing boxes of every description made to order and repaired. Top
balance, End Squeeze and Lever constantly on hand.
Card Punches, best 2 00 3 00
Glass paper, better than sand, per doz. sheets 1 00
ROULETTE, RONDO AND BALL GAMES.
Roulette Wheels, finest in the world $500 00
” ” Spreads, cloth, double, 13.6×5 ft 70 00
High Ball Poker Balls, round, each 20
” ” ” Bottle, used with rubber cord, without 10 00
balls
POOL AND SPINDLE GAMES.
Mutual Pool Machines $150 00
and
$200 00
Rolling Faro, 28 Aces and 4 Horses (with fake) 60 00
” ” 28 Cards and 4 Jacks (with fake) 60 00
” ” on cloth, with Spindle 20 00
Wheels of Fortune, 36 inch, 8 colors, 16 spaces, with Nickel 10 00
Plated Spindle and Socket
Wheels of Fortune, 36 inch, 8 colors, 16 spaces, with wooden 8 00
Spindle
DICE GAMES.
Bunko Chart, “Special Drawing,” without tickets $5 00
Bunko Tickets, per set of 56 2 00
Ivory Dice, for top and bottom, 3 fair with 1 00
Ringer
” ” double, 3 high, 3 low, 3 fair 2 00
” ” loaded, ” ” ” 5 00
Loaded Ivory Dice (Chinese make), beats 10 00
everything, $2.00 each; per set of 9, 3
high, 3 low and 3 fair to match
Ivory Dice Tops, to throw high or low 2 50
Rolling Dice, or Log, for high or low 5 00
Dice Cups, harness leather, best in use 50c., 75c., 1 50
SHORT GAMES.
Monte Tickets, or Broads, per doz., by express $ 5 00
Patent Knives, with lock, new pattern 5 00
Patent Safes, with two openings, ivory 5 00
Shiner, for reading cards dealt opponents 60
” ” ” ” ” in 1 00
half dollars
Vest Hold Out, with late improvements 10 00
Table Hold Out, something new, worked with knee 10 00
The “Bug,” for holding out an extra card 1 00
Crayon Pencils, case of 12 colors 1 00
KENO SETS.
Spring Peg Board for 200 pegs $20 00
Pool Globes, Polished Walnut, Keno Nozzle 6 00
Large Sized Leather Bottle, Patent Nozzle 10 00
With 90 Numbered Ivory Balls 30 00
THE SKELETON CARD TRIMMER.
Or new style Stripper Plates for cutting strippers. We now offer our
new style stripper plates with several new improvements attached. They
can be used either with knife or shears and can be set to trim coarse
or fine as desired, with movable guage to cut at any angle, best steel
plates with brass screw and guages with pin socket and hinge plates.
CRAP DICE.
In reference to dice, loaded dice come in sets of “9”—dice, viz.: 3
High, 3 Low and 3 Fair to match. But loaded dice, generally speaking,
are not strong enough for craps, as it is impossible to load dice so
as to make them come up any particular number every time; the best
that can possibly be done is to make them come up about every other
time on an average. They are generally used to beat Sweat or to throw
High or Low, or to bet on averages, or in various other ways, too
numerous to mention, to get the money.
The best way to fix dice for craps is to have one dice with 2 aces, 2
fives and 2 sixes on, and one with 2 threes, 2 fours and 2 fives on.
With this pair of dice it is _impossible_ to throw 7, and there is
only _one possible chance_ to throw eleven. But, if you want dice to
throw 7 or 11 sure, the only way we know of is to have one pair thus:
one dice with all sixes and one with all fives on to throw eleven; and
one with all fours and one with all threes on to throw seven; or, one
with all fives, one with all deuces on to throw seven.
NOTICE TO BILLIARD AND POOL PLAYERS AND DICE THROWERS—HIGH BALL POKER.
A NEW GAME.—This is something just out, and for your business the best
thing in the country, a dead sure thing always, no mistakes made with
this. You have always got them, and can throw a high or low ball SURE
EVERY TIME. This sounds like an advertisement, but I will guarantee
every word of the above or will willingly refund the money; that you
can control the balls is certain, and that is all you want to win the
money betting on the balls as they come out of the bottle. It beats
all dice throwing to death. Let all dice throwers who make dice their
specialty take notice it will win Dollars where dice wins Pennies. Any
man can get a game with it in a Billiard Saloon, and to get a game is
to get all the money there is in the house. In his travels with one of
these he can win a Million. The game is called High Ball Poker, and is
simply this: 2 or 20 players put up their ante the same as in draw
poker at cards, then each player draws one ball; he looks at it and
bets whatever he likes if his ball is a high number, or if it is small
he passes the same as with a good or bad hand at poker. The next man
can raise him, and so on; if all pass he takes the pool, or if anyone
calls him they then draw one ball more, or two balls as agreed upon
and bet again. If the hand is called they show down and the highest
hand takes the money; if there is no call the one that made the last
raise takes the pool, the same as in draw poker without showing his
hand. This is to save him from showing too many good hands, as he may
stand in with the dealer; but whether he does or not it is a regular
House game for the dealer, as he takes a check out for the house every
time a hand that counts over a certain number regulated by himself as
a percentage to pay room and other expenses, the same as any club
room. He also takes out one check every time the pool is passed out
three times in succession, the same as JACK POTS. With Faked Bottle
and Balls the dealer can get all the money in the game anyhow. If he
dont stand in with anybody he can make one player win this time and
give him two big balls, high enough to count the percentage and take
out one check, next time give another player two balls high enough to
count the percentage and take out another check, and so on all night;
and when the game closes he will have most of the checks in the box or
kitty. Or he could play himself and win four or five of the big pools
during the night and lose twenty small pools to square himself—do it
gracefully and with some judgment and win $15 or $20 and make it
appear he has lost. It can be introduced into club rooms, and made to
take the place of draw poker with cards. It is attractive and
fascinating, and played the same as draw, and the novice would rather
play it, as he knows there will be no shuffling up on him, no monkey
work with the cards, and he has as good a chance as the gambler and
won’t be afraid to play alongside of him any more than he would at
faro bank. That is all there is to the game, but there is a dozen
other ways to win with it besides High Ball Poker, viz.: by betting on
averages as with dice or raffling for a watch, etc., or betting that
you can beat another man’s throw or that he can beat your throw, and
other things too numerous to mention. It is a good thing and anyone
who wants to win big money is foolish if he don’t have one. Anyone can
use it to perfection in one minute as good as he can in ten years
(there is no practice or skill required), as soon as he is shown where
the Fake is, which is fully explained in the directions and you can’t
help understanding it as soon as you touch the Fake; and nobody can
tell when you work it, even if they know all about it, any more than
they can with a Pull Back Box. Price with full directions;
Faked Bottle and 25 Ivory Balls, Round face $15 00
Faked Bottles, each 10 00
THE BUG.
This is an entirely new invention, for the purpose of “holding out”
any number of cards, _and it will do it_! It is very simple in its
construction, easy to operate, and any person who knows that two and
two are four can use it. It can be carried in the vest pocket all the
time, is always ready for use, and not liable to get out of order, but
should it do so any watchmaker can put it in order for a trifle, as
the whole expense of manufacture is only about fifty cents. “Then why
ask $3.00 for it?” you may say. For this reason—That one is all you
will ever want to buy, as they do not wear out like cards. Also, after
seeing it you can get one made as well as I can, and make them for
your friends and sell them to all the sporting men in your vicinity,
thereby injuring my trade and I get nothing for my invention; and you
will wonder that the thing was never thought of before. With it you
can “hold out” one or twenty cards, shift and make up your hand to
suit, and your hands and person are at perfect liberty all the time.
Your opponent may look in your lap and up your sleeve, but there is
nothing to be seen! After having used it once you would not be without
it for _any_ price, as, like all good inventions, its simplicity is a
great point in its favor, and any sporting man who has ever seen or
knows its value, would not hesitate to pay $10.00 for one if he could
not get it for less; and then he would be doing a wise thing and
getting more than the value of his money at that. This valuable little
tool will be sent, free by mail, with full and complete directions for
using it.
THE SPY.
This simple and valuable little Advantage Tool, with which you can
read each card as it leaves the pack, has now reached _Perfection_, as
far as we are concerned, as we have steadily improved upon it until we
can improve no further.
_The Reflector_, which is convex, is imported direct from France, and
is made _specially_ for this purpose. It can be used in perfect safety
either in the table or on the knee, and should the suspicion of any of
the players be aroused it can be removed in an instant; your hand
completely covers it, as it is only the size of a silver half dollar,
and you can hold a half dozen of them without their being seen; you
are at perfect liberty with your hands all the time, and if you wish
you can be using the _Bug_ or _Strippers_, or any other advantage
implement with your hands at the same time, without interfering with
the _spy_ in the least, but anything else would be unnecessary, as the
_spy_ is to the ordinary player advantage enough in itself.
STRIPPERS.
The benefit of these cards can be estimated only in one way, and that
is: How much money has your opponent got? For you are certain to get
it, whether it is $10 or $10,000; the heavier the stakes the sooner
you will break him, and he never knows what hurt him.
For Poker they are a sure thing, for what could be better than to hold
the _best hand_, which you certainly can do with these cards; or, for
playing Seven Up, what better thing would you want than to have your
opponent deal you three aces every time he deals, with a chance of the
fourth; or in playing Euchre to force your opponent to give you or
your partner three bowers every time he deals, in spite of himself.
These cards will do it.
In sending for Strippers be sure and state what game you wish to play
with them, so that I can send you cards especially adapted for that
game.
ONE OF THE LATEST—THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE GAME.
This is a new game, and one of the latest out; it is a sure thing for
the dealer. With it you can make any player lose or win the Pool 100
times in succession if you like. It is so finely guaged that it cannot
be detected, and any professional gambler can watch you as much as he
likes. It will be useless, he cannot see anything. You could play all
day with it and never know there was anything wrong with it, or be
able to cheat with it, unless it was shown to you or explained with
the directions that go with it, and yet it is as easy as tossing up a
cent, head or tail, and _anyone_—a child ten years old—can work it as
true and as easy as a professional gambler. No false movements to
create suspicion, everything looks natural and fair and above board,
and anybody will play the game, as it is very interesting and nobody
but the dealer can tell whether it is square or not. Even another
dealer that knows all about it could not tell by looking at you
whether you were dealing square or not, but of course he would know
enough not to play against you, as you have the power all in your own
hands and of course would make him lose. It is a new game, and very
few of the gamblers have got hold of it yet. It is a very fancy
affair, finely polished box, handsome layout and 16 best ivory balls,
all numbered regular, etc. Anyone can make money with it, and one
night’s play will win twice the amount it cost, or in one month’s
steady play anyone could win $1,000 with it. And after you had won all
the money there was to be got you could show and explain it to any fly
man, and if he did not know where to get one, you could sell it to him
for three times the money it cost you, and he would be glad to get it.
It is a good thing for anyone that wants to win. Full and explicit
instructions for working sent with the outfit.
MARKED BACK BARCELONA MONTE CARDS.
The want of this article has long been felt by the sporting men on the
Pacific Coast and South and Western States and Territories. But of the
thousands of gamblers who could win barrels of money with them, none
have been willing to pay the price for them or the first cost of
getting up plates, engraving, printing, etc. Therefore none have been
made for the past fifteen years; and anyone that deals the game or
plays it, or knows anything about the game, will see at once the value
of a pack of cards with which they tap a game for all it is worth, in
a minute, and anyone that will not pay for the privilege of a sure
thing to break a Monte game had better go to work on the railroad, for
he can make more money there than he can gambling. Or any _Great
American Smart Dealer_ that will not pay to protect his game from
being broke, had better go with the other man on the railroad, as he
is not qualified to deal his or anybody else’s money away, for with
these cards the dealer can always tell exactly where three or four
cards lay in the pack all the time, and act accordingly, and such a
percentage with the dealer is worth half a dozen packs of cards each
deal. Some gamblers seem to forget, or never to have known, that there
is only one way to gamble successfully, and that is to _get Tools to
gamble with_.
TO POKER AND SHORT CARD PLAYERS—VEST HOLD OUT.
[NOTE.—This is a verbatim copy of the manufacturer’s circular.]
GENTS: I am now prepared to furnish you with the latest improved Vest
Holdout, which for simplicity finish and Durability is _Par
Excellence_. It will not break or get out of order, anybody can use
it, it works smooth and noiseless and is as perfect as it can be made
after many years of careful study. It does away entirely with the old
fashioned and clumsy Breast Plate, it is now an article of merit and
Value received for the money 10 times over, anybody can use it
successfully with very little practice without fear of Detection for
months in any game where it has not been previously exposed. Like all
modern improvements its simplicity is greatly in its favor, it is
strong and serviceable, no springs to Rust or Break or weaken and get
out of order, in fact it is _the_ Modern Holdout and if the man will
do his work the machine will do its work. N. B. do not confound my
Vest Holdout with the _Sleeve_ machine as I don’t make or sell the
Sleeve machines any more they are a failure and not practical, I have
seen all the different kinds that have been made for years, and I will
give _One Hundred Dollars_ to anyone that will bring me a Sleeve
machine that can be worked effectually without Detection this offer
stands good for one year, _and is open to all Gamblers_. The only
Holdout I now make is the Vest Holdout which I occasionally use myself
as opportunity offers, and I know it is practical and with an ordinary
amount of caution it can be used in 8 out of 10 of all the Gamblers
Games in the country, any old Poker player knows that if he can win 5
or 6 of the Big Pools during the night and play on his judgement or on
the square during the remainder of the night and hold his own he is
bound to get all the money in time. This is the proper way to use the
Vest Holdout and if used on this principle any ordinary Poker player
with a moderate amount of discretion can use it month after month in 9
out of every 10 Poker Games in the country, it is a fine Invention and
any one that plays cards for a living need it more than they do snide
Jewelry or Flashy Clothes with holes in their pockets instead of
Dollars. There is but _one_ way to gamble successfully and that is to
_get Tools to work with and have the best of every Game you get into_.
THE LATEST AND BEST ATTRACTION OUT—NEW STOP WHEEL.
The attention of all outside men, and of all who make it their
business to work the fairs, races, bathing places, picnics, watering
places, excursions, etc., is called to this wheel. It is invaluable,
and is undoubtedly the cheapest and most attractive wheel made in this
country for the money. It is a _sure thing_, and can be completely
controlled by the dealer so as to defy detection, who can make it stop
at any point desired. You can let the players spin it if they wish; it
makes no difference, you can control it all the same. It is very
simple, and anybody can work it to perfection with the instructions
that are sent with each wheel. It is about two feet in size, and the
whole weight does not exceed eight pounds. The whole apparatus can be
carried with ease by one man; picked up in a second and moved to
another place, and set down and started again without a minute’s
delay. I have no hesitation whatever in saying that any man with as
much sense as a monkey, with one of these wheels at any fair or race
track, or any place where a large crowd is assembled, _must_ get a
game, and to get a game is a sure thing to get the money.
----------
GAMBLING AT NEWPORT.
There is only one gambling house in Newport. It maintains a genteel
monopoly of all business in this place. It is an old-fashioned looking
building far back in the shadow of its grounds and garden, looking quite
as respectable in its sombre age as the most respected of Newport
villas. I do not think many of the residents are aware of its existence.
Of course the diplomats and American swells have discovered its
locality, but they are pledged to the secrecy of its interior as
securely as the front door. It is very difficult to get in during
business hours, and the little slide shutter is carefully opened before
the latchet of the front door is raised. No one knows how much money is
lost or won in this select quarter. Its mysteries are equal in their
methods of secrecy almost to the system of Nihilism in Russia. The man
who is the “responsible party” in the concern is a Mr. Abel. If he had
been called Cain he would probably have been a Sunday school
superintendent, such is the irony of fate. I think that if these summer
resorts must actually have a gambling house, it would be advisable to
use the exclusive methods that control this Newport establishment.
Of course, this statement does not include gambling at the great
caravansaries and in private cottages. As to gaming of this
character—which is essentially and necessarily private—it is impossible
to do more than guess at its extent. Rumor has it that stakes running up
into the tens of thousands are nightly lost and won, and that more than
one member of the mythical “400” has found it necessary to abridge his
stay at this famous watering place in consequence of losses at poker.
These private games, however, are played among gentlemen, and
“professionals” are strictly excluded. Yet the inherently corrupting
influence inseparable from gambling is always present; nor should it be
forgotten that a pill is none the less efficacious as a medicament
because it is sugar-coated.
GAMBLING IN SAN FRANCISCO.
Gambling has existed to a greater or less extent on the peninsula on
which stands the present great city of San Francisco, ever since the
Spaniards first settled there. In the ’30’s and early ’40’s, whalers and
trading vessels made the bay of San Francisco one of their regular
stopping places, and when in port the captains of these vessels and the
Alcalde of the place—then called Yerba Bueno—had many “hot rubs” at
“monte.” It was not, however, until the great influx of gold seekers in
1848-49, that gambling obtained any marked prominence. But with the
stream of gold that soon began pouring into the young metropolis of the
West, there sprang up, as if by magic, games of chance of every
description, which were kept running night and day.
These gaming houses were conducted on the main floors of the most
pretentious houses in the infant city, and were really palaces in their
way. A description of one will serve for a description of all, so we
will glance into the “El Dorado,” located at the southeast corner of
Washington and Kearney Streets, on the spot where afterwards stood the
old “Jenny Lind Theatre,” which was eventually sold to the city and used
as a City Hall, and now serves as the City Receiving Hospital. In its
early days, it was a large square room, the walls of which were covered
with costly paintings; at the farther end was a raised platform, on
which was an excellent orchestrion; in one corner stood the bar, behind
the cut glass bottles on which were arranged costly plate-glass mirrors.
A side board, loaded down with choice viands, occupied a prominent
place, while scattered through the room were tables, on which were kept
running every known game of chance. Faro was the principal game,
although the “monte,” “roulette” and “chuck-a-luck” tables were always
well patronized.
Speculation in those days ran riot, and everybody gambled. The miners,
after making a successful “clean up,” would go “down to the bay” to have
a little recreation, or, perhaps, to send their earnings to dear ones in
the far off States. But a visit to one of the gaming houses, which was
generally the first place called upon, together with a free indulgence
in liquor, usually resulted in the miner’s seeking some friend who might
“stake” him with enough money to enable him to get back to the mines,
and the wives and children in the East were compelled to wait until more
dust could be gathered. Merchants, after they had closed their stores,
would risk their day’s profits, which often amounted to thousands of
dollars, on the turn of a single card, and if they lost, would go to
their homes, hoping for better luck the next day. Mechanics, artisans,
laborers, tradesmen, all risked their wages in the games, and won or
lost with equal indifference.
The quantity of coin in circulation was very limited, while greenbacks
were unheard of at that time. Gold dust and nuggets formed the principal
medium of circulation, and nobody was over particular about giving or
receiving the exact weight. An ounce, (Troy weight), was worth $20, and
all payments were based on that scale. Shop keepers took their pay in
dust, and laborers received their weekly wages in ounces. Each table in
the gambling houses had its tiny scales for weighing gold, and the
players, no matter what their condition was, were sure of receiving
their just dues.
All the big games were “square,” and woe betide the sharper who
attempted his tricks on anybody and was caught at it. If not killed, he
was run out of town, nor did he dare soon to return. Occasionally a
“sure thing” gambler would start a house, but as soon as suspicion was
aroused that he was not running a “square” game, his tables were
deserted and he was soon starved out.
Besides the “El Dorado,” the “Bella Union,” on the north west corner of
Washington and Kearney, the Union, on Merchant and Kearney streets, the
“Parker House,” “Meade House” and “Bill” Brigg’s place, on Montgomery
street, near Pine, were some of the largest gambling houses that were
running in 1849-50. In the latter year these were nearly all destroyed
by fire, but were immediately rebuilt, and the number increased by the
erection of several other places. During the early 50’s the “Mazourka,”
“Arcade,” “Varsouvienne,” “Fontine” and “Meade” Houses were in full
operation and doing a thriving business.
FARO.
Among the ranks of the old-time San Francisco faro dealers, death has
wrought sad havoc and but few are left of the men whose tables were
nightly piled with tens of thousands of dollars worth of yellow dust.
Of the living gamblers, perhaps the best known man is “Ed.” Moses, who
may be seen around the Occidental and Palace Hotels every day. His
short, thin figure is bent with age, while the eyes that have so often
in the past watched the sliding of the cards from the little tin box,
are dimmed and sunken. The hands that years ago handled those same cards
with marvelous grace and dexterity are swollen to enormous size with
rheumatism. Mr. Moses enjoys the distinction of playing the heaviest
game of faro on record. It was one day, years ago, that he dropped into
one of the gambling resorts—not his own—no limit was placed on the
betting in those days, but the dealer soon became frightened at the size
of Moses’ bets. His signature was good for any amount under $1,000,000
for if he did not have money himself, he could easily raise it. The play
grew stronger and stronger; everybody else dropped out of the game and
left Moses a clean field. At first, luck was with him and he won
heavily, but the fickle goddess soon deserted him. With his losses, his
bets increased until at last he drew an I. O. U. for $60,000 and played
it straight on a single card. It lost, and “Ed.” Moses sauntered up to
the bar and asked all hands to drink, $200,000 poorer than when he
entered the room an hour before. Moses has long since ceased gambling
and is now living quietly on a snug little income. His fortune is not
great, but large enough to grant him every luxury he desires.
Another old timer and a boon companion of Moses, is Colonel “Jack”
Gamble. Col. Jack’s principal occupation is drinking the mellowest
“bourbon” to be had and longing for the days of the Argonauts. “Bill”
Briggs, who was well known throughout the country for his charitable
deeds, died a few months ago. He was the last of the old timers to
abandon faro in San Francisco. “Tom” Maguire, of theatrical fame, also
kept a gambling palace in ’49-’50. Thomas J. A. Chambers kept the old
“El Dorado.” “Put” Robinson, another dealer, is lying on his death bed
at the present writing. “Bill” Barnes, Mellus, White and J. B. Massey
are names well known to old Californians. These men looked upon gambling
as being as honorable as store-keeping. They were all men of honor and
in the turbulent times of the old vigilantes were arraigned on the side
of law and order.
Other men who followed gambling for an occupation were Judge McGowan, S.
M. Whipple, of Sacramento river steamboat fame, and Tim McCarthy,
afterwards State Senator from San Francisco. They were all welcome
visitors among the best families in town and were a power in the
political affairs of the then territory and even after California had
been admitted into the Union.
Their generosity was limitless, as a single illustration will show.
Briggs used to leave his rooms about four o’clock in the morning, but
first, he would gather up all the small change that had been taken in,
i. e., quarters and a few dimes, for half dollar pieces were about the
smallest coins in general circulation. He would fill his pockets with
them and go down to the vegetable market, where the gamins assembled
every morning to gather up the refuse to feed their goats and cows.
Briggs would stand on the sidewalk, pitch a handful of coins into the
street and laugh until his sides ached to see the little fellows
scramble for them. He would repeat the operation until the last coin had
been gathered in. In this way he would throw away from twenty-five to
fifty dollars each morning; but he knew it went to families who had
recently arrived and who found the money a most welcome aid to their
support. Similar stories—and true ones, too—might be told of many of the
men above named. Men used to take their children into the gambling
houses of an evening to see the sights and listen to the excellent
music; and not infrequently highly cultivated and respected ladies
visited these places, as they do the salons at Baden-Baden.
After a time it became the rage to have female game-keepers, and many of
the houses had at least one beautiful siren to aid in bringing men to
their ruin.
The first woman to engage in this sort of employment in San Francisco,
was Mme. Simon Jules, who made her appearance one night at a roulette
table in the “Bella Union.” She was a pleasant-faced woman, of medium
height, with large black eyes and hair as dark as the plumage of a
raven. The place, as usual, was crowded, and Mme. Jules’ table proved
the center of attraction and did an enormous business. She spoke English
imperfectly and accompanied each remark with the expressive shrug of the
shoulders peculiar to her nature. The _Alta_, the only newspaper of the
day, criticised her severely, but this only advertised her, and it was
not long before other houses followed the lead of the “Bella Union.”
In the winter of 1854-’55 the legislature passed the first anti-gambling
law, making gambling a State prison offense. Up to that time all games
had been regularly licensed. The legislation had the effect of closing
some of the smaller houses, and making the remainder a little less
public; but the law was never enforced and there was only one conviction
in the state under it; that of a “brace” faro dealer in Tuolumne, who
was sent to prison more to get rid of him than to inaugurate a crusade
against gambling.
In 1859-’60, Col. Jack Gamble went to Sacramento and mainly through his
personal efforts and influence, secured the repeal of the law. Faro,
monte and roulette were then revived, but not to so great an extent as
in the olden days. In the meantime poker had made its appearance and
grew so rapidly in public favor that at the time of the repeal of the
law in question, it had become a formidable rival of faro and other
banking games. Monte and roulette began to wane, and the year of 1873
saw their demise in San Francisco.
In the winter of 1873-’74, the legislature passed another anti-gambling
law which was supplemented by sundry municipal ordinances. A lively
crusade against the faro games was at once commenced, but as the only
penalties imposed consisted of light fines, the games usually reopened
immediately.
The persistent raiding by the police, eventually compelled many of the
games to close, among others, that of Col. Gamble, who started a
roadside sporting house on the San Jose road, fourteen miles down the
peninsula. For a time the place prospered greatly. During several years,
it being a favorite resort for stock-brokers, bankers and merchants, who
had not entirely overcome their old time sporting proclivities. “Bill”
Briggs was the last of the old timers to surrender to the law. He
continued to run a faro game behind strong barricades, until at last he
too retired in disgust and public gaming in San Francisco was dead.
Since then numerous games—chiefly “brace”—have sprung up, but the
capital behind them has been very limited and a few raids by the police
have forced them to close. At present there are two faro games in
operation in the city; White’s (not kept by the person of that name
previously mentioned), and Lawrence’s. The former has the name of being
a “square” game, but the “limit” is twenty dollars and the house is
frequented only by sporting men, its patrons being bartenders, habitues
of pool-rooms, “macquereaux” and men of that class. The other game,
either justly or unjustly, is often spoken of as a “brace” game where
“steerers” are employed to “rope in” greenhorns. It occupies several
rooms in different buildings, moving from one to the other as expediency
dictates, and the police have a hard time in locating it as the game
will be run in one place one night, and another the next.
In the early days of San Francisco poker was unheard of. In the mad rush
of those times men could not sit still long enough to play poker or any
other similar game; they must needs stake their all on the turn of a
single card, or on one whirl of the wheel. With the decline of the
banking games, however, poker leaped into favor, and many were the
elegant quarters fitted up in the upper stories of buildings in the
central part of the town, where gentlemen were wont to gather in the
evening to indulge in what rapidly became a favorite pastime.
The most noted of these places was situated at 14 Kearney street, which
was opened in 1873 by Charles N. Felton who represented the Fifth
Congressional District in the last two Congresses, and who is aspiring
to gubernatorial honors at the hands of the republicans at the next
election, with a good chance of having his ambition gratified. It was
here that the late ex-United States Senator William Sharon, the builder
of the Palace hotel, and who more recently figured the Sharon-Hill
divorce suit, held forth nightly, and participated in some of the
biggest poker games played. William Lent, the millionaire, who of late
years has resided with his family in New York, but who is now in San
Francisco with the intention of again taking up his residence by the
Golden Gate; the late Johnny Skae, the many times millionaire mining
operator, and John Head, with an occasional outsider, formed the party
which sat in the stiffest game. Sharon had the reputation of playing the
hardest game of poker on the coast, although Felton and others were
generally able to hold their own against him. A $3,000 “pot” was not an
unusual feature in those games, while $5,000 has been frequently lost
and won on a single hand.
Of course, there were other “stiff” games, where high play was the rule,
but Felton’s was conceded to be far in the lead. Everybody played poker,
though the gambling was not so open as had been faro, monte and roulette
in early days. If men did not visit the poker rooms, they played at
their clubs or at private parties at their homes. The late William
Ralston was fond of cutting into a game. Jim Keene, who has since lost
his millions in Wall street, could hold a bob-tailed flush as long and
with as much of owlish gravity as anybody; the late Heward Coitt, James
Phelan, Senator Hearst and almost every other man of wealth and
prominence has played the game to a greater or less extent. Politicians,
lawyers, merchants, bankers, salesmen, clerks, all played, but in
different resorts. The poker rooms, like faro and roulette had their
day, but not long after the police turned their attention to them, the
larger places, such as Felton’s, Harris’ and others closed up.
Notwithstanding that the game is played for high stakes at the Pacific,
Union, Cosmos and Bohemian Clubs, there is only one poker room of any
prominence in the city, which is conducted by Mose Gunst. The game is
nothing like the one formerly kept by Felton, for instead of the
proprietor being satisfied with his winnings and the sale of liquors,
the game deducts fifty cents out of every one dollar fifty pot. The
owner keeps a number of “pluggers” about the place to join in the games
and keep them going. They are paid a salary and turn their winnings over
to the house. While the direct charge of cheating cannot be made against
the establishment, the cards are played very close and the visitor finds
it an exceedingly hard game to beat, and gentlemen do not honor the
place with their presence unless in a mellow state, and then rather
because they are “making the rounds” than for the purpose of playing. A
wealthy well known railroad president not long ago “dropped” several
thousand dollars there one night recently, and since then has given the
place a wide berth. All the cigar stands along Market Street have back
rooms for poker parties, but each place has its regular patrons and
strangers rarely visit them. The games are small, a twenty-five dollar
pot being considered a bonanza.
From the earliest days shaking dice has been a popular mode of gambling.
Nearly all the large saloons had, and still have, small rooms
partitioned off where parties of four or five would gather around a
small table and roll the ivory tubes for large stakes. There was no
regular dice game established until E. J. (Lucky) Baldwin, of turf fame,
assumed the personal management of his large hotel on Market Street,
when he set aside one of the rooms for dice and another for poker. The
place was very popular with the wealthy young men about town for awhile,
but after being raided by the police a few times, the games broke up,
although private parties risk their money on the turn of the dice almost
nightly. There was another game in operation in connection with the
Occidental Hotel bar for a time, which was very popular with theatrical
people. W. J. Scanlan, the Irish actor, ran up against the game one
night and by means of a smooth box was cleaned out of $2,000. The affair
leaked out, but it did not deter Henry (Adonis) Dixey from trying to
beat the game, with the result that he left money and paper to the
amount of about $1,800 with the sharpers. This had the effect of
breaking up the game, which was conducted by Charlie Hall, manager of
the Bust Street Theatre, Harry Bradley, Jim Nellus and a bar-keeper
named Welch, and since then the most that has been done in the way of
dice playing at the Occidental, has been in shaking for the drinks and
cigars. This last is universal in San Francisco. A man will step up to a
cigar stand and “shake” the proprietor for a cigar, and then go into a
saloon and repeat the performance with the barkeeper. If he wins he gets
his drinks for nothing; if he loses he pays the price of two. Parties of
gentlemen will shake dice for the drinks, the one getting the lowest
throw paying for the party. The Italian fruit peddlers who go around
among the stores and offices are always supplied with a dice box and the
clerks, and even the solid business men, call the cubes into requisition
to settle the price of a bunch of grapes or a dozen of bananas. If the
business is dull the throwing may continue for some time, nickels
instead of fruit being substituted for the stakes. The Italians are
natural gamblers and will stake their last cent on any supposable
contingency. Bootblacks shake dice with their patrons to determine
whether the latter shall pay for two “shines,” or have his boots
varnished free of charge.
In 1882, stud poker became the rage and flourished until it was
prohibited by the legislature, two years later. The act, as passed,
fixed heavy penalties, in the form of fine and imprisonment, to the
playing of this and several other “short” games, which were specifically
enumerated. Every underground saloon, and many of the better class of
drinking places, such as the Baldwin Hotel, had a stud poker game in
operation. The dealer is in the employ of the house and does not take
any cards himself or make any bets, but deducts a percentage or “rake-
off” from each “pot,” so the house is certain of winning every time. It
is only one form of petit larceny. The dealers of these games were
generally men of the lowest moral principles, and there were always from
one to three “pluggers” in the game, so that by a little manipulation of
the cards outsiders were easily despoiled of their money without being
compelled to resort to robbery in the form of percentages. The large
games were conducted on a more honest principle. Still occasional
players found it next to impossible to win. The “brace” games had for
their patrons (or victims) principally boys and young mechanics, with
occasionally a countryman. It was a blessed thing for the morality of
San Francisco when stud poker was abolished. There has not been a game
in the city for more than thirty-six months.
For a number of years the sale of lottery tickets has been steadily
increasing in California, until at the present time it is estimated that
fully $300,000 is squandered in this way every month, fully two-thirds
of which is expended by San Francisco alone. When the tickets were first
sold in that city, the purchasers were chiefly, if not entirely, women
of the _demi-monde_ and their male companions. Then the sporting element
got into the habit of buying tickets, and their example was soon
followed by clerks; book-keepers and others belonging to the middle
classes. Finally their employers began to invest, although at first
keeping the fact a profound secret. They gradually became bolder and
ultimately their wives, sisters and daughters concluded to try their
luck, until now all grades of society, and both sexes are regular
contributors to the income of the concern managed by Generals Beauregard
and Early, buying their tickets openly and making not the slightest
attempt at concealment. With the growth of the habit, the number of
agents has increased until now fully one hundred people, male and
female, earn a comfortable subsistence by selling lottery tickets. It is
not an uncommon thing for a lady to be solicited to buy a ticket on the
street by well dressed women. There is a law prohibiting dealing in
lottery tickets, and prescribing a penalty for their purchase as well as
for their sale; but as the police are all regular purchasers, they are
very lax in following out the provisions of the law. There is a local
lottery known by the euphonious title of the “Original Louisiana
Lottery,” which has done a profitable business. Whole tickets are sold
at fifty cents, but the principal transactions are in “halves.” This
concern has no drawings of its own, but pays its patrons on the basis of
those of the company. The “Mexican National Lottery” also sells many
tickets in San Francisco, but the “Louisiana” surpasses all others in
popular favor, and the Golden City ranks among the largest patrons of
the serpent-like corporation, which has for so many years held the
Pelican State in an anaconda-like grasp.
As has been said, a due meed of praise should be accorded the police for
the efficiency of their action in suppressing public gaming. That a
Chief of Police who has been, in times past, himself a member of the
fraternity should introduce and enforce such stringent measures for the
repression of a vice in which he had formerly been interested, and
should follow up his former associates with such persistent intention to
compel them to respect the law, is a matter for no little surprise. At
the same time, a due regard for truth compels the statement that there
is one form of gambling, fully as harmful as any other, which has
supplanted faro and poker and which flourishes with but little fear of
molestation. There are at present in full operation in San Francisco
five large pool-rooms, and any number of smaller ones. The five leading
establishments are those of Whitehead & Co., Killip & Co., Kingsley &
Co., Swartz & Co., and Connors & Morris. These pool-rooms are protected
and licensed by an act of the last legislature, and it is a mild
statement to say that a faro game in every block in the city would not
have a more debasing effect on the morals of San Francisco than have
these pool-rooms. When it is remembered that each of the principal rooms
pays into the Western Union Telegraph Company, $10,000 per month for
tolls, some idea of the extent of the business done by them may be
formed. A conservative estimate of the amount expended in the pool-rooms
reaches the startling figures of $250,000 a month. An old-time faro
dealer is authority for the statement, that “these new styled bunko
games” (meaning the pool-rooms) “have not left money enough in town to
buy a drink with.” The pool-rooms all have private wires connected with
the leading race tracks in the East, and their habitues know the result
of a race at West Side, Latonia, Jerome Park, Coney Island or any other
tracks as soon as the people who sit in the grandstands and witness the
running. Betting on horse-racing has always been a favorite amusement in
San Francisco, but it is only within the last five years that Eastern
races have been played, and now the legitimate turfmen will not
patronize the pool-rooms. Who, then, are the patrons? Bankers, brokers,
lawyers, clerks, salesmen, printers, young men about town and the
outcasts of society, besides a number of merchants who cannot control
their passion for gaming. On six days in the week, at the noon hour,
when the most of these individuals are supposed to be at luncheon, the
pool-rooms are crowded to overflowing, and a steady stream of gold and
silver pours into the coffers of these moral pest-houses. The mode of
betting is the same as in the East, “straight pools” and “book-making.”
A victim of the opium habit is not more deeply the slave of his chosen
vice than is the infatuated frequenter of the pool-rooms. Many a bank
has been brought to insolvency; many a broker has found his cash box
empty; and many a merchant has discovered his trusted clerk or book-
keeper a thief, made so by these places. Every cent that can be gotten
hold of is poured into the pool-rooms in bets on horses that the bettors
have never seen. Let a stranger enter one of these resorts and he is
instantly set upon by the boys of 16 to 20 years of age, who offer to
give him “sure tips” on the winners for a small percentage of the
winnings. A large proportion of these “touts” have never seen a race in
their lives and could not distinguish a colt from a filly; all their
“knowledge” of the turf has been learned in the pool-rooms. These places
are situated in the heart of the city where they are most easy of access
to those who patronize them. At present there is no means of closing
them and there is no telling how much longer the evil will continue,
inasmuch as an influential local politician is heavily interested in one
of the principal rooms, and as he controls his party in the state and
that party has a safe working majority in the legislature, which does
not meet again until January, 1891, there is no immediate prospect of
relief. With such a state of affairs, it can readily be seen that there
is not a great deal of money left for other games, such as poker and
faro.
A San Franciscan will bet on anything, from a dog fight in the street,
to a presidential election. Boys that are hardly out of dresses bet
cigarette picture cards on their fighting or foot-racing abilities,
while their elders are equally willing to risk their money on more
important sporting events. For the past eighteen months, the various
athletic clubs have been giving monthly exhibitions; that is, glove
fights to a finish, between professional pugilists, for large purses.
The result is, that the city is overrun with prize-fighters of all
degrees of ability. The law on the subject of prize fighting has been so
construed that fights to a finish, in an athletic club room where no
liquor is sold and not less than five ounce gloves are used, cannot be
interfered with. Of these clubs, the California is the most aristocratic
and wealthy. Here, on exhibition nights, may be seen, seated around the
ring, judges, lawyers, bankers, merchants, railroad magnates, doctors
and college professors. None are above attending any meeting which they
think will be a good one. At the recent meeting between Dempsey and La
Blanche it is estimated that not less than the sum of $40,000,000 was
represented by those at the ring side. The betting on that fight reached
into the scores of thousands, and so it is with every branch of sports
and games. If two men play a game of billiards and are evenly matched,
they generally play for a stake besides the price of the game.
With the development of the world-famous Comstock silver lode in 1860,
there sprang up in California an entirely new mode of gambling; that of
speculating in mining stocks. These mines are located in Story County,
Nevada, and Virginia City arose in their midst almost in a night, like a
mushroom; speedily developing into a rushing speculative town of 100,000
inhabitants, and almost as rapidly sinking back into that most hopeless
of all conditions of decay, a “worked-out” mining camp, its present
population numbering less than four thousand souls. The chief operations
were carried on in the Golden City where two mining boards were
arranged—the San Francisco and the Pacific—with branches in Virginia
City. Every reported “strike” of ore was telegraphed to San Francisco,
and the stock of that mine soared out of sight, only to drop back again
at the next report and leave penniless hundreds of people, who, a few
hours before, were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. The veriest
“wild cat” mine in the state had its stock listed, although not an
hour’s work had ever been done toward developing it. This stock was sold
as readily as that of the well known mines, but not at such high
figures. Men became fabulously rich one day, and were sunk equally as
deep in poverty the next. San Francisco can never forget the fever of
excitement when the public pulse beat at fever heat, and every nerve was
strained to its utmost. Laborers forgot to buy food for their families
in their mad desire to possess a few shares of stock; servant girls
neglected their duties in dreaming of sudden riches. Men rushed, shouted
and acted like lunatics all day long, while high bred ladies sat in
their carriages in front of their brokers’ offices hour after hour, in a
frenzy of excitement, deluging the overtaxed clerks with orders for
stock. What old Californian will pretend he was not half insane when
“Ophir” (par value $100), touched $2,000 a share? Where could the poor
man be found in 1874, when “Consolidated Virginia” and “California”
jumped to $1,400? They were plentiful enough, however, after the break.
The craze continued until 1878, when “Sierra Nevada” reached $800, and
with the decline of that stock came a return of sober sense. Since then,
the times have been gradually failing in their resources, and the
speculative fever has subsided, until, at present, mining stocks cut no
figure whatever in the finances of the state. Some of the old timers who
can get money enough to buy a few shares, still hang around the boards,
half of whose seats, which fifteen years ago could not be bought for
$10,000 cash, are now deserted and are not worth anything. There is no
outside capital to speak of going into mining stocks and in a few years
they will exist only in memory.
The results of this madness were fearful. Hundreds of men and women were
driven to suicide by their losses, while the insane asylums were filled
to overflowing with victims of the stock-gambling mania. Such excitement
has never been seen in any other place in the world and it is to be
hoped that it will never again be witnessed. There is scarcely an old
Californian who has not made money out of the stocks, but only a handful
were enriched. Flood, O’Brien, Mackay and Fair owned the mines and
controled the stock which was manipulated to suit their desires, and the
result is that they, together with the late Senator Sharon, William
Ralston, J. R. Keene and two or three others got all the money. At
present, if a stock touches $10 a share, there is a decided flurry among
the “chippers” and “mud hens” as the men and women are respectively
termed who persist in hanging around the board rooms and losing what
little money they have. The average quotations for mining stocks are
from twenty-five cents from outside mines, from $3 to $4 for the big
Comstock mines.
Outside of the two mining boards, there is little stock speculation in
San Francisco. There are the Board Exchange and the Produce Exchange,
transactions on the floors of both of which are governed by New York and
London quotations. The ratio of legitimate to purely speculative trading
on the San Francisco Exchange is as one to forty.
Policy playing is practiced but little in San Francisco. An attempt was
made by an element of the negro population to introduce it, but it
failed to acquire popularity, even with that race, while for the whites
it has utterly failed to exercise any fascination whatever—a fact which
affords a striking commentary upon the difference which the influence of
climate and of race have exerted upon the two cities of San Francisco
and New Orleans, both fanned by the breezes originating in the tropics;
the fevered heat of one is assuaged by the Gulf Stream, while the feet
of the other are laved by the Japan current.
The progress of Chinese gambling in San Francisco has made such rapid
strides that it is an impossibility to determine its extent at the
present time. The Chinese are born gamblers and no measures, however
severe, can deter them from playing at any of their favorite games of
chance. The authorities have resorted to all sorts of expedients to
break up the vice, yet new gambling dens are constantly springing up in
the Chinese quarters of the city. This in a measure is owing to the
mildness of the penalties affixed by the law, although it has been
charged and proven, time and again, that the patrolmen in the Chinese
quarters receive a regular stipend from the owners of gambling dens, to
close their eyes to the games. They are also regular patrons of the
Chinese lottery. The Chinese do not fear punishment, inasmuch as the
extreme penalty for lottery, fan-tan, dominoes, or dice playing, is six
months’ imprisonment, while the penalty actually meted out by the police
judges rarely exceed a fine of $20 with the alternative of twenty days’
confinement. One-half of the Chinese population of this city, it is safe
to say, would be willing to pass six months in jail merely to save their
living expenses. Time is no object to them. Then again, it is extremely
difficult to convict one of the race of any crime. They have not the
slightest respect for an oath, while their appearance is so similar that
they will exchange places with each other and the arresting officer
cannot identify them.
The variety of games played by the Chinese is small, but they succeed in
winning and losing large sums of money. Lottery, fan-tan, dominoes and
dice are the only games played. Since the Mongolian has gained such a
foot-hold in California, the vices of the Asiatic race have spread to an
alarming extent among the white people, especially in San Francisco.
White opium smokers, male and female, are almost as numerous as are the
Chinese, and the majority of their gambling dens are supported by
Caucasians. On the lottery game alone, it is estimated by competent
judges that fully $8,000 is played in every twenty-four hours by the
whites alone.
The Chinese lottery game is perfectly “square,” and is highly
interesting. There are in this city ten different companies, each
conducting a separate game, but all on the same principle. To understand
the game thoroughly, one must start at the beginning and follow its
workings to the end. Let us enter one of the hundreds of agencies that
are scattered throughout the city with but little attempt at
concealment, and purchase a ticket. These agencies are generally located
in the rear of a Chinese curio shop, tea store or clothing
establishment, but many laundries act as agents as well as the low
saloons kept by whites along the Barbary Coast, the worst quarter of the
city. The visitor upon calling for a ticket and naming the company in
which he wishes to play, such as the Wing Lay Chow, Tut Yut, etc., is
presented with a piece of manilla paper about four inches square. On
this is a double line drawn through the center. Eighty Chinese
characters are printed on this sheet, forty above and forty below the
line. The player can invest any amount of money from ten cents to twenty
dollars in this ticket, the winning being regulated according to the
amount invested and the number of spots “caught.” We will invest the
first named amount in a ticket and play it “straight;” that is, mark off
ten spots. The agent then goes over the spots marked with a small brush
and carmine ink. He also marks on the margin the value of the ticket,
and gives the player a duplicate, retaining the original. The drawings
are held at the company’s headquarters, twice a day, the first at three
o’clock in the afternoon, and the second at ten o’clock at night. On one
of the walls of the room in which the drawing takes place is a large
black-board, to which are attached eighty pieces of paper, about two
inches square, each one bearing a character corresponding to the one of
those on the tickets. Each company has a different set of characters
that mean almost anything. It may be a Chinese poem, or simply a
collection of odd expressions. They have no significance further than
that they correspond with the Arabic numerals used by the whites. On a
table in front of the black-board are placed four large earthen bowls,
numbered 1, 2, 3 and 4. At the hour for the drawing to take place, in
the presence of a crowd of spectators the pieces of paper on the board
are taken down, one at a time, crumpled in the hand and thrown into a
bowl; that is, the first piece goes into number 1, the second into
number 2, and so on, passing in rotation from 1 to 4, until all the
papers have been distributed, twenty in each bowl. A large earthen
vessel with a small opening at the top is then brought out, and in it
are placed four pieces of paper marked 1, 2, 3,4, in Chinese characters.
A Chinaman is then blindfolded and placing his hand in the dish draws
out one of the numbers. For instance, he draws number one. Immediately
bowls 2, 3 and 4 are removed and the lottery manipulator turns his
attention to the remaining bowl. He places a lottery ticket before him
and proceeds to draw out, one by one, the twenty slips of paper, marking
off the corresponding number on the ticket with a brush. When this has
been completed, he exhibits the ticket of the official drawing.
Thousands of copies are immediately struck off and distributed among the
agents, who cash their customers’ winnings. Now, to ascertain how a
winning is made. Let us suppose that five of the spots which have been
painted red on our ticket have been marked out in the drawing; that pays
us twenty cents or doubles our investment. Six spots pay $3.25, while,
if we are fortunate enough to have all ten of our spots come in the
drawing, we win $297. It is a peculiar fact that, although there are
thousands of whites who are perfectly familiar with the schedule of
rates, nobody has been able to figure out any basis for the calculation
of the Chinese. A white man may know what amount a ten-cent eight-spot
pays, or a fifty-cent ten-spot, or in fact any of the many combinations,
but nobody can explain the computation by which these amounts have been
computed. This is the Chinese game of lottery, and thousands of dollars
are invested in it every day by almost every grade of society, for the
dainty lady lying in her hammock will send her Chinese servant out for
tickets, which she amuses herself in marking; the staid business man
invests slyly, the mechanic and laborer spends ten or fifteen cents a
day tempting the Mongolian goddess of fortune, while the outcasts, male
and female, play in, the greater portion of their ill-gotten gains in
this fascinating game of chance.
The favorite game among the Chinese is fan-tan, or simple odd or even.
Like lottery, it is played in this manner: A large square piece of
matting is spread upon a table. In the center of the matting is painted
a smaller square, each side being about ten inches long. The banker or
dealer places two or three handfuls of small ivory buttons in the center
of this square. A bell-shaped brass cup is then placed over this pile of
buttons, some being left on the outside of the cup. The players simply
wager any amount which they may choose on the odd or even number. In
case the bettor loses, the amount of his stake is taken by the banker or
“house;” should he win, he receives the sum bet minus a small
percentage. In theory this game is perfectly fair, but as in almost
every gambling game, sharpers have introduced a fake element, whereby
the result may be manipulated. In counting the buttons, a small wooden
or ivory stick is used. Inventive genius has come to the aid of the
proprietor, and a stick is sometimes used which is capable of holding
two or three buttons hidden from sight. If the banker wishes to add a
button to the pile, he presses a spring and drops one.
In the Chinese game of dominoes, every essential respect is identical
with that played among the whites. It is, however, played among the
Mongolians for money to a far larger extent than among the Caucasians.
In the Chinese quarter of San Francisco, it is no uncommon sight to see,
running through the center of a filthy, dimly lighted, ill-smelling room
a long table, on both sides of which are ranged a motley crowd of noisy
Celestials, handling dominoes with lightning-like rapidity. In fact, the
celerity of the play constitutes one of the chief points of difference
between Chinese and American games. From time to time the losers pass
across the table a portion of their hard-earned money. The stakes,
however, in this, as in all other Chinese games, are unusually small;
the result being that a Mongolian gamester finds it possible, with very
little capital, to prolong his excitement throughout an entire night.
The Chinese evince no disposition to learn any of the gambling games in
vogue among the whites; they have no idea whatever of poker, faro,
roulette, chuck-a-luck, or any of the other amusements which play such
sad havoc with the fortunes, the morals and the reputations of their
brethren of fairer skin.
HOW THE GAMBLERS TRIUMPHED OVER THE AUTHORITIES AT THE CALIFORNIA STATE
FAIR.
Last year there was a controversy of no mean proportions between the
“skin” gamblers and the better elements of society as to whether or not
gambling should be permitted at the California State Fair, which was
held at Sacramento during September 1889. Should gambling be permitted
or not during the fair was for some time the question of the hour in
Sacramento. As is usual with every proposition, conflicting interests
were involved and two sides of the issue were presented. The pro-
gamblers alleged that unless gambling was permitted the fair would prove
a fizzle; that no money would be put in circulation; and that the good
“red hot” times, when everybody made small fortunes out of the fair,
would become only a memory of the past. On the other hand, the anti-
gamblers asserted that the disgraceful scenes of the previous fair, when
free gambling was allowed, should never again be tolerated in
Sacramento. They desired that no more country visitors should be fleeced
for the benefit of a horde of swindling “sure thing” gamblers and the
gang of cut-throats, desperadoes and scum of humanity who follow in
their wake and gnaw the bones of the corpses skinned by the so-called
sports.
In 1888, the Chief of Police, Lees, was hauled over the coals by the
grand jury, who indicted him for not putting a stop to gambling. When
the time for holding the fair arrived Chief Lees, in whose mind the
memory of his experience twelve months before was very fresh, announced
that he did not propose to have a repetition of it. Moreover, the grand
jury was in session at the time, and there was also a powerful body
known as the Law and Order League, composed of the leading citizens, who
openly proclaimed that the gamblers should not be allowed to open on any
terms, and who declared that they would take all the necessary steps to
enforce their ultimatum. At first it looked rather gloomy for the
sports, who for some time tried without success to obtain a concession
in their favor.
The firm of S. B. Whitehead & Co., took the initiative and bore the
brunt of the preliminary skirmish. They leased a lot from the
Government, seventy-six feet square, situated on the corner of 7th and K
streets. It had been set apart by the United States as a post-office
site, and was excavated by the lessees to the depth of some fifteen feet
and covered with a canvas roof. A carpet was laid, a bar put in at one
end, a pool-stand at the other, gas jets put in and a large staircase
built leading from the side walk to the sawdust. In this “hole in the
ground,” as the place came to be known, Whitehead & Co., announced their
intention of selling pools on the races every night and morning. They
claimed that their lease entitled them to use the lot as they pleased,
owing to the fact that it was Government land, and was exempt from State
jurisdiction. They added that while they themselves intended to conduct
only a pool-selling business in the place, they had sublet the bar
privileges and were not responsible for the acts of their subletees. Two
sports, in order to make a test case, opened a chuck-a-luck game one
night in this lot. Their attorneys were present and when the police
arrested them the two men protested against the interference on the
ground of lack of jurisdiction of the city authorities, the land being
Federal property. The arrest was made, however, despite their protests,
but the gamblers were promptly released on bail and the following day
their case came up for hearing before the police justice.
The attorney for the State and county of Sacramento claimed, at the
trial, that under the Political Code of California, the Government,
though holding possession of the ground, had not ceded the right to make
criminal arrests on the ground. The defense argued that the ground being
Government land no such arrests could be made. The case resolved itself
at once into a question of jurisdiction. The testimony was unimportant,
but the arguments occupied the entire day. The result was that the
police judge discharged the gamblers, using in his decision the
following language:
“The defendant is charged with having conducted a banking game on the
block bounded by J and K, Seventh and Eighth streets, in the city of
Sacramento. Proof shows the accusation is true, but the defendant
contends that the territory is the property of the National Government
and the offense committed thereon is triable only by United States
courts. The United States Constitution provides and the Supreme Court
has decided that exclusive jurisdiction to try criminal offenses
committed on United States territory is vested in the Federal courts.
The property in question is the property of the United States and any
crime committed there can only be tried in a Federal court. The remedy
is quite as adequate as that offered by the State courts, since a
Federal statute provides that any violation of the State Penal law
committed on United States property within a State may be punished by
the United States courts. Concluding that the right to examine the
offense in question is exclusively vested in the United States courts,
defendant is discharged for want of jurisdiction.”
Meanwhile pool-selling by Whitehead & Co., was not molested, although,
at first, the concern did a rather light business. The gamblers were
elated by their success and within a few hours after a discharge a wheel
of fortune was in full blast during the pool sales as was also the
unlicensed bar. It was not long before other games started up outside
the tent on the ground covered by the lease. The prices offered to
Whitehead & Co., for such privileges were enormous. The decision of the
court was regarded as a great triumph by the sporting fraternity and a
correspondingly severe blow by the law and order people. The Chief of
Police announced that he intended to arrest all proprietors of games
attempting to do business outside of the leased ground, and did in fact
gather in one or two wheels. At the same time, for some inscrutable
reason, there was one game in the list which appeared to enjoy entire
immunity in Sacramento. It was known by the euphonious designation of
“hokey-pokey.” Consequently, no well-regulated establishment of any kind
was without its “hokey-pokey” and every chance was afforded to players
to lose their money.
The conflict of jurisdiction between the State and Federal authorities
in the matter of the toleration of gambling at the California State
Fair, affords a striking commentary on the American theory of
government. In its salient features it is analogous to the dispute so
often occurring in States which have, by organic law, prohibited the
sale of ardent spirits, where the violator of the law of the particular
commonwealth, to which he owes allegiance, is able to show a United
States license authorizing him to carry on a business for the conducting
of which the State law imposes a penalty. The author makes no claim to a
knowledge of constitutional law. Of plain, every day common sense, in
part derived through heredity, and in part developed by experience, he
believes that he has a fair modicum. This latter quality of his mental
organization leads him to regard such an anomaly in jurisprudence as an
inherent travesty upon natural justice. That a combination of sharpers
should be able to appeal to the United States statutes to protect them
in a high-handed violation of State law, and in openly over-riding rough
shod the will of the people as voiced by local legislative assemblies,
is, on its face, the quintessence of absurdity. There can be no doubt as
to the practical results of such an incongruity, so far as the
Sacramento fair is concerned. A local paper of about even date contained
the following paragraph:
“A victim of the gambling mania came to a sad end last night. * * *
Having ‘lost his pile’ in the ‘hole-in-the-ground,’ and fearing to face
the exposure of his peculation, which he knew would inevitably ensue, he
ended his wretched life by placing a bullet in his heart. And yet the
law is powerless to suppress gaming in this notorious resort.”
GAMBLING IN NEW ORLEANS.
Previous to 1827, there were no large public gambling houses in New
Orleans. The old Creoles played extensively, but it was among themselves
or at their clubs. The flatboat men, who managed the river business, all
gambled; but the establishments in which they wagered their money were
small and “tough” affairs, where pistols were constantly needed. These
men, the first patrons of public gambling, came from the upper rivers,
usually the Ohio and its tributaries, landed at the levee opposite St.
Mary’s market, tied their boats, and at once made for the nearest saloon
to gamble away their cargoes. On Front Street, where the flat boats lay
three deep, was a row of drinking places, the back room in each being
given over to gambling. Faro and roulette were the principal games.
There was no law against gambling then, nor was any license demanded;
and there was no attempt made to conceal the business. In fact, from the
sidewalk the passers-by could hear the roulette caller shouting,
“twenty-eight on the red,” or “eagle bird by chance,” and the rattling
of the chips.
Another favorite location for these flatboat gambling houses was known
as the “swamp,” and was back of the town, where the Gerrod Cemetery is
to-day. Here the flatboat men and many other wild characters who in
those days frequented New Orleans, made their rendezvous. It was beyond
the limits and control of the city police, and the “flint-lock” pistol
of those days reigned supreme there, just as the revolver does to-day in
some of the frontier towns.
The flatboat men were all inveterate gamblers. They would remain in the
city until they had gambled away their last cent, when they “whipsawed”
at home, traveling across the country, usually on foot, along the
government trail through the Choctaw country of Mississippi.
The gambling of that period was rough and dangerous. The dens around St.
Mary’s market and in “the swamp” were a constant menace to the
authorities. Crimes of violence were more frequent in them than in all
the rest of the city; and the flatboat men and gamblers frequently
united to defeat the police. As a general thing, however, the municipal
authorities refrained from attempting to exercise any jurisdiction over
these dangerous sections. The police put forth no effort looking to the
regulation of these gambling hells and left the flatboat men and
gamblers to shoot and kill each other, as they saw fit. The number of
murders resulting from these causes is beyond calculation, for the
victims generally left no one to inquire for them or worry over their
“taking off.” It was the most lawless community in the country, and the
readiest with the knife or pistol. To that element, however, we owe some
of our standard American stories. It was here, also, that the
expression, “acknowledge the corn” and hundreds of others originated,
such as “keel-hauling,” “whip-sawing,” “cordelling,” etc.
In 1827 gambling was introduced to the polite element of the city by
John Davis, _emigre_ from San Domingo, an _impressario_ of the old opera
house and the first _impressario_ of the United States. Davis opened two
gambling houses. One of them was on the side of the city known as the
Bayou St. John, where those who wished to get away from the noise and
bustle of the town and indulge in a “high old time” in a choice, quiet
suburban retreat might be accommodated. The other was located on a
corner in the very heart of creole New Orleans.
The Bayou St. John club house was intended more especially for Saturday
night and Sunday games, Sunday being the favorite day for playing. On
that day a magnificent dinner was set out by Davis, free to those who
patronized his establishment. This resort soon became the best known
spot in the city. Its central location made it convenient for the gentry
of Louisiana. Here were to be found representatives of the bench, the
bar and the commercial world. The house was opened day and night and was
always crowded, the favorite games being faro, roulette and _vingt-et-
un_, and the betting was heavy. At these public games, however, the
elite and notabilities of the day did not, as a rule, participate to any
great extent, special rooms being set apart for them, at which brag,
ecarte, baccarat and bagatelle were played.
Nearly every man in public life in Louisiana gambled and the losses and
winnings were immense. Col. Ghrymes, the leading lawyer at the Louisiana
bar, and enjoying a very large income, squandered every cent at Davis’
and was always in an impecunious condition. A loss of $50,000 to
$100,000 a year, or $25,000 at one sitting, was not considered very
extraordinary, and there were many who dropped that amount of money in
an hour.
Davis was very successful with his club house and made a large fortune,
which he and his son, “Toto” Davis, spent to good purpose in building an
opera house and establishing the opera in New Orleans, where it first
took root in America. On music, to which both of them were devoted, most
of the money won in the gambling business was expended.
The success of Davis with his “club house” produced two results; first,
it greatly increased the number of gambling houses, and secondly, it
induced the legislature to take a hand in the business for its share of
the profits. In 1832, five years after Davis’ venture, there were
fourteen large gambling saloons in New Orleans, all well equipped and
furnished, and all well backed with capital. They were all making money
and the legislature, having determined to get some of the profit,
licensed the business, and authorized the opening and running of
gambling houses on the payment to the state of an annual license of
$7,500.
All the fourteen gambling saloons or, as they preferred to be called,
“club houses,” accepted the conditions. They were owned and operated as
follows: Hicks & Hewlett, corner of St. Louis and Chartres; Duval,
Chartres between Conti and Bienville; St. Cyr; Chentres, between Conti
and St. Louis; Toussaunte, opposite Chentres on Canal, between Camp and
St. Charles; Elkin, Canal near St. Charles, and Padet, corner of Canal
and Camp. These seven were distributed between the first and second
municipalities, about half of the fourteen in the French and the other
half in the American quarter of the city.
These houses were public in the fullest sense of the word. They were
never closed, running night and day, for when one set of dealers became
tired, there was another to take their places. They were resorted to by
all classes, but their best business was from the numerous strangers who
visited New Orleans, and who always made it a point to see the world-
famed gambling houses. They were lively, those “flush times,” and not
unlike San Francisco in the gold fever of 1848-50.
In 1836, the gambling business in New Orleans received a double check.
The financial crisis brought an end to the “flush times” and the rural
or moral element got control of the legislature. Previous to that year
the French element had control and it saw nothing wrong in gambling, but
the country members protested against it, and, at the instigation of a
Mr. Larrimore, who represented the moral as well as the American
element, the license for gambling was withdrawn, as improper and
immoral, the state surrendering some $120,000 of the money it had been
deriving from this source, and prohibiting gambling under a heavy
penalty, a fine of $1,000 to $5,000 for the first, and $5,000 to $10,000
and imprisonment for the second offence.
The act of the legislature did not meet with favor in New Orleans, which
could see no immorality in gambling, and the third municipality one of
those independent cities into which New Orleans was divided by the
legislature, in consequence of the race prejudice between Creoles and
Americans, set the State at defiance, and licensed gambling by a city
ordinance. A conflict between the city and the state followed, in which
the latter came out triumphant theoretically—as the Supreme court
decided that the city of New Orleans could not license gambling when the
State of Louisiana had forbidden it—but the decision accomplished little
practically, for the gambling saloons ran on the same as ever, for the
reason that public sentiment, especially in the French portion of the
town, approved of them. This was particularly true of the third
municipality, or Faubourg Maugrey, which actually owes its origin to
gambling, as the name of the street indicates.
It was originally the plantation of the Maugreys, one of the first
Creole families of Louisiana, and entitled to a marquisate in France,
and was frittered away at the gaming table by its owner. Whenever old
Maugrey wanted more money for gaming he laid off a section of the
plantation, cut a new street through it, and sold lots; in a sort of
ironical mood naming the streets after the game at which he had lost his
money. Thus it is that the streets in that part of the town were named
Bagatelle (a favorite Creole game in that day), Craps (played with dice
and mostly confined to the negroes to-day), etc., by which names they
are called even now, to recall old Maugrey’s gambling, which mainly
bankrupted the richest and most famous family in Louisiana.
The act of the legislature of 1836, although it gave half the fine to
the informer who pointed out a gambling house, was of no effect. The
houses ran on the same as usual, not quite as openly, but bribing the
city officials and the _gendarmes_, who at that time did police duty.
The financial crisis worked far more injury to the gamblers than did the
act of the legislature since money became scarce and their business
decreased so rapidly that a number of the principal houses were
compelled to close.
There was a marked revival of activity in gambling circles in 1846, when
New Orleans became the military center of operations against Mexico, and
when thousands of soldiers were quartered there. The stimulus thus
imparted to gaming was continued, if not increased, throughout the years
’48, ’49, and ’50, when the excitement of the California gold fever
filled the city with emigrants moving toward the Pacific. The transient
population became very large, and was mainly composed of men, who, by
nature and temperament, were bold speculators, ready to stake anything
or everything on the cast of a die. Their advent, moreover, caused a
plethora of money, so that it is no cause for surprise that the gambling
fever broke out in New Orleans in a far more vehement form than it had
assumed in the days of old John Davis. Gambling houses were no longer
confined to any particular section of the city as they had formerly
been, but opened everywhere. Dens abounded in the neighborhood of St.
Mary’s market for the accommodation of the flatboat men and river
characters, while for those of more fastidious tastes, places of a
better grade were opened in the neighborhood of hotels and boarding
houses. But this class of resorts was especially numerous in those
localities where returning soldiers or emigrants were quartered.
Despite the prohibition of the legislature, certain gambling
establishments were licensed by the city to carry on the game of
“rondeau” and “lotto” (since styled “keno”), under the pretence that
such games were not gambling, and “from dusky eve to dewy morn,” on any
frequented thoroughfare, might be heard the sonorous voice of the game-
keeper, as he called time and game.
The gambling houses at this period numbered between 400 and 500, giving
employment to some three thousand gamblers, dealers, etc. They did not
resemble the elegantly furnished houses of John Davis’ day, nor were
they like those which came later; they were rough, and suited to the
tastes of miners, soldiers and emigrants, who mainly patronized them.
With the abatement of the California gold fever, gambling in New Orleans
fell away, until it had returned to its normal condition. The number of
establishments were materially reduced, but they were of a decidedly
better class, being fitted up more for the rich planters than for the
rough element which had for several years constituted their main
support. Elegantly furnished houses, where sumptuous repasts were served
to the patrons, once more began to appear. McGrath, Sherwood and Petitt
were the first to take the lead in this new departure.
The trio believed in “square” gambling, had plenty of capital, and were
all men of mark. McGrath went North during the war, but finally settled
down in his native state, and with the profits of his gambling
transactions in New Orleans established the well-known McGrath stock
farm. He has since devoted himself to the breeding of racing and other
blooded stock, and has become one of the best known turfmen in the
United States, owning “Tom Bowling” and many other famous coursers.
Petitt spent a large portion of his winnings in the raising and
equipment of troops for the Confederate army during the war. He sent, at
his own expense, from New Orleans to the Virginia battle fields one of
the first companies recruited in the South, known as Petitt’s Guards.
Sherwood remained in New Orleans during the war, where he contributed
liberally to the support of the wives and children of Southern soldiers
at the front.
These were the three leading gamblers in New Orleans during the period
just before the war, and were good types of their class.
“Supper rooms” were the names commonly given to these establishments in
those days, for the reason that choice suppers were always supplied,
with wine and cigars in profusion. Sherwood would frequently order all
games to cease, and invite all his guests to a magnificent repast,
during the course of which he would play the part of the courteous host,
entertaining the company with a fund of anecdotes and quaint stories.
These “supper rooms” were a favorite resort, and if one failed to find
in the rotunda of the St. Charles or St. Louis hotels any noted
personage of whom he might be in quest, he felt reasonably certain of
running across him either at McGrath’s club room, or Cassidy’s or
Sherwood’s supper room, playing, talking, or at supper.
In those days, these resorts were something more than mere gambling
rooms. The club house, as known to-day, did not then exist, and the
commercial exchange, as understood in more modern times, was unknown. In
consequence, the gaming houses (which, it must be remembered, were not
at that time looked upon as the disreputable resorts which they are now
considered to be) supplied the place of both. The same remark applies
measurably to drinking saloons. Business men and gentlemen of that
period were wont to make places of this description their rendezvous.
These names, by the way, are still used in New Orleans in speaking of
saloons and gambling rooms, the term “exchange” and “club room” having a
distinct signification in that city, different from the meaning attached
to them in any other portion of the United States.
In order to thoroughly comprehend this condition of affairs, it is
necessary to glance, for a moment, at the then existing state of society
in the Crescent City. Bachelors far outnumbered men of family. The tone
of morals was low, and life was generally fast. The idea that there was
anything wrong in gambling occurred to no one. Hence it was considered
no more surprising to meet one’s friend in a gaming resort than to find
him at his home. In fact, the club rooms, with many men at that period,
supplied the place of home life.
McGrath’s, in particular, became, like Davis’ of old, a club house and
social center for the men of New Orleans. It was the sporting centre
also and there all the pools on the races, and particularly on the
Mataurie course which, for so long a period stood at the head of
American race courses, were sold.
The appointments and fittings of these houses were of such a character
that only the higher classes of society were desired as patrons.
McGrath, who occupied No. 4, Carondelet street, afterwards known as the
Boston club (a social organization founded by private gentlemen for
their own diversion) spent $75,000 to $100,000 in furniture for his
place; while Lauraine and Cassidy, who had a place opposite the St.
Charles Hotel, and who set the finest supper in the city, boasted of a
solid silver service, including dishes and plates, unequalled in the
South. Other famous gambling houses of that day, though not so well
known as some of those already mentioned, were kept by Sam Levy and
“Count” Lorenzo Servri (who received his sobriquet because of his
polished manners and faultless apparel) and Martino, whose place was
located on Canal street, near Carondelet. Besides these were numerous
other “club houses,” where the visitor paid fifty cents an hour, and was
entitled to refreshments free of cost, which included a well cooked
dinner with claret _ad libitum_, besides being permitted to gamble at
poker.
At all the gaming houses play was high, and wherever there was a limit
it was generally removed by the proprietor if the patrons requested it.
A prominent Greek merchant, representing in New Orleans one of the
largest commercial houses in the world, played there night after night,
losing $80,000 in a single evening, his total losses footing up a round
half million, which caused the suspension of the house whose
representative he was.
In addition to these establishments, nearly all of the many steamboats
plying between New Orleans and the various river points, were in
themselves gambling houses. A class of gamblers travelled up and down
the river on these boats. Their saloons were given up almost wholly to
card playing. The principal games were Boston and Poker, the latter
being played without limit. Bets from $10,000 to $25,000 were frequently
made on a single hand, and one of $50,000 is recorded. When cash ran out
lands and slaves were wagered.
The ante-bellum games were nearly all “square” and the gamblers were
usually of better social standing than those of later days. Davis,
McGrath and Petitt, in particular, were looked upon as gentlemen, and
were admitted anywhere, their profession not standing in the way of
their social advancement. Augustus Lauraine was excluded from polite
circles, not because he was a gambler but for the reason that he had
violated one of the principles of the “code,” in other words, he failed
to pay a gambler’s debt.
The immediate result of the war was to break up nearly all the New
Orleans gaming houses. Most of the gamblers were enthusiastic
confederates. The action of Petitt in equipping a company has been
already mentioned. Martino went to Richmond, where he opened a house,
but there was not much to be made out of confederate currency and he
gave so liberally to the sick and destitute soldiers that his venture
brought him no profit. It was not until 1862, when the city was in the
hands of the United States forces under General Butler, that gaming
again revived.
Through the favor of Col. Butler—a brother of the General—Bryant, one of
the best known and oldest gamblers in New Orleans, and who had kept one
of the “supper rooms” in the days before the war, was permitted to open
a gambling house at the corner of Exchange Alley and Bienville street;
and Fulton, a new comer, opened one a square lower down the same street.
These resorts opened off the street and access was free to all comers
except private soldiers, the semi-military control under which they were
placed drawing the line here. Officers, however, who were plentifully
supplied with money, played freely and, of course, lost heavily. But
gross scandals resulted, and in 1864 General Hurlbut, by military order,
directed that they be closed. Martial law proved singularly effective in
this instance, and until the revocation of the order (which came in a
few weeks), public gaming was at a stand still. This was an era in the
city’s history, and, with the exception of a period when the District
Attorney arrested and prosecuted all the gamblers in New Orleans, was
the only time when gambling was completely suppressed. At all other
times it has been either protected or tolerated by the authorities;
carried on openly under license from the State or city, or conducted
clandestinely, through bribery of the officials. In fact, public
sentiment has generally either favored it or, at most, been disposed to
regard it as a necessary evil.
After the war there was manifest a disposition to return to the old
license system, under which the state received a portion of the
gamblers’ winnings. One of the arguments in its favor was that the
Havana lottery was taking more money out of Louisiana every month than
all the gamblers in New Orleans combined, and as a matter of fact that
city was as good a market for the sale of these tickets as Havana
itself. In addition to regular lottery offices and ticket peddlers,
every tobacconist was an agent for their sale. Tradition recorded the
names of eleven winners of capital prizes. It is true that the old
citizens (all of whom were devout believers in “luck”) were accustomed
to wag their beards and sagely declare that riches thus acquired took to
themselves wings and flew away, but they nevertheless “played lottery”
every month, with the regularity of clock work, and eagerly awaited the
receipt of the list of drawings, which in those days was brought from
Havana to New Orleans by carrier pigeons.
The legislature of Louisiana determined to enter the field in
competition with the Governor General of Cuba, and endeavored to secure
at least its fair share of the business. Accordingly, in 1866, a law was
passed requiring lottery ticket brokers and peddlers to take out a
license, and turn over to the State five per cent. of their gross
receipts. This, however, did not produce as large a revenue to the State
as had been expected, as the dealers disposed of their tickets
surreptitiously, and in 1868, the legislature enacted the Louisiana
State Lottery, exacting a bonus of $40,000 a year, and gave it a
monopoly of the business, prohibiting the sale of tickets in the Havana,
or any other foreign lottery.
This plan proving successful, the legislature went a step further and
determined to license gambling also. On March 9, 1869, a law was passed,
empowering every one to open a public gaming saloon, who would pay a
license fee of $5,000. (It had been $7,500 under the law of 1832). The
payment of the money was the sole condition imposed by the law. No
restriction was placed upon the games to be played nor was any
distinction drawn between “square” and “brace” houses. Protection was
guaranteed in the form of a promise to close and keep closed all
unlicensed houses.
The new law was in force but a short time. It caused general
dissatisfaction, and its repeal has been attributed to the moral
sentiment of the community. This, however, is an error. While the great
majority of the people of New Orleans were shocked at the result, this
mattered little to the legislature, one of the most notoriously corrupt
bodies which Louisiana has ever seen; and had not the gamblers
themselves appealed to it, to repeal the law which recognized and
licensed their business, it would have continued for many years.
The immediate result of the law was to make New Orleans an American
Monte Carlo, the gambling centre of the United States. All the old local
gamblers took advantage of the law and paid their license; but they
found that they would not be allowed to occupy the field alone. The
statute proved to be an advertisement of New Orleans throughout the
Union, and gamblers flocked thither from New York, Baltimore, Cincinnati
and St. Louis, to open places of business in a city, where it was not
only free from inspection and supervision, but even legitimate.
Within a few weeks, St. Charles Street blossomed into one vast gambling
hell. These resorts, some forty in number, and popularly known as “the
forty thieves,” did a “land office business.” They were open night and
day from the ground floor up. Every kind of gambling was carried on,
with open doors, while runners on the outside enticed all passers by to
enter. They had “all-round” saloons in which all kinds of games were
played. The lower floor was commonly devoted to faro; roulette claimed
the second story; while the third floor was set apart for keno.
Generally one or two side rooms were fitted up for _vingt-et-un_ and
other games. Lunch settees and wine tables were prominent articles in
their equipment, and everything was supplied which might make gaming
attractive. There were no screens, the saloons opening immediately off
the street; no limit was fixed, and boys and octogenarians were alike
welcomed.
This state of affairs proved too much, even for the advocates of public
gaming. St. Charles Street, the principal thoroughfare, had become a by-
word and reproach, a very high-way of vice, if not of crime.
Notwithstanding the indignant protest of an outraged public, however,
the law would have probably remained on the statute book had it not
been, as has been already intimated, for the gamblers themselves. Not
that they complained of the exaction of a license fee; that, they were
willing to pay cheerfully. It was the ruinous competition in business
which it brought about that constituted the ground of their
dissatisfaction. The “old-timers” found themselves injured, not only in
pocket but also in reputation, by the horde of confidence men,
“steerers”, sharpers and “skin” gamblers, who had swept down upon New
Orleans like vultures upon a carcass. The license law had proved a
boomerang.
The influx of strangers had been so great that the demand for licences
to keep gaming houses had grown to such proportions that New Orleans
seemed destined to absorb and monopolize all the gambling of the entire
country. A conference of those “to the manor born” was held, which was
attended by Bush, Taylor, Harrison and others, at which, after a full
interchange of views, it was determined that the wiser policy was to
return to the old system and get rid of the new comers at any cost. They
were strong enough, politically, to get what they wanted from the
legislature, and the obnoxious law was repealed, and the auditor
directed to return to the gamblers the fees paid for the new year.
The abolition of the license system, however, did not put an end to
gambling. Some of the more recent arrivals departed for Texas, Long
Branch, Washington, and other promising points, but the “old timers”, to
the number of 100 to 110, continued to do business in the same way as
usual, paying bribes into the pockets of the police instead of a license
fee into the State treasury. As, however, the law prohibited gambling,
some sort of a pretence was made at secrecy, although the houses were
all well known, and one could hear in the street below the rattle of
chips and the droning call of the dealer.
During the next ten years the gamblers did a fair business,
notwithstanding the fact that they were freely blackmailed by the
police. They recouped themselves, however, for this outlay by taking
their revenge upon the police, and particularly upon strangers. Bunko
flourished and “steerers” abounded, while some of the best known
confidence men now traveling about the country acquired their first
knowledge of the business at New Orleans during this period.
In 1880, yet another plan of indirectly regulating gaming was
introduced. The new system was neither the imposition of license fees
nor the secret extortion of “hush-money”, and was essentially different
from that followed in any other city of the world up to that time. While
gambling had been unlawful it had also been notorious. Not less than
ninety houses spread their nets for victims, and over a thousand persons
were employed in the nefarious calling. Bribery and corruption had taken
the place of legal license, and through political influence the gambling
fraternity had enjoyed comparative immunity.
In the year last mentioned, Mr. Shakspeare who had just been elected
Mayor, determined to accomplish indirectly what had been forbidden by
State law—the license of the houses. He looked upon this as the only
available means of controlling and regulating a business which, however,
reprehensible, seemed destined to “go on forever.”
He favored the license system as the best practical solution of the
problem, inasmuch as under it the city would receive a share of the
profits of the business while there might, at the same time, be police
supervision of the establishments.
A newspaper reporter was employed to visit the various gambling houses,
inspect the games played there, and report to the Mayor on the subject.
After the latter had secured all the information he needed, he laid it
before the council, together with his plan for licensing gambling and
asked for its consideration and discussion. He proposed that a “forced
loan” be collected from the gamblers—the city to charge each gaming
saloon $150 a month or $1,800 a year for the privilege of carrying on
business. They were to conduct only “square” games, to employ no
“runners” or “cappers” to drum up business for them, and to content
themselves with such profits as they might legitimately (?) derive from
the unsolicited visits of occasional players. No minors were to be
permitted to play and houses were to be confined within certain
prescribed boundaries in the business section of the city, while the
proprietors were to agree to preserve peace and order in the
establishments, and to be always subject to the inspection and control
of the police.
In consideration of the making of this forced loan, the city was to
undertake that the houses entering into the arrangement, so long as they
complied with the requirements exacted, should not be raided or
otherwise molested by the police. Moreover, those saloons which accepted
the proposition were to be protected from undue and unlicensed
competition, the city promising to close all places which did not “pay
up” or were guilty of irregularities.
When these propositions, which had been already submitted to the
gamblers and approved by them, were laid before the council, that body
authorized the executive to make the experiment, although the city
fathers cautiously refused to share the responsibility for any
consequences which might ensue. At first, the revenue thus received was
paid directly to the city treasurer, but that official, being unwilling
to accept it, it was turned over to the mayor’s private secretary, to be
expended as the mayor ordered.
At the time of the inauguration of the “Shakespeare system” of exacting
this forced loan there were eighty-two gambling resorts running in New
Orleans. Half of these closed at once rather than pay the licenses. From
the remainder some $6,000 was received as the first month’s instalment,
which was set aside as a special fund for the erection of an alms house,
or an institution, which was greatly needed in a city which had failed
to make any provision for the support of paupers. Later the receipts
from this source were turned over to the charity hospital or devoted to
alleviating the condition of those confined in the jails. From this
source (the gambler’s contributions) enough money was obtained to erect
a large brick building named “The Shakespeare Almshouse” in honor of the
mayor, and to support and care for two hundred paupers and incurables. A
number of prominent citizens consented to act as directors of the
institution, accepting the money turned over to them by the mayor for
its maintenance, although well knowing the source from which it was
derived.
At first, the anomalous system appeared to be a success. There were some
complaints from the religious element of the community, but the general
public raised no objection, while the press approved. The fund was
exclusively under the control of the mayor, who accounted to no one, and
was wholly free from responsibility in the matter and was at liberty to
use the money as he saw fit. It occurred to him that the most effectual
means of silencing his critics would be to devote it to public charity.
An account of the fund was kept in a book open to all, with each payment
received from the gamblers, together with the sums turned over to the
directors of the almshouse.
The supporters of the mayor pointed to his administration of the fund
and the practical results of the system as a triumphant vindication of
his policy. In the course of a year the number of gambling houses had
been reduced from eighty-two, running at all seasons, to sixteen in
summer and thirty-two in winter. This diminution, too, had been
accomplished without police raids, while there had been no public
scandals.
The mayor exacted literal compliance with his requirements. One of the
leading saloons, run by “Billy Johnson,” a well known gambler about
town, was closed early in the day because of some irregularities, and
when the old trick was tried of re-opening it at the same place but
under a new name, the mayor promptly suppressed it. “Any place,” he
said, “once closed for ‘bunkoing’ was closed for ever.”
The loudest complaints about the system came from some of the gamblers
themselves, who declared that the city was getting more out of the
business than they were, and several attempts were made to persuade the
mayor to reduce the amount of tribute. But to all such remonstrances he
persistently turned a deaf ear, his stereotyped reply being, “If you
can’t make enough from gambling to pay the city $150 a month for the
privilege, you had better go into some other and better paying
business.”
Mayor Skakspeare was succeeded by Gen. W. H. Bebian, who, so far as
gambling was concerned, followed in the footsteps of his predecessor.
Following him came Gillette. The latter regularly collected the tax, but
instead of devoting it solely to purposes of charity, diverted a portion
of it to meeting the exigencies of the political situation. From the
fund were defrayed the expenses of entertainments ordered by the
council, while it was also used to meet the pay-roll of the mayor’s
special police, as well as for other objects of a distinctively
political character. This line of action induced scandal, and the
circumstance that no account of the disbursement of the fund was
rendered, considered in connection with the fact that the almshouse—for
which it had been created—was left without income, brought the system
into disfavor and disrepute, and a revulsion of public sentiment
occurred. Several grand juries presented reports condemning the fund as
having been exacted in direct violation of the State constitution and
the laws framed thereunder. The result of this agitation of the question
was that during the incumbency of Mayor Gillette, the system was
abandoned.
Since then, gambling in New Orleans has been conducted under the system
of semi-toleration, which prevails in most American cities. The law
against “banking games,” was enforced for a few weeks during 1888, when,
as has been said, the prosecuting attorney arrested the gamblers and for
a short time brought public gaming to an abrupt (though temporary)
cessation; but although there were several convictions, the spasm of
virtue soon passed; raids came to an end; and matters soon drifted back
to their former position.
The law against gambling still adorned the pages of the statute book,
but for many years no attempt whatever had been made to enforce it. The
police knew the location of every gambling saloon in the city, as did
also the district attorney, whose duty it was to enforce the law, but
not an indictment was found against any of them.
To-day, there are some thirty gaming resorts in New Orleans, half of
which, however, are mainly patronized by negroes. They are visited by
the police in a supervisory sort of way, from time to time. When
anything wrong is reported, the proprietor is arrested, and in the great
majority of cases willingly consents to make good the complainant’s
losses rather than to face exposure. If he proves recalcitrant, his
house is closed. Only one place was closed in 1889, however, on this
ground.
Two years ago, “keno” became the favorite game in New Orleans. It proved
especially seductive to youths and those of small means, because of the
small stakes required to play it. It proved particularly harmful for
this very reason, its patrons being largely drawn from the ranks of
those who could not afford to lose anything. The better class of
gamblers themselves did not favor it, for the reason that it afforded no
chances for the “bank,” which had to content itself with its
“percentage.” Nevertheless, the “demand” for this sort of amusement
resulted in an abundant supply, and for several blocks on two of the
principal streets of the city, the ear of the passing pedestrian was
saluted with the cries of “forty-eight,” “sixteen” and “keno,” which
were wafted down to the street from the open windows of the keno rooms,
which occupied the second floors of nearly every building. The majority
of the players were clerks, under 25 years of age, mechanics and
laborers; and to losses at keno may be attributed the numerous
embezzlements which brought such unenviable notoriety upon New Orleans
for several years.
The negroes, sunny children of nature, content if their immediate wants
are satisfied, and taking no thought for the future, all
gamble—certainly nine in ten of them gamble at the saloons on Dauphin
and Franklin Streets, among themselves at “craps” or “chuck-a-luck,” or
at “policy,” the latter being the favorite for women. These colored
saloons are probably the worst in the world; rude unfurnished rooms,
with nothing but gambling tables and chairs in them, lighted by
flickering, ill-smelling lamps. Here congregate the roustabouts,
longshoremen and deck hands, who drift into New Orleans during “the
season,” or when crops are gathered, and here they and their mistresses
play until the last dollar of their earnings is spent, and they once
more enter upon their toilsome labor. Here, too, all the negro criminals
of New Orleans, the colored ex-convicts, who number several thousand
sneak thieves, burglars, etc., resort. The negro gambling saloons often
prove of service to the police when prosecuting a search for colored
criminals. There is no necessity to hunt for them all over the city. The
owners of these gambling dens are anxious to be on good terms with the
officers of the law, and act as spies for them. If a murderer or a
burglar is needed, they are furnished with a description of him, and
within a very short time comes the information that “Dago Dick,” or “Big
Sam” is at such-and-such a saloon. These dives frequently stand the
police in good stead, saving the officers no little trouble in searching
for notorious negro criminals.
It cannot be said that, on the whole, the gamblers of New Orleans have
made much out of their business. Very few have accumulated money through
their original calling, although some have acquired their first start at
the card table and have since achieved a competence in other and
legitimate pursuits. Probably the most striking illustration of the
truth of this statement has been already mentioned in referring to the
case of McGrath, who has made a fortune through his stock farm and on
the the turf. Another Crescent City sport invested his winnings at the
faro table in the hotel business, at which he succeeded even beyond his
expectations. Perhaps ten or a dozen in all, who have renounced the
green cloth have honestly earned a competence, although a few have grown
rich.
Perhaps one reason why gambling has not proved more remunerative since
the war is that comparatively few of those engaged in the business at
the South, have had the large capital necessary to conduct a thoroughly
first-class establishment. Besides this, the gamester is by nature a
spendthrift, whose motto is always “easy come, easy go.” His instincts
are all arrayed on the side of prodigal expenditure, as against thrift.
At the present time, the houses are under fair control. That is to say,
they are not tolerated on the ground floor, minors are not allowed to
enter them, and “skin” gambling is perhaps less practiced than in other
metropolitan cities. The fraternity complain bitterly of “hard times,”
and declare that their business is entirely broken up. Of what are
euphoniously characterized as “respectable” houses, there are scarcely
half a dozen, and even these reap their richest harvest from strangers,
during the carnival season. The local patronage is not profitable.
In 1889, the whirligig of time again elevated Mr. Joseph Shakspeare to
the Mayor’s chair. He made no secret of his disposition to return to the
system of indirect license which he had himself inaugurated. The
council, however, proved less complaisant, and refused either to
sanction or to disapprove the plan of the executive. Meanwhile, public
sentiment in the city was about equally divided in reference to the
question. A very large element of the community was bitterly hostile to
countenancing the vice, even indirectly. On the other hand, there were
not wanting those who regarded gaming as a necessary evil, which would
find its votaries under any and all circumstances, and from the practice
of which the city would do well to derive some revenue.
Among the latter half of the community were, of course, included those
who were themselves fond of patronizing the public tables.
Speculation in stocks, bonds and produce was unknown in New Orleans
previous to 1880. To its introduction may, perhaps, be measurably
attributed the decline in the volume of gambling in the hells. Once
introduced, it rapidly grew in favor with many of those who had been
accustomed to look for that excitement which they regarded as their
highest recreation in gambling upon the turn of a card. Whether the
introduction into the city of the speculative mania and the decadence of
the gambling saloons stood to each other in the relation of cause and
effect it might be difficult to say; they certainly occurred about the
same time. At first, speculation was chiefly confined to cotton, which
bore the same relative position to New Orleans that wheat sustains to
Chicago. Gradually, however, mining stocks and gold grew in favor of
those who were disposed to venture their money upon options, as
affording even greater fluctuations in value.
When trading in future deliveries was first suggested upon the floor of
the New Orleans Cotton Exchange, it aroused violent opposition. Its
opponents pointed out that the city already lacked sufficient capital to
handle the cotton crop, of which New Orleans was the distributing
centre, even in a legitimate way; they showed that a vicious element
would be imparted to values; and called attention to the disastrous
effect which such business might have upon the price of cotton. In reply
to these arguments, it was urged that New York was already doing a
gambling business in cotton futures, amounting to 25,000,000 bales per
year, which was four or five times as much as the entire cotton crop of
the whole country; that New Orleans was sending a great deal of money to
the Atlantic seaboard to be invested in futures; and that unless dealing
in speculative deliveries was sanctioned in what ought to be the
greatest cotton mart of the world, a large proportion of the city
business would be diverted to New York, even if the latter point did not
absorb a great deal of the “spot” trade.
The result of the discussion was a triumph for the advocates of
speculation, and in February, 1880, gambling in cotton futures began
upon the floor of the New Orleans Cotton Exchange. At first, it did not
seem to commend itself rapidly to public favor. Only 2,083,100 bales
were sold during the first year. The rapidity in which it grew in favor
is shown by the sudden increase in transactions in futures. In 1881,
10,115,800 bales were sold, which figures increased in 1882 to
16,171,000, which was fully double the amount of cotton the city
received. The advocates of stock gambling pointed to this increased
volume of business as the triumphant vindication of the position which
they had assumed. New Orleans, they said, had in less than three years
built up as large a gambling business as that which was carried on in
New York. But experience proved that speculation in cotton futures
reached its highest point in 1882, from which period it began to
decline. At that time, however, it was practically universal. Clerks,
samplers and weighers of cotton were among the most numerous patrons of
the speculative market. Men of this class appeared to believe that
because they have some business relations with cotton, they were
thoroughly conversant with the market and that their casual handling,
sampling or classifying of bales rendered them competent judges as to
the future course of events. New Orleans speculators proved to be but
pigmies, as compared with those of New York. In fact, the Southern
market was so generally wrong that it became a common saying in the
“country” that if one wished to bet right on the course of the cotton
market, he should always bet against the combined wisdom of New Orleans.
It may have been because the Eastern city had more capital, but the
tangible result was that in the single year, 1882, New York was
estimated to have relieved the metropolis of the Southwest of
$4,000,000, of her surplus cash. The loss fell chiefly upon those who
were less able to bear it. The employes of the warehouses had ventured
heavily. Even the janitor or porter bought his little “jag” of a hundred
bales.
The withdrawal of such a large quantity of money during a single year
resulted in bringing about a financial stringency in New Orleans, and
the tightness of money operated as a check upon speculative gambling,
which has never since blossomed out in the same magnificent luxuries.
Among those who had been particularly pronounced in their advocacy of
the sale of futures upon the Cotton Exchange, not less than fifty went
to the wall, and for a time the more conservative element managed things
in its own way. Some idea of the extent to which this species of
gambling mania had pervaded all classes of citizens may be gathered from
the statement—which cannot be controverted—that during the crop year of
1881-82, fully 15,000 people bought cotton futures at one time or
another, and that at least one man in four in New Orleans was
accustomed, now and then, to “take a little flyer.”
In 1883, the volume of transactions of this character declined to
12,041,900 bales; in 1884, to 9,588,300; in 1885, 8,037,100; and in
1886, to 7,474,900 bales, or less than half what it had been. Moreover
the business was confined chiefly to the larger dealers, the “small fry”
letting the market religiously and severely alone, and since 1886,
transactions have fluctuated in quantity. In 1887, sales of future
deliveries aggregated some 11,239,000 bales; 1888, 8,947,800; and in
1889, 6,575,000 bales. Since the introduction of this description of
gambling in New Orleans, about 92,223,900 bales of future cotton have
been sold in that city, upon which margins of $276,671,700 have been put
up, allowing a liberal commission to the brokers who managed the
business; these figures represent a payment, virtually upon a wager of
$73,409,933 by the losers to the winners. But no matter whether the
hotly contested battle was decided in favor of the bulls or whether the
bears were triumphant, some way or other New York always contrived to
come out ahead, and it is a generally conceded that the thrifty
manipulators of the latter market succeeded in extracting from the
pockets of their New Orleans brethren a sum variously estimated at from
$12,000,000 to $20,000,000.
Several attempts were made to prohibit this species of gambling by law,
but the dealers in futures proved too strong. Neither did public
sentiment condemn this sort of gambling, and many persons who would have
scorned to enter a faro bank, bought options in cotton without
compunction. Speculative craze during this period reached its maximum,
and was not confined to cotton alone. Three or four “bucket shops” were
started at which one could buy almost anything—wheat, or railroad and
mining stocks. With the general decline of their business, the “bucket
shops” also went by the board.
At present, however, the business is confined chiefly to a few operators
and brokers. The general public views the situation with little
interest, being indifferent as to whether A wins from B to-day and B
recovers his losses to-morrow, or vice-versa.
Speculation in stocks has always been far less active than in cotton.
Far removed from the commercial centre of the country, New Orleans has
gambled but little in the general list of stocks, the greater portion of
the business done on the Stock Exchange being confined to transactions
in State and City bonds, a few local stocks, and—of late years—in mining
shares. Nevertheless of the $160,000,000 worth of bonds and other
securities dealt in during the past ten years, it is estimated that
fully four-fifths were bought and sold on speculative account. The
frequency with which the Louisiana law-makers have legislated in
reference to State debentures have caused the latter to fluctuate
violently. Large fortunes have been rapidly made and quickly lost, the
case of the Confederate Commander, Gen. J. B. Hood, affording a striking
illustration of the truth of the latter statement.
Legislative action in reference to the State debt in 1879, when the
interest was reduced, and again in 1884, regarding what is known as the
“interest amendment” gave rise to heavy speculations. Again in 1887, a
mania for gambling in land and mining stocks broke out, which continued
until 1889. In the latter year, the Mexican Lottery attracted much
interest, and winnings and losses were alike numerous.
The amount of money lost on speculation in New Orleans in ten years is
estimated at $82,000,000,—almost as much as the property valuation—and
some commercial concerns regarded as among the most solvent in the city
have been dragged down to bankruptcy.
Perhaps the most seductive and dangerous form of gambling in New Orleans
to-day is the mania for buying tickets in the Louisiana lottery, with
its attendant evil, “policy playing.” Lottery playing has always
prevailed in New Orleans. Lotteries innumerable existed in the old days,
and even the churches—notably Christ Church, the first Protestant church
in Louisiana, and to this day, the largest and most fashionable—were
built by means of lotteries.
The lotteries of the “olden times,” however, were small concerns, yet
they stimulated the desire and whetted the appetite for this sort of
excitement. They prepared the way for the extraordinary success which,
as has been already said, attended the introduction of the sale of
Havana lottery tickets into the Crescent City.
After the war, the Kentucky State Lottery Company sold some of its
tickets in New Orleans, but that concern never became so popular among
the people at large as was the Havana Lottery.
The considerations which induced the State Legislature to incorporate
the Louisiana Company have been already set forth. Too much money was
going to Cuba, and it was thought that the public treasury might as well
be enriched by a portion of the profits, which were known to be
numerous. All attempts to enforce the payment of a percentage on the
sale of Havana tickets have proved lamentable failures.
The act of incorporation of the Louisiana State Lottery was passed in
1868. Under its terms the company was granted a lease of life for a
period of twenty-five years. Under the constitution of 1880, its grip
upon the state was confirmed until the expiration of the year 1892. As
has been pointed out, in consideration of the payment by the company
into the state treasury of $40,000 per annum, the concern was to be
secured in a monopoly of the sale of lottery tickets within the state.
At first, however, this provision of the law was not enforced, Havana
tickets being freely sold upon the streets. But gradually the more
attractive offers of the home company and its growing popularity
attracted more and more business to its coffers, until, little by little
it virtually had a field to itself.
Of the $40,000 yearly tax, one-half was set apart for the maintenance of
the Charity Hospital—the largest free hospital in America—while the
remainder was devoted to the public service fund.
Originally the business of the company was very largely confined to
daily drawings and policy playing, and at one time there were not less
than 180 places within the corporate limits at which policy might be
played. At this time the sale of tickets was confined exclusively to
Louisiana and mainly to New Orleans. As time went by, however, the
company changed its schedule of drawings and gradually extended its
operations until they included the entire country. The result of these
various new departures was to enhance the importance of the monthly
drawings to such an extent that the daily distributions and the
attendant policy playing sunk into comparative insignificance. Little by
little, the value of the prizes and the price of tickets have been
doubled, until a whole ticket in a monthly drawing costs $20, while a
similar chance in the semi-annual distribution of prizes is held at $40.
Fully nine-tenths of the tickets are sold outside of Louisiana, the
largest buyers being Texas, California, New York, Washington and
Chicago.
The existing schedule of drawing is as follows: Two grand semi-annual
drawings; ten monthly drawings; three hundred and thirteen daily
drawings (with policy playing _ad libitum_); making a grand total of
three hundred and twenty-five drawings during the year.
The following table shows the number of each description of drawings,
the number of tickets printed, the price paid for a whole chance, the
value of the tickets sold, the amount of cash prizes distributed, and
the sum paid out in salary commissions.
────────────────────┬───────────┬───────┬───────────┬───────────┬───────────
NUMBER OF DRAWINGS │NO. TICKETS│ PRICE│ VALUE│PRIZES WON.│ PAID OUT
PER YEAR. │ PRINTED.│ PER│ TICKETS│ │ FOR
│ │TICKET.│ SOLD.│ │ SALARIES
│ │ │ │ │ AND
│ │ │ │ │COMMISSIONS.
────────────────────┼───────────┼───────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────
2 Grand Semi-Annual,│ 200,000│ $40.00│ $5,600,000│ $3,080,000│ $600,000
10 Monthly, │ 1,000,000│ 20.00│ 13,000,000│ 7,150,000│ 1,200,000
313 Daily, │ 21,900,000│ 1.00│ 1,320,000│ 892,000│ 198,000
────────────────────┼───────────┼───────┼───────────┼───────────┼───────────
325 Drawings, │ 23,100,000│ ——│$19,920,000│$11,122,000│ $1,998,000
────────────────────┴───────────┴───────┴───────────┴───────────┴───────────
Year by year the business of the company has increased and its financial
standing has advanced in an equal ratio. Since its incorporation in
1868, it has sold tickets to the value of $168,000,000, paid prizes
amounting to $92,400,000, and expended in commissions to dealers in New
Orleans and elsewhere $16,000,000.
Its stock has, for some time past, paid an annual dividend of 85 per
cent. on its par value, and is quoted on the market at 900.
[Illustration: THE HOPPER OF THE SERPENT.]
In New Orleans, lottery playing is universal. It is safe to say that
50,000 fractional parts of tickets are purchased monthly, the smallest
fraction of a chance sold in a monthly drawing being one-twentieth, and
in the semi annual distribution one-fortieth. Among the purchasers there
is no distinction of sex, age, color, social position or occupation.
Men, women, whites, blacks, Mongolians, Mexicans, the old, the young,
leaders of society and the “bums,” one and all buy, the crowd of these
deluded speculators being swelled even by recruits from the ranks of the
clergy.
The friends of the lottery adduce many arguments in its support. They
claim that it is the least objectionable form of gambling; that it is
conducted “on the dead square;” that as the larger drawings take place
but once a month, and the price of the ticket is low (the usual ticket
one-twentieth or one-fortieth costs $1.00), one can at most lose but
$12.00 a year, even if he “plays lottery” every month and invariably
loses; that there have been no scandals growing out of the monthly
drawings, nor any instance of a man who has sunk his fortune, or
resorted to embezzlement to play. As regards the daily drawings, it is
pointed out that as that the ordinary purchaser only risks twenty-five
cents and the prizes stand to the tickets in the ratio of one to three,
it is impossible that much financial harm can be done.
These arguments, of course, utterly failed to take into consideration
the powerful incitement and stimulus which this sort of gambling imparts
to the vice in general. While the immediate effects of investing in
lottery tickets may not be sudden and pronounced financial ruin, the
consequences are apt to be far-reaching. Neither do the advocates of the
lottery take into account what is essentially the very worst feature of
the whole business—policy playing. While the aggregate amount of money
lost through this means may be insignificant as compared with that
squandered upon the monthly and semi-annual drawings, the ultimate
results flowing from this description of gambling are, perhaps, worse
than those attendant upon any other. Policy is played by the very
poorest classes—and particularly by the negroes—who cannot afford to
lose a solitary cent. The amount of suffering entailed upon the families
of the poor through this agency is so large as hardly to be susceptible
of computation.
At present there are some eighty policy shops in New Orleans, the
business of all of which is based upon the daily drawings of the
Louisiana Lottery. The keepers of these places sell, on an average
eighty slips each day, making the total sale in the city about sixty-
four hundred every twenty-four hours, or two million three thousand two
hundred per annum. The low prices at which these “slips” (or fractional
part of the tickets) are sold—twenty-five and fifty cents, places them
within the reach of all. There are probably two thousand or three
thousand regular policy players who buy tickets every day and who have a
system of combinations which they believe is certainly bound to win in
the end. In addition, there are about twenty-five thousand others who
make a similar venture about once a week. All these have made policy
playing a profound study, and understand all its intricacies and know
all about “horses”, “saddles”, “gigs”, “all day”, “first place”, etc.
They are firm believers in “luck”. In fact, nowhere are so many “fortune
telling” and “dream” books sold as in New Orleans, principally for the
purpose of interpreting dreams which the buyers believe indicate numbers
which they should play. Clairvoyants and fortune tellers abound and
prosper; and there are men whose only means of obtaining a fair support
is travelling the streets with cages of trained canaries or parroquets,
which for the trifling consideration of five cents, will select from a
case an envelope containing a number supposed to be a “sure winner.”
Blindness is regarded with reverence, for the reason that a blind man is
supposed to be invariably lucky. “Age cannot wither nor custom stale”
the folly of these inveterate policy players. Their infatuation and
superstition know no limit. They are constantly looking for “signs”. If
you should say to one of them that you expected to be thirty-six years
old on the sixth of December, the chances are that he would rush off
around the corner to play the combination 6-12-36. They are perpetually
looking for numbers by day and dreaming of them by night, and their
first act on arising in the morning is to consult their “dream-books”,
to ascertain what they shall play that day. The negro house servants are
among the best patrons of the policy shops, often squeezing a quarter or
half dollar from the market or grocery money, to place it on a “gig” or
“saddle”.
The aggregate amount thus squandered is, as has been said, enormous. Yet
it is usually spent in small sums and leads to no graver crime than
petty pilfering, which, however, is bad enough. Still, occasionally a
“plunger” tries this form of gambling, and once in a while a dishonest
clerk who has been systematically robbing his employer for years will
seek to arouse sympathy by attributing his entire peculation to the
insidious fascination of daily drawings.
The following table may prove of interest to the reader, as showing the
amount and character of the gambling practiced in New Orleans during the
past ten years. It has been carefully prepared from the most authentic
sources available and it is believed to be a very close approximation to
the exact facts:
────────────────────────────────────┬──────────────────┬──────────────────
│ │ PROFITS OF
│ │ BROKERS,
DESCRIPTION OF GAMBLING. │ AMOUNTS CHANGING │ GAMBLERS,
│ HANDS. │ LOTTERY CO. AND
│ │ DEALERS IN T’KS.
────────────────────────────────────┼──────────────────┼──────────────────
Speculation in Stocks, Futures, etc.│ $82,000,000│ $10,145,945
Lottery Tickets, │ 18,600,000│ 8,370,000
Policy Playing, │ 8,000,000│ 3,200,000
Regular Gambling, │ 30,000,000│ 3,400,000
────────────────────────────────────┼──────────────────┼──────────────────
Total, │ $138,000,000│ $25,115,945
────────────────────────────────────┴──────────────────┴──────────────────
Note.—The figures given include only the local business. The total amount
received from sales is vastly greater.
From the foregoing sketch of gambling in New Orleans, it will be
apparent to the reader that there has never been any determined effort
put forth for its suppression. This fact may be ascribed to two
operative causes. First, the absence of any pronounced public sentiment
against gaming; secondly, the powerful political influence wielded by
the gamblers. The latter have always been active ward politicians, and
have exercised great influence upon local elections, in fact, they have
usually had one or more of their representatives; indeed, at one time,
the Chief of Police, the officer on whom devolved the duty of enforcing
the law against gambling, was himself an ex-professional. At other
times, gamblers who were actively engaged in the business have been
members of the city council, tax collectors or supervisors of
registration, besides filling numerous other State and City offices. Of
the four men who, as ward “bosses,” virtually controlled the politics of
the city from 1876 to 1888, one was an active gambler.
The “sports” had become politicians, and ten or a dozen of them were
recognized as active “workers,” whose support was valuable to the
“bosses.” In consequence legislation adverse to gambling was well nigh
impossible, and the enforcement of the laws already on the statute book
had become dilatory and half-hearted. So weak was the sentiment in the
legislature against gaming that that body, at its last session, had
refused to pass a law requiring saloons where private gambling was
conducted, to place a screen behind their front doors.
At the present time, gambling in the city is comparatively at a
standstill. Many of those who have been prominently identified with the
business in the past have sought other pursuits, which, although of a
kindred character, have proved more profitable, such as the keeping of
“turf exchanges,” “book making,” etc.
The city council having refused to indorse the suggestion of Mayor
Shakspeare, that the indirect system of licensing be revived, finally
mustered up courage to instruct the executive to close all houses. While
the order cannot be said to have been literally and fully obeyed, its
passage and the official action following the same have proved a deadly
blow to public gambling.
Two striking instances may be mentioned, which serve to show not only
the immediate effect of a sudden reversal of public policy in this
regard, but also to illustrate the deep hold which this pernicious vice
obtains upon its victims.
On October 3, 1889, Joseph M. Marcus, a young merchant and a partner in
a large tobacco concern, lodged a bullet in his brain while standing
near the main entrance of one of the parish prisons. Temporary
abberation of mind, resulting from insomnia and apprehension of
financial loss was supposed to have been the cause of his rash act.
Later in the day, Napoleon Bonaparte White, one of the best known of the
local gambling fraternity, was found dead in his bed, in a lodging
house. A vial, in which remained a few drops of a decoction of morphine
was found near him, and its presence was supposed to be a sufficient
explanation of the manner of his death. About the time that the
executive order was being prepared—the day before his decease—while the
Mayor and Chief of Police were conferring upon the subject, White
appeared to be much depressed and said that he had provided a method of
evading the enforcement of the law; that he had purchased a pistol which
he proposed to use in case the order was enforced. White’s career had
been an eventful one. An engineer by profession, he had started in life
on the Mississippi steamboats. His ambition and temperament soon drew
him from the engine room to the saloon of the steamboat, where he
blossomed forth as a professional gambler. When Walker planned his
famous expedition to Nicaragua in 1856, White was one of the first to
enroll himself in the band of volunteers. After the final collapse of
the expedition, he drifted back to his old haunts in New Orleans, where
for many years he was one of the most familiar figures upon the streets.
Instances are numerous where men have won or lost their daily bread upon
the turn of a card. There have been not a few who, having staked their
all upon the same contingency and lost, have blown out their brains with
the weapon of despair. The sun-kissed hill-tops and low-lying valleys
that surround Monte Carlo, contain the graves of not a few devotees of
gaming, who in despair have ended their wretched lives. There is no sort
of emotion which the fascination of this vice has not awakened in the
human breast. There are a few rare instances relative to gamblers who
have fallen dead in a superabundance of sudden joy. But never before, so
far as is known, have two gamblers killed themselves because they
believed that they were about to be deprived of the opportunity of
indulging in their favorite pastimes. These instances stand
unprecedented and unparalleled in history.
MILWAUKEE.
In some form or other, gambling has been known in Milwaukee ever since
the advent of the first white settlers, and even on their arrival they
found the Indians racing ponies on the plains for wagers.
The first regular gambling house in Milwaukee of which there is any
record was a faro layout, established by Martin Curtis, in 1843, and
operated by him for several years. In those days every one gambled; and
as Curtis was gifted with the faculty of saving his winnings, he became
quite wealthy. He erected various buildings in that city, among them a
row of dwellings which yet stand on Broadway, facing the police station.
Some of his grandchildren still reside in the city, and enjoy the
inheritance left them by the “old man.”
In 1849, Milwaukee had grown to be a place of sufficient size to
maintain two gaming establishments. Thomas Wicks opened a game which he
continued to run for thirty years with varying success. He had two
brothers, Curtis and Gardner Wicks, who aided him in the business, and
ran the bank during the sessions of the legislature and at other times
when there was any “game” in the town. All through the war the Wicks
Brothers’ game was running in full blast at Milwaukee in an old yellow
building which General Lucius Fairchilds had inherited from his father.
The fact that General Fairchilds was Secretary of State for two years on
leaving the army, and was Governor for six, did not interfere with the
“tiger” having its lair in the upper part of his building, within two
blocks of the handsome mansion in which his family resided. As showing
the “pull” which the Wicks had on politicians and public men it may be
of interest to record the fact, that although Governor Fairchilds went
through four bitter political campaigns as a candidate, there never was
a word said in any paper in reference to the fact that while Governor of
Wisconsin he knowingly rented his property for gambling purposes.
From the time when he opened, in 1849, until some time in or about 1872,
John Welch was the gambling king of the State. His acquaintance with
prominent men gave him immunity, both in Milwaukee and at Madison; and
it was seldom that his game was made the subject of police interference.
During a long period of his career, William Beck was Milwaukee’s chief
of police, and as he was an inveterate gambler himself, and could
generally be found in a gaming house when not engaged upon professional
business, he naturally refrained from interfering with Wicks.
But the gambler met his fate at last. “Taking a flyer” is what ruined
him, and since 1872 he has done very little beyond insisting that modern
gamblers are all “crooked.”
On several occasions he has attempted to break up the games in Milwaukee
by procuring indictments against the gamblers, but in each instance has
ignominiously failed, for the reason that the younger men have been
shrewd enough to induce the public to believe that the “old sport” was
merely trying to extort money. Prior to his unfortunate venture in
wheat, “Tom” Wicks enjoyed the friendship of a large number of wealthy
and influential men who never gambled. These in a majority he has
retained since his misfortune. The charge brought against him by the
younger gamblers, however, that he was endeavoring to levy blackmail has
caused a coolness between himself and some of his former acquaintances.
In 1876, when Alexander Mitchell took the Wisconsin delegation to St.
Louis in his private car, “Tom” Wicks was made chief caterer and
attended to the wants of the party; the members of which enjoyed a
perpetual banquet from the moment of their departure until the hour of
their return.
Just before Wicks lost his money, Mayor O’Neil closed up the gambling
houses in Milwaukee and also raided Sunday dances, the result being that
next year the “tough” element joined the Republicans and elected
Harrison Ludington Mayor. He opened the town for those who had elected
him, and, so far as gambling was concerned, it continued to run about as
it pleased until a year ago, when Chief Ries, almost as a last official
act before being relieved of the care of the police force, closed up the
gambling houses. This left Mayor Brown and Chief Jansen the choice of
keeping them closed or being abused by the friends of Ries. They chose
the former alternative. As a consequence the city has been “closed up
tight” for nearly a year, most of the dealers and supernumeries since
the last election emigrating to other localities, a considerable
proportion finding congenial surroundings in Chicago.
Before this compulsory hegira of the gamblers, Milwaukee was one of the
most viciously “wide open” towns in the Northwest, and the business was
becoming a nuisance. After the collapse of the iron boom all manner of
disreputables flocked thither, and gambling, might have been said, to be
running rampant. Six faro banks were constantly open, besides poker
games and wheels of fortune in the back rooms of most of the saloons.
During the recent G. A. R. encampment, the authorities seemed to relax
their vigilance, and allowed a little faro playing in a quiet way, but
there is no guarantee that a raid may not occur at any moment. As a
consequence, it is not probable that a game of any magnitude will
attempt to exist, or that if it does anybody will run the risk of
patronizing it. A raid was made last September and three keepers and
sixty players were captured. It was generally supposed that the “haul”
would have been larger had not a “tip” been secretly given.
Last May the Chief of Police, Jansen, drafted a new ordinance relative
to gambling, which he asked the council to pass. The ordinance provided
that police officers armed with a properly drawn warrant might enter any
place where they suspect gambling was being carried on, and that any one
refusing them admission should be subject to a severe penalty. The
police were empowered to use force and to batter down doors when refused
admission. The ordinance also provided that the men found in charge of
the gambling house should be deemed the keepers and that all gambling
tools and paraphernalia captured by the police should be destroyed as
soon as the police proved to the court that the said tools are gambling
devices.
There was considerable opposition among the aldermen to the ordinance,
on the ground that it would enable the police to break into private
houses and arrest a party of gentlemen who might be enjoying a quiet
game of poker.
“Any man who pretends to oppose the law on such grounds is either a fool
or a knave,” said Chief Jansen. “In the first place, we can enter any
man’s house now on a properly drawn warrant. It is all nonsense to
suppose that the police would attempt to enter any one’s house to break
up a game of cards, even if played for a consideration. Any police
official who attempted it would be promptly called to account and the
verdict of public opinion alone would cause him to lose his position.
What we do want, however, are laws sufficiently stringent to allow us to
stamp out public gambling. It costs the city hundreds of dollars to keep
the gambling houses closed, and when we get a case against them they
slip through with a petty fine and then the police department is
subjected to the humiliation of having to return the gambling tools. The
ordinances of the city are no more stringent now than when they were
first passed, when the city was incorporated, in 1854. They are not up
to the times. We want this new ordinance passed so that we can close and
keep closed public gambling houses without being compelled to keep a
detail of men on watch at all times.”
GAMBLING IN SARATOGA.
To narrate the history of gambling in Saratoga, would be almost to give
an epitome of the history of the town itself from its earliest date. Its
celebrity as a watering place has done much to increase the practice of
the vice, but even before it obtained fame in this direction its
reputation as a gambling resort was well established within the somewhat
contracted radius of the circle of which it formed the centre.
The author is indebted to an old resident of the Springs, who took up
his residence there, under the parental wing, in 1831, when he was a boy
of but ten years of age, for the statement that as early as 1844 there
existed a resort on Broadway, opposite the residence of the Chancellor,
where a bowling alley and billiard room constituted the chief
attractions. The fact that games were played for wagers undoubtedly
rendered the resorts more attractive. In a journal published in those
early days there is found a communication from a lawyer, in which the
writer complains that while arguing a case before the Chancellor he had
been much annoyed by the noise of the patrons of the bowling alley, and
that at intervals he could hear the click of the billiard pools, and
even the rolling of the roulette table. During this period there was
another bowling alley, situated in a small grove near a pond in the
Southern part of the village, with the then customary adjuncts of
billiards and open gambling. The location of the latter resort was
practically identical with the site of the Clarendon hotel. Its
proprietor was Geo. W. Gale, who also owned the alley opposite the
Chancellor. In 1845, Gale retired from business, to accept the position
of ticket agent of the Rensselaer and Saratoga railroad, a fact which
would seem to indicate that in those early days running a gambling house
was not found to be particularly profitable in Saratoga.
Perhaps the explanation may be found in the fact that the resorts of
similar character had multiplied to an extent considerably exceeding the
demand of the population. About the year 1834 bowling alleys and other
places where various games might be played for a wager were numerous in
the neighborhood of the railroad depots. The business was carried on so
openly that almost the first object which attracted the attention of a
passenger alighting from a train was the open door of one of these
resorts.
Early in the history of the Springs, and long before the war, Southern
planters in great numbers, selected Saratoga as their summer resort
every year. It is not too much to say that they gambled with a
recklessness in comparison with which the ventures of players of later
days sink into comparative insignificance. They prided themselves upon
playing a “gentleman’s game,” and the stakes were practically unlimited.
The rich Southerner of the ante-bellum days was as simple in his pride
as any other spoiled child of fortune; he offered an easy prey to the
rapacity of professional sharks, and he was not infrequently robbed
outright. He was accustomed to associating with those who were wont to
flatter his vanity, and who were fond of assuring him that “the king
could do no wrong.” The result was that the gamblers found it easy to
reap a rich harvest, provided that they succeeded in being permitted to
“sit” in the right kind of games. As most of the gambling was done at
the hotel, the chance of detection was reduced to a minimum. From what
has been said, it may be inferred that it is a mistake to suppose that
gambling at Saratoga had its origin at the time of the introduction of
the races, although since the time that the trial of the speed of horses
was added to the attractions of this world-famous watering place, the
vice has developed to a larger extent than ever before. The races were
started in 1863, at what was then regarded as a suburb, and known as
“House Haven.” It was about this time that club rooms sprang up and were
to be found in all the larger hotels, where, for that matter, they may
be found to-day. Faro and other banking games were openly dealt at half
a dozen places in the village.
John Morrissey, once famous as a pugilist, and later as the head and
front of the sporting fraternity throughout the United States, first
appeared in Saratoga in 1863, as a patron of the race course. In 1870 he
built and opened, with no little parade, his magnificent club house.
Ladies and gentlemen were alike invited to become his guests, and his
object was to establish upon the American continent a gaming resort
which should rival Monte Carlo. Notwithstanding the fact that indignant
remonstrances were made by the better class of citizens, a local
newspaper of that date chronicles that his establishment received the
patronage of many of the principal ladies of the village, who were
received and attended during their visits by professional blacklegs.
Playing at this resort has always run high, although of late years the
profits of the managers have not been so large as in former days. In
March, 1871, an indignation meeting of citizens was held and resolutions
were adopted emphatically denouncing gambling.
Among the best known professionals of early days at Saratoga, was
Benjamin C. Scribner, who arrived in the village about 1842 and opened a
small place in an alley near the United States Hotel. He was supposed to
be a man of considerable wealth at one time, but was ultimately very
glad to accept a position from Morrissey, in whose employ he remained
until he died. It was a surprise to the public that his estate was found
to be worth several thousand dollars, but the surprise was somewhat
dissipated when it was learned that the property had been tied up in
such a way that he could not use it.
Morrissey soon found that it was impossible to carry out his original
idea of making Saratoga the Baden-Baden of the United States. The
disapprobation of the citizens was so openly expressed that he became
chary of admitting people into his resort. He professed to
discountenance open gambling, although every one in Saratoga knew that
his club house was the great head-center of the vice. Albert Spencer and
Charles Reed were subsequently associated with him as partners. Reed
brought his wife to Saratoga and purchased land on which he erected a
handsome residence. His family regularly attended the Episcopal church,
and he made some effort to gain a foot-hold in good society, but did not
meet with the success which he had expected. Afterwards Mr. Reed
abandoned or disposed of his interest in the club house, and is at
present a stock raiser, having obtained a by no means unenviable
reputation as a breeder of thorough breds. He owns a fine racing stable.
Morrissey’s career is too well known to call for any extended
description in this connection. He died a poor man and his wife was left
in decidedly straightened circumstances. Probably no gambler in the
United States won more money than he, and certainly none enjoyed a
higher reputation for fair dealing and integrity. He was liberal to
folly; in fact it may be said that during the heyday of his prosperity
he was princely in his generosity. While his business was said to be
under reprobation, he was yet able to command an immense popularity. It
is doubtful whether any professional gambler in America has done more to
corrupt the morals of young men than did Morrissey through the indirect
influence of his gambling. It is a lamentable commentary upon American
politics that a professional gambler, even though reputed to be a
“square” player, should have been able to obtain a seat in the United
States Congress through the suffrage of a constituency which typified
the wealth and culture of the metropolis of the New World.
One word with regard to the influence of legislation upon gambling on
horse races. At the period when the Saratoga meetings were inaugurated
pool selling was not prohibited and was openly conducted. Not long
afterward a law was enacted forbidding this form of gambling, but so far
as Saratoga was concerned it proved a dead letter; in other words it was
never enforced. Some practical members of the law-making body perceived
this fact and attempted to prescribe a remedy. The outcome of their
efforts was the celebrated “Ives” bill, which legalizes pool selling on
horse races during thirty days in each year. The practical result of the
adoption of this measure was to put an end to pool selling in a “hole-
and-corner” sort of way, which was brought about measurably through the
efforts of those gamblers who were willing to comply with the provisions
of the law.
Not many years ago Anthony Comstock, known all over the country as an
uncompromising foe of vice, visited Saratoga upon the invitation of the
reputable class of citizens. As a result of his visit several places
were raided, but the grand jury refused to indict the proprietors upon
the complaint of Comstock and his men.
It is worthy of remark that probably there is no place in the United
States in which gambling is conducted on more strictly business
principles than in Saratoga. Twenty years ago play was reckless, but was
prompted chiefly by a love of excitement. Then everybody gambled simply
as a method of killing time. To-day gambling at this famous watering
place is chiefly, if not altogether, in the hands of professionals. In
other words, nowadays, everybody who gambles does so on keen business
principles. In the old times, the Southern gentleman lost his slaves and
his plantation upon the turn of a card. At the present time large stakes
are the exception, as they were formerly the rule. Occasionally a player
who has plenty of money will risk a few hundreds and lose them without a
murmur, but the good old days seem to have gone forever. The dealers’
winnings, as a rule, are comparatively small.
To come down to modern times, no history of gambling at Saratoga would
be complete which failed to record the inauguration and prosecution of
the war against gaming houses, which was commenced by Spencer Trask, of
New York, in 1889. Mr. Trask, was well and favorably known upon the New
York Stock Exchange, and for some time conducted an office at Saratoga
during the season where he bought and sold stocks on margins. He is (or
was) a proprietor of a daily newspaper at the Springs, through the
columns of which he waged vigorous war upon the gamblers. He is
understood to have been one of the victims of Comstock’s first raid, and
is said to have paid a fine in consequence of an indictment by the grand
jury. The result of his investigations he has made known, and the
author, after some pains to contest the correctness of his statements,
feels justified in giving to his readers a summary of what he
discovered.
At the present time, there are over twenty or thirty gaming resorts in
Saratoga. Half of these cannot be said to be open games. Many of them
cater for the patronage of the lowest class of society only. In the
“_Saratoga Union_” of August 22, there was printed a list of the public
houses, which may be said to have been a substantially correct re-
capitulation of those actually running at that time.
To summarize the history of gambling in Saratoga—It may be said that
there has been open gambling at the Springs for at least twenty years,
and that gaming is still open there to-day. While there was more poker
playing at the hotels twenty years ago than there is to-day the vice is
more rampant now than then. At the same time, there is a more pronounced
effort to conduct it in comparative secrecy. At that time, the officers
of the law looked upon it as a necessary evil and put forth no effort
toward its suppression. To-day, public sentiment compels them to take
action, which, however dilatory and half-hearted, is still or more less
effective.
A brief allusion has been made in a preceding paragraph to the visit of
Anthony Comstock to Saratoga. From what has been said, the reader may
perhaps infer that it was comparatively without result. This impression
should be removed. The Secretary of the New York Society for the
Suppression of Vice visited the place accompanied by several of his own
detectives, all being disguised. Their primary object was to obtain
evidence against some twenty-nine gamblers. They were threatened with
assassination and the best people of the city met in a citizens’
assembly to voice public opinion, and to afford them the moral support
which the people alone can furnish. The hells were raided, and most of
those arrested waived examination; yet in spite of positive and
conclusive evidence not a single indictment was found.
In August, 1879, two raids upon the gaming houses were instituted but no
implements were found either time. The explanation commonly accepted by
the public was that “private tips” had been given to the houses by the
police. Notwithstanding this, detectives obtained sufficient evidence to
hold several gamblers to await the action of the grand jury. The net
result was a rather deplorable fiasco.
Despite all citizens’ meetings, it is a grave question whether public
sentiment in Saratoga does not, at least indirectly, support gambling. A
leading daily journal of that city, while fighting for the suppression
of the vice, virtually concedes this fact. There can be no question that
strong political influence is brought to bear every year upon the
District Attorney of Saratoga County, not to press indictments before
the grand jury, and upon members of the latter body not to find a true
bill. The explanation is to be found in the fact that the gambling
interests in the city and county are too strong to be overcome by the
moral sentiment of a minority of tax-payers.
Owing to the large number of hotels gamblers and confidence men have
found Saratoga a good place at which to locate an alibi. It is a fact no
less surprising than sad that clerks at reputable hotels are willing to
lend themselves to such a scheme. The _modus operandi_ is simple. A few
lines are reserved on the register under a particular date; on that day
a confidence game is worked elsewhere (let us say in Boston). The
sharpers repair to the hotel where the space on the register has been
reserved, and enter their names as of a previous date. Should they be
arrested the hotel register is an invaluable adjunct in establishing an
alibi. Of course the clerk cannot distinctly remember particular guests,
but—for a consideration—he believes that his register is correct.
GAMBLING IN CINCINNATI.
Cincinnati at present (1890) may be said to be comparatively free from
gamblers. The last gaming establishment in the city was shut up in 1886,
and since that time there has not been a single place known as a resort
of this character within the corporate limits. The proprietor of the
last recognized house was Marshall Wooden, who is now somewhere in
Arkansas. His place was closed as a result of the last battle in the
long struggle between the gamblers and the authorities. Two years
previous to that time gambling hells had been numerous, being protected
by the existing Board of Police Commissioners, who exacted a weekly
amount of blackmail from every gambling house. That board, however,
which was a partisan one, was wiped out of existence, and a non-partisan
board took charge of the police. A crusade against the gamblers was
inaugurated, and little by little they were driven from the town.
However, in Covington and Newport, Kentucky towns just across the river
from Cincinnati, gamblers are allowed full sway. In Covington alone
there are no less than one hundred policy shops, and Newport boasts of a
large number. Faro and keno are also played in these towns, while in
Newport is a resplendently gorgeous gaming palace, devoted to all kinds
of play, which has been running for years. These facilities for
gambling, so near at home, are so annoying to Cincinnati authorities
that the latter have attempted to induce the officials on the other side
of the river to act with them in suppressing the vice. But nothing has
been done in the matter. It was only a short time ago that a young man,
a clerk in the Bodmann tobacco warehouse in Cincinnati, began to
frequent the horse races at Latonia. At first he risked only his own
money, but from betting on horse pools he gradually became infatuated
with other forms of gambling, and night after night found him in
Newport, in the place already referred to. As a result of this love for
play, and to pay his “debts of honor,” (?) he forged the name of his
employers to checks to the amount of ten thousand dollars, cashed them,
fled to England, was arrested, brought back, and is now serving a
sentence of seven years in the Ohio penitentiary.
It was not until the beginning of the war that there was any great
amount of gambling in Cincinnati. Previous to that time, poker was
played regularly on the steam boats plying the Ohio and Mississippi
rivers between that city and New Orleans, and occasionally there was a
game on shore. But as a rule the gambler kept on the water. During the
war, however, Cincinnati was the headquarters of one of the great
departments of the army. It was full of officers going and coming;
immense amounts of money changed hands constantly; fortunes were made
readily, and, of course, adventurers of all kinds flocked to the city.
Then it was that the first gambling establishments were opened. There
was a general laxity in regard to gamblers, and they held uninterrupted
sway. Gambling increased until 1877 or 1878, when it reached its height.
There were pool rooms in many of the saloons; gambling houses were as
open as dry goods stores; policy was openly played, and lottery tickets
were apparently legitimate articles of commerce.
About 1878, however, the pool rooms were closed and lottery tickets were
banished. Now and then there would be a return of officials who owed
their election to the votes of the gamblers, and that element in the
community which was in sympathy with them, as during the years of 1884
and 1886, but good and efficient laws and their administration by an
honest police force soon succeeded in suppressing open gaming houses.
Probably Cincinnati’s most noted gambler was the late “Bolly” Lewis. He
flourished during the palmy days of the war. His establishment was one
of the finest in the city. One night an army paymaster dropped into his
place, and before morning came the unfortunate officer had lost $40,000.
This set “Bolly” to moralizing, and from that time he became a changed
man. He gave up gambling, became a member of the church, and was
prominent in all charitable works. He proved his penitence by restoring
the $40,000 to the officer. He went into the hotel business, became part
proprietor of the Gibson house, and when he died enjoyed the respect and
confidence of the entire community.
Tom Mead has been one of Cincinnati’s most persistent gamblers. He was a
miner and went to California in ’49. He found it, however, more
profitable to stop at Panama, where the miners who went by sea were
crossing in a steady stream, and opening a gambling house there, he
caught them going and coming, greatly to his own profit. He returned
very wealthy, shot a man in Boston, then came to Cincinnati and opened
places on Vine, Longworth and Fifth streets. Personally, he is a quiet,
apparently inoffensive gentleman, dressing modestly, fond of good horses
and devoted to his wife. Since gambling has been stopped he has become a
law-abiding citizen and lives on the rental of the many houses which he
owns.
“Eph” Holland is another noted Cincinnati gambler, who once achieved
some notoriety as a politician, and who now has a place in Hot Springs,
Arkansas.
“Blackie” Edwards still lives in Cincinnati, where for years he ran a
straight faro game. He was honest in his way and had a code of honor
which was exact. He apparently has enough to live on without working.
Robert Lynn ran faro games in both Cincinnati and Washington, and when
the edict went forth that drove him out of the former city he retired to
the latter.
Those named are men who have lived long in Cincinnati, some of whom have
accumulated money, which they have carefully invested; but at all times
the city has had homeless, temporary professional gamblers, who have
come floating up from Lexington and other southern and western cities.
It was from Kentucky that the business men, stock farmers and the like
came, who made up the principal customers for Cincinnati’s gambling
establishments. It was openly stated by the gamblers when it was
proposed to drive them away, that they rarely fleeced any one who lived
in the city, their profits being derived altogether from strangers, and
that consequently it was really a good thing for the town to draw and
keep here money from abroad.
There have never been but three really popular games among Cincinnati
gamesters—poker, of the stud-horse type, faro, and keno. Keno, as a
rule, has been straight, while faro has been equally crooked.
With the exception of Blackie Edwards’ place, the stranger in a gambling
room in Cincinnati had nine chances in ten of being cheated. Roulette
has been played to some extent, while in the old days rondeau was
something of a favorite. It was played with a board furnished with
pockets. You played a certain number of balls, rolling them down the
board, and if an even number of them went in the pockets you won; if
not, you lost. Crap shooting is played only along the levee by the
darkies. Three years ago there were at least five hundred policy shops
in town, but they have all been driven out. Policy is still played on a
small scale, the headquarters being in Kentucky, and men go around to
collect the numbers from the “friends,” as they are called.
During the war, gambling was enormously profitable. The instance of
$40,000 having been lost in a single night has already been mentioned.
The heads of gambling establishments would frequently take a trip to New
Orleans, and would return with perhaps $5,000 and it was not unusual for
the profits to be $10,000. During the later years, profits have not been
so phenomenal, but still the money made has been large, as was clearly
shown by the fact that gamblers were able to spend $50,000 and $60,000 a
year for police protection. The business being in the hands of a few
men, they were able to run pretty much as they pleased, the horde of
small-fry professional gamblers being kept on the outside.
During the palmy days of the gamblers, they were an active, aggressive
political force. Ephraim Holland, already mentioned, was famous as a
political ward worker. He manipulated conventions to suit himself, and
saw to it that the police officers were men who were friendly; and when
Ephraim saw that an election was going against him, he at one time, so
far forgot himself as to stuff the ballot box. This sent him to the
penitentiary, and the wave of public indignation that followed his
conviction, was disastrous to the gamblers. The gambling houses were
kept open all night, being run, as a rule, in connection with a saloon,
and they were hot-beds fostering criminals. They attracted to the town
all sorts of unscrupulous individuals. There were frequent fights and
occasionally a murder, while robbery was not uncommon. But since the
closing of the gambling houses and at the same time the shutting down of
the saloons at midnight, Cincinnati has really been regenerated. The
number of prisoners in the jail has been reduced to almost half, while
the clearing of the moral atmosphere is noticeable. The chief of
detectives of Cincinnati, Col. Larry Hazen, said in speaking of the
hegira of the gamblers, “I regard it as the greatest moral reform that
Cincinnati has seen in my time. It removed temptation from growing boys
and trusted young men, and it keeps away from our town a great number of
pickpockets, as well as gamblers, who are ready to be burglars or
anything else when occasion may offer.”
The Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce and Board of Trade are for strictly
legitimate dealing. There is no selling on margins; all transactions
must be with the real article. There are, however, three bucket shops
who do business with the Chicago Board of Trade. Ten years ago there
were fifteen bucket shops doing business in this way, but for the lack
of patronage, they have dwindled to three. The law is exact and plain in
forbidding their existence, but thus far, the courts have failed to
dispose of the cases brought before them. The police are making a
strenuous effort to close them up, and the next legislature promises to
pass even more stringent legislation in regard to them. The volume of
business done by them is small, their customers being for the most part,
young men and listless individuals who have no regular employment, but
who lounge around the bucket shops, spending now and then a dollar, and
passing their time in watching the blackboards.
Lo! next to my prophetic eye there starts
A beauteous gamestress in the queen of hearts.
The cards are dealt, the fatal pool is lost,
And all her golden hopes forever crossed.
Yet still this card—devoted fair I view—
Whate’er her luck, to “_honor_” ever true.
So tender there—if debts crowd fast upon her
She’ll pawn her “virtue” to preserve her “_honor_.”
Thrice happy were my art, could I foretell
Cards would be abjured by every belle!
Yet, I pronounce who cherish still the vice,
And the pale vigils keep of cards and dice—
’Twill on their charms sad havoc make, ye fair!
Which “rouge” in vain shall labor to repair.
Beauties will grow mere hags, toasts wither’d jades,
Frightful and ugly as the—_Queen of Spades_.
_Oxonian in Town, 1767._
GAMBLING IN CLEVELAND.
With a population estimated at 250,000, Cleveland supports a dozen
public gambling houses, half a dozen private poker clubs and two policy
shops. In deference to unfavorable public sentiment, which forms the
basis of restrictive measures enforced by the police, all forms of
gambling are of necessity conducted in an exceedingly quiet manner. As a
rule, all public gaming is conducted behind locked doors and applicants
for admission are subjected to close scrutiny. For thirty years but one
line of policy has been pursued by the municipal authorities toward
gambling houses, and in all that time public opinion has been uniformly
hostile to the business. The policy of the authorities has been to
restrict, rather than to abolish, gambling. They have endeavored to
place the games, as far as possible, beyond the reach of uninitiated and
guileless citizens who would probably prove easy victims, and to limit
their patronage to those whose experience has made them more familiar
with the wiles of the professional gamester.
There is not a gambling house in Cleveland conducted on the ground
floor, nor is there one run with open doors. With a solitary exception,
the gambling rooms, of which there are about a dozen, are located in the
second story of the business blocks. The exception referred to is a
Chinese “joint,” operated in connection with a Mongolian laundry in a
basement.
In 1866, there were but a half dozen gambling establishments in the
city, and nearly all the six opened have commenced operations within the
past eight years. There have, however, been several gambling rooms
opened and conducted for only a short time, whose doors were closed
because of the slender resources of the “bank,” which could not sustain
the loss of a few thousand dollars. Within the past few years the police
have emphatically insisted that the gambling rooms be kept hidden from
public gaze. The object undoubtedly has been, as before intimated, so to
arrange matters that only those who were obstinately bent on play, could
find a place in which to stake their earnings on the turn of a card.
It has also been a feature of police policy to make a formal raid every
year. In the Police Court it has been the custom to assess nominal fines
of fifty dollars and costs on the keepers of gambling houses and ten
dollars and costs on the visitors. Both classes have always assented to
the arrangement, and, after pleading guilty, paid their fines without
protest. A great many disinterested citizens insist that such
proceedings, besides being inherently farcical, partake very much of the
nature of an indirect licensing of the business.
A State statute provides that, when ordered by a court of competent
jurisdiction, the mayor and chief of police shall destroy the gambling
implements captured in a raid. It has become the settled custom,
however, for the court not to order the destruction of the
paraphernalia, which is accordingly returned to the owners. In
consequence there is a great public outcry against the business and the
police order all proprietors to close their rooms. They comply for a few
weeks, and then gaming is resumed, though at first on a small scale.
They gradually grow bolder, until they very nearly reach the point where
they conduct business with open doors. There is then another outcry,
they are ordered to close and the whole process is repeated.
In all the gambling houses there is a sentinel, and unless the
appearance of the applicant for admission is satisfactory he is not
permitted to enter.
Probably another reason for the caution on the part of the gamblers is
to be found in the stringent legislation against the vice. The law, of
course, does not recognize the business as legitimate, and it is an easy
matter for a loser to secure judgment for money lost, either before a
petty magistrate or in a higher court. As a rule the gamblers settle
before the cases are called for trial, and they have at times submitted
to blackmail rather than appear in court.
Concerning the individual characteristics of Cleveland gamblers there is
little to be said, few of them enjoying more than a local reputation.
Among the most prominent proprietors of gambling houses, George Randall
is, perhaps, the best known, and is the nearest approach to the ideal
professional gamester. He has just passed the meridian of life, and has
an unusually pleasant countenance. His drooping mustache is barely
tinged with gray. He is intelligent, good-natured, and of a quiet
disposition. He is thoroughly “game,” and no man can lose with more
nonchalance or win with an easier grace. He owns a gambling
establishment in Saratoga, but has an interest in two “hells” in
Cleveland. His fortune is estimated at $30,000.
As regards the extent of gambling in Cleveland, it may be said that
four-fifths of the playing is done in eight establishments, in all of
which the principal games are “faro,” “roulette” and “poker.” In each of
those places the paraphernalia—that is, the gambling implements and
furnishings—cost about $2,500. The total amount invested in the outfit
of the gambling rooms is about $25,000. There are in nearly all cases
two partners, three dealers, and a porter, who also acts as sentinel.
The dealers receive from $20 to $30 per week; the rents range from $60
to $80 per month, and the gas bills average about $6 per week. Under the
head of expenses should be included the fines assessed at the time of
the annual raids, all of which are paid by the proprietors. The average
expenses of the twelve gambling houses in the city may fairly be
summarized as follows:
Salaries of dealers $3,000
Rents 840
Gas 300
Porter 520
Police-court fines 100
Incidental expenses, including refreshments 500
———
Total $5,260
The amount of capital backing the establishments is about $80,000, of
which faro has some $30,000, and roulette and poker the balance. There
are about fifty employes. The profits during the past year have been, in
the estimation of the best judges in the city, about $35,000. It has,
however, been an unfortunate year for the fraternity, for, in addition
to the losses already mentioned, one firm lost $6,000 in a month.
There are three semi-public poker clubs, of which the expenses are paid
by the “rake off.” Besides these there are several private poker clubs,
the members of which contribute all the money needed to maintain the
rooms. A great deal of poker playing is also carried on in private rooms
at various points throughout the city.
The Chinese laundrymen love to indulge in “fan-tan” and poker, and are
inveterate gamesters. Many of them wear jasper rings on their left
wrists “for luck.” They are in the habit of assembling in small parties
in several localities, the main establishment being located at the
corner of Seneca and Chaplain streets. The last mentioned place is also
the headquarters of one of their secret societies. A police raid upon
it, not many months ago, resulted in the capture of some twenty
Celestials.
Policy playing is limited to two establishments. Each is conducted by
the proprietor and one assistant, and they do a prosperous business.
Their patrons are poor people, who are necessarily ignorant or they
would not strive to overcome the heavy odds against their chance of
winning. The patrons of the game invest about $1,500 per week in their
effort to name the winning combination.
About $5,000 per month is invested in the Louisiana State Lottery. The
local agent is the proprietor of a cigar store who maintains little
secrecy, and even women and children figure among the patrons. The
greater number of tickets are ordered by express or mail directly from
New Orleans.
Gambling in stocks and grain is conducted through a few brokers who act
as agents of the parties in New York and Chicago. They do a fair
business, but it is not nearly so large as it was during the speculative
craze a few years ago. They are understood to receive a commission of
five per cent. Gamblers in Cleveland have never taken an active part in
politics, their interest having been chiefly limited to wagers on the
result of elections.
Police officials all unite in saying that little or no crime has been
traced to gambling. One bank cashier embezzled nearly $1,000,000, and
another about $80,000 to invest in stocks and wheat, but only one or two
trifling defalcations have been traced to ordinary gambling. Recently a
young man $200 short in his accounts disappeared, and he probably lost
the money at roulette. A trusted employe ruined a prominent book firm,
misusing perhaps $20,000; but business mismanagement and possibly other
weaknesses combined with his fondness for poker to bring about his
downfall.
There have undoubtedly been cases of embezzlement due to cards, however,
that never became public. The laws against gambling have also made the
proprietors cautious, and they are careful in permitting visitors to
stake large sums. The gamblers, aside from a lot of “hangers on,” known
as “shoestring” or “tin horn” gamblers, do not figure in the criminal
records. Most of the latter exist on the earnings of prostitutes, and
steal and gamble as a matter of course.
----------
GAMBLING IN MOBILE.
Before the war, the slave owner with wealth at his command, with his
plantations overseered by trustworthy men, with his crops cultivated by
his slaves, gradually became more and more indifferent to mercantile
pursuits, and indeed, to any vocation involving actual work, of either
mind or body, his main anxiety being to solve the question, how should
he spend his money and live. Especially was this true before the advent
of the railroad, when Mobile was the principal city in the State, the
most easy of access on account of its rivers, and the focus of at least
two-thirds of the entire wealth of Alabama. Gaming at that time in
Mobile was almost universal, the sporting element being by far more
gentlemanly, better educated, and in every respect more polished than
are the men of that ilk to-day. Among the patrons of the race-course
were such men as Wm. R. Johnson, Col. Sprague, “Wagner” Campbell; while
the gamblers numbered in their ranks, Capt. Geo. Grant and Jack
Delahaunty. As long as money poured into Mobile, that city was specially
noted among the gambling fraternity for the high stakes wagered on
horse-racing, and the amount risked on the turn of a card. Even when
“the late unpleasantness” came on, substantially the same state of
affairs existed, and what diminution there was in gaming among the
residents, was more than counterbalanced by the prevalence of gambling
among the soldiers of both armies during the war.
At this time a well known figure on the streets of Mobile, was Capt. Wm.
H. Williamson. He was a Virginian by birth, of wealthy parents and
educated as a gentleman. Early in life he settled in Alabama. He was
exceedingly fond of horses, and generally devoted to sporting and was a
frequenter of the races in Mobile, even up to a date within the last few
years. He was one of the California “Forty-niners” and one of the
witnesses of the famous Broderick-Terry duel, the story of which has
recently been revived by the shooting of Judge Terry. Capt. Williamson
was elected Chief of Police for two terms, holding that office during
six years. It is fairness of play and unfailing courtesy rendered him
popular, and he was one of the best types of the gamblers who, before
the war, made Mobile their headquarters.
During the ante-bellum days “brace” games were either exceptional or not
desirable. In fact they may be said to have been comparatively unknown
in Mobile until after the occupancy of the city by the federal forces,
when an army, estimated at 60,000, occupied the city and its immediate
vicinity. With the advent of the camp followers, came sharp practices,
and gambling revived in its most pernicious form.
From 1865 to 1872 this state of affairs continued. In the year 1873,
Mobile having, like every other city in the Union, undergone the ordeal
of a financial panic, which at that time swept over the country at
large, was not a particularly favorable spot for the operations of
gamblers. The laws of the State enacted about that time, moreover, were
decidedly hostile to gambling. However, keno rooms and lotteries began
to flourish, at the expense of poker, faro and roulette. Each successive
legislature passed more stringent laws against gaming than had its
predecessor, and public gambling almost ceased to exist. Simultaneously,
however, with the advent of each new administration, some of the
sporting fraternity, more venturesome than others, attempted to run
keno, faro and poker rooms. Yet the popular demand for the enforcement
of the laws was so loud, and the sentences of the court so severe, that
at present gambling in Mobile is conducted with the utmost secrecy, and
every precaution is taken to avoid police interference.
During the decade between 1870 and 1880 lotteries flourished. A test
case was made up against A. J. Moses, and its determination temporarily
put a stop to them all. At present lottery tickets are exposed for sale
with great caution, the grand jury presenting a true bill against the
venders, so far as the latter can be ascertained, two or three times a
year, notwithstanding the fact that they usually turn their wheels in
some place outside the city limits.
It was during the period between 1875 and 1880 that “Bud” Reneau, who
has since figured so prominently in sporting circles, particularly as
one of the managers of the Sullivan-Kilrain fight, began to attract
attention as a member of local sporting clubs. His handsome figure and
courtly manners always made him a favorite wherever he went. He has
retained for his native place an affection which years of absence have
not lessened, and his purse has always been open to the needy of his own
city.
The sporting element has repeatedly essayed to influence elections in
Mobile, but it cannot be said that their efforts have been rewarded with
success, the policy of each municipal administration having been
uniformly against gambling.
Among the negroes, “craps” is greatly in vogue, and there are but few
terms of the courts in which indictments for “crap shooting” are not
more numerous than for almost any other violation of the gambling laws.
This description of gaming is almost exclusively confined to the colored
population, and the prosecution of the offense is perhaps not retarded
by the fact that the solicitor receives $150 for each conviction, as
against $37.50 for other classes of misdemeanors.
The court enjoys the discretion in the case of conviction under the
gambling laws, of either inflicting a fine, or sentencing the offender
to the coal mines or both. As a rule, the sentence in the case of
managers of lotteries has been a fine of $100 and solicitors fees $150
and costs of court which has resulted in the collection for the city of
nearly ten thousand dollars per year from this source. At present,
between the laws against gambling and the perseverance of the solicitor
in keeping an eye on all the resorts of the gamblers it may be said that
gambling is at the lowest possible ebb in Mobile. The enforcement of the
laws by the grand juries has made things so unpleasant for the blacklegs
that gradually they have been compelled to leave the city, either to
avoid trials by the courts or to seek more profitable fields.
Early in 1877 the “Pool Room” or “Turf Exchange” made its appearance in
Mobile. Undoubtedly this has proved the most pernicious of all forms of
gambling. It grew rapidly in favor and lured many young men to
destruction and dishonor. The evil was so great that a few citizens
appealed to the Legislature in the spring of 1889 for the passage of a
bill prohibiting pool selling which, up to that time, had not been
covered by the State laws against gambling. The new bill had the novel
feature in it that it compelled the municipal authorities of the various
cities of the State to execute this law, and gave them jurisdiction, for
that purpose, for five miles outside the corporate limits. The law was
so carefully framed that the “Turf Exchange” men surrendered without a
fight, and quit the State in a body.
GAMBLING IN CHARLESTON.
McMaster, in his “History of the People of the United States” quoting
from the historian Ramsay, and several European travelers, says:
“Betting and gambling were, with drunkenness and a passion for dueling
and running in debt, the chief sins of the Carolina Gentleman.” This was
about 1791. Charleston was then and for many years afterwards as much
South Carolina as Paris is France. “Already the city was a great
commercial centre. At its wharves might have been seen, almost any day,
scores of vessels laden with every article of luxury or use Great
Britain could supply. In the hands of her subjects was all the trade and
all the commerce of the State. To own a ship, to keep a shop, to do any
of those things done by merchants and traders, was in the opinion of a
Carolina planter, degrading. The master spent his time in the enjoyment
of such festivities as Charleston could afford. There he lived in a fine
house, gave fine dinners, went to the theatre to see Mrs. Rawson, or to
the circus to see Mr. Ricketts; subscribed to the assembly, joined the
Hell-fire club or the Ugly club, or the Mount Zion Society, and rode his
favorite horse at the races.”
Irving’s history of the turf in South Carolina, shows that the Jockey
Club in Charleston was probably the oldest in the Union, and while at
its annual meetings betting was not as common or as heavy as elsewhere,
and the prizes were more frequently plate than money, yet the early
popularity of horse racing indicates of necessity a passion for betting
as well as for its alleged object, the improvement of the breeds of
horses.
The early narratives give two notes of interest to the student of
gambling, one before, and the other after, the Revolution, neither of
which is cited by McMaster.
Johnson in his “Traditions of the Revolution” tells of the visit of Lord
Anson, the well known British naval commander, to Charleston, about the
year 1733. He was hospitably received by the citizens, among them,
Thomas Gadsen, the King’s collector for the province. Lord Anson’s
passion for gaming was such that he had been censured for even winning
money from his humble midshipmen. Mr. Gadsen (who had formerly been a
Lieutenant in the British Navy) played with his lordship, lost a large
sum of money, and paid the debt of honor by giving him titles for all
those lands which to this day (1840) bear the designation of
Ansonborough. It was that portion of Charleston between Boundary and
Laurens Street, extending eastwardly from Anson street to the channel of
Cooper River. These valuable lands which now constitute a large section
of the city were afterwards purchased from Lord Anson by General
Christopher Gadsen, the distinguished soldier and statesman of the
Revolution, and a son of the King’s collector, Thomas Gadsen, the
unlucky gamester.
DRAWN NUMBERS of the South Carolina Lottery, class No. 15, for 1844.
30 43 55 56 52 73 66 64 5 31 22 36.
RECEIVED AT
J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,
Ap 12 26 Broad street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=DRAWING DUE THIS DAY AT 3 p. m.=
GREEN and PULASKI MONUMENT LOTTERY,
Class No. 12.
=20,000 DOLLS.=
=30 of 500 DOLLS.=
Fifteen Drawn Ballots.
Tickets $5—shares in proportion.
FOR SALE BY
J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,
Ap 12 26 Broad street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=DRAWING DUE MONDAY.=
VIRGINIA MONONGALIA LOTTERY,
Class No. 15. for 1844.
=7,000 DOLLS.=
=2,034 DOLLS.=
12 Drawn Numbers in each package of 22 Tickets.
Tickets $2.50—Shares in proportion.
FOR SALE BY
J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,
Ap 10 26 Broad street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=DRAWING DUE TUESDAY.=
ALEXANDRIA LOTTERY,
Class No. 14, for 1844.
=30,000 DOLLS.=
=10,000 DOLLS.=
=25 of $1,000.=
Tickets $10—shares in proportion.
J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,
Ap 11 26 Broad street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=DRAWING DUE WEDNESDAY.=
VIRGINIA (Leesburg) LOTTERY.
Class No. 16, for 1844.
=12,000 DOLLS.=
=10 of $1,000.=
78 Numbers—14 Drawn Ballots.
Tickets $5—shares in proportion.
J. G. GREGORY & CO., Managers,
Ap 12 26 Broad street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DRAWN NUMBERS of Pokomoke River Lottery, Class No. 46.
51 69 71 4 10 72 34 18 82 27 53 31.
Georgia Literature Lottery, Class No. 4.
75 74 37 65 44 38 17 19 59 31 64 25 11.
----------------------------
=DRAWING EXPECTED TO-MORROW.=
POKOMOKE RIVER LOTTERY. Class No. 48.
=7,000 DOLLS.=
66 Number Lottery—12 Drawn Ballots.
Tickets $2.50; Halves $1.25; Quarters 62½c.
----------------------------
=DRAWING EXPECTED MONDAY=
POKOMOKE RIVER LOTTERY, Class No 50.
=10,000 DOLLS.=
Tickets $4; Halves $2: Quarters $1.
----------------------------
GEORGIA LITERATURE LOTTERY, Class 6.
=7,000 DOLLS.=
Tickets $2; Halves $1; Quarters 50c.
D. PAINE & CO., Managers, 42 Broad st.,
Successors to James Phalen & Co.
->J. Phalen & Co. guarantee the payment of all prizes sold under the
management of their successors, D. Paine & Co. 2 Ap 12
The other reference to the gambling habits of the time is that of the
Duke de La Rochefaucault Liancourt, who visited Charleston about 1798.
He says: “The French planters and commanders of the privateers differ
widely in their political opinions, but the love of gaming reconciles
them all, and in the French gaming houses, which are very numerous in
Charleston, aristocracy and sans culottes mix in friendly intercourse
and indiscriminately surround the tables. It is asserted that they play
very high.” From which it appears that the gambling table was then, as
now, a great leveler.
Newspaper advertisements and a few traditions are all that exist to show
the history of the gaming table from the times of La Rochefaucault to
the present day. Rich planters still kept up and encouraged horse racing
at the courses in Charleston and throughout the state, as the records of
the Jockey club show, though, as intimated before, the improvement of
horse-flesh rather than betting was the main object. Faro banks
undoubtedly existed in Charleston, but they were not so numerous nor as
well patronized as they are to-day. Undoubtedly there was considerable
private gambling, chiefly poker, and there are stories of large and
valuable plantations changing hands over a card table in a single night.
The most widespread and approved gambling was the lottery. We read that
in the year 1800 Denmark Vesey, the notorious mulatto who planned,
organized, and almost brought to a successful condition, the great negro
insurrection of 1822, bought his freedom with $600 of a $1,500 prize won
in the “East Bay (local) Lottery,” and the newspapers of Charleston
about 1814 show three lottery advertisements, one to build a college in
Beaufort, another to build a Presbyterian and another to build an
Episcopal church in Charleston.
In 1844 the lottery craze was at its height, and as much as thirty
thousand dollars was occasionally drawn at the weekly drawings of the
South Carolina Lottery which were held at the City Hall. The City and
State levied no license and it appears that the community favored the
enterprise. J. S. Gregory & Co. of Baltimore, the great lottery
managers, employed agents in this city, and their agents, Messrs.
Gatewood & Cochran, were highly esteemed citizens, whose reputation and
social standing were not in the least affected by their occupations.
The foregoing clipping from the Charleston Courier of April 13, 1844,
will give some idea of the “schemes” and of the extent of the business.
The most notorious case of ante-bellum losing, at a sitting, took place
at the old Charleston Club House. The parties were Motte A. Pringle of
an old aristocratic family, and Mr. Bunch the British Consul at
Charleston. Mr. Bunch, who was a good deal of a sharper, professed to
know nothing of the game of “grab,” and Pringle offered to teach him the
game. When they arose from the table Pringle owed Bunch $10,000. Pringle
told his father (who was a prominent business man in the city) the next
morning, and the old gentleman recognizing it as a debt of honor, gave
him the money, and it was promptly paid over to Bunch the next day. At
the Charleston Club, frequented by professional men and cotton
merchants, there are two sets of poker players, with limits of $50 and
$200 respectively. The proportion of poker playing members is not large
and I have never heard of but one man squandering all his means (almost
$30,000) there. This was a present member of the Charleston bar, and it
took him almost ten years to do it. The other club is the Queen City
Club, which is more of a poker club than anything else and where men
occasionally lose and win as much as $2,000 in a night. No professional
is allowed there, but it is the favorite resort of the non-professional
poker player of the city.
The Otranto Club (chiefly lawyers) owns a beautiful villa about sixteen
miles from the city, where they have six or eight meetings a year, and I
understand play a pretty stiff game of poker. Hunting and good eating
are, however, the main delight at Otranto.
DEALING IN FUTURES.
There are in Charleston a Merchants’ Exchange, consisting mainly of
wholesale grocers and produce brokers; a Cotton Exchange; a Phosphate
Miners’ Exchange and a Chamber of Commerce.
At the opening of the Cotton Exchange, about twelve years ago, one
hundred bales of cotton futures were sold from the floor. This is the
only transaction of the kind that has ever taken place in this city.
About ninety per cent. of the cotton shippers of Charleston sell futures
in New York against their shipments to the United Kingdom and the
continent. There are two gentlemen, Lee Howard and E. H. Priolean, who,
as agents for New York firms, sell futures in cotton, but their business
has decreased very much in late years, and amounts to very little.
There never have been any futures sold at the Merchants’ Exchange,
though some of its members occasionally speculate a little in grain and
pork futures in the Chicago market. The Phosphate Exchange is little
more than a pool among phosphate rock miners, and does no “future”
selling or buying.
The Chamber of Commerce, the oldest commercial body in the South, does
no business whatever in “futures.”
The Legislature of South Carolina in 1883 passed an act “to declare
unlawful contracts for the sale of articles for future delivery made
under certain circumstances and to provide the remedy in such cases.” No
case has ever come to the State Supreme Court under this act, and it is
considered merely as declarative of the common law.
LOTTERY, OR POLICY SHOPS.
There are at present five “policy” offices, with agents or “vendors”
scattered throughout the city, the large majority of the vendors being
negroes.
The business was first started here about 1871, when Horbach, a gambler
and bar-keeper, Willoughby, a corrupt politician, and others obtained a
charter, under the title of “The Charleston Charitable Association,” and
did a large and lucrative “policy” business until March, 1875, when the
act was repealed.
The present five “companies” are modeled after the Charleston Charitable
Association, though they do business on a far less scale, as they are
prohibited by law. The drawings are conducted squarely, the chances in
favor of the gambler being tremendous, and one of the managers is
authority for the statement that the net profits amount to 33 per cent.
of the gross receipts. The system is probably the same as elsewhere.
Seventy-eight numbers are put into a wheel, and twelve are withdrawn by
a little negro, blindfolded. Drawings take place at two and six o’clock
every day, except Sunday, and are held at the main offices, three of
which are in Market Street. Some few negroes are allowed in the room
during the drawing, which is always conducted behind a screen, or door
ajar, for the noise of a crowd would necessarily attract the attention
of the police, who wink at the proceedings. The policy shops, like faro
banks, are seldom pulled; the only instance in the last three years
being the raiding of Syke Thorne’s den on Market Street, two months ago;
and this would not have happened had not Thorne run a dance hall, bar-
room and “chuck-a-luck” in connection with his policy shop. Negroes
compose fully 70 per cent. of the patrons of the policy shops. Their
general play is for five or ten cents, and their winnings never exceed
$50 on a single ticket, though the limit of all the policy companies is
$500. A few white printers, clerks and occasionally a gentleman with a
passion for gambling will invest two or three dollars in a single
drawing, and buy to the limit. The companies have never had any very
great losses since the closing up of the Charleston Charitable
Association, which was sometimes ‘struck’ for large amounts. The
combinations played are as follows:
COMBINATION TABLE.
SADDLES. GIGS. HORSES.
2 Numbers make 1 0 0
3 ” ” 3 1 0
4 ” ” 6 4 1
5 ” ” 10 10 5
6 ” ” 15 20 15
7 ” ” 21 35 35
8 ” ” 28 56 70
9 ” ” 36 84 126
10 ” ” 45 120 210
11 ” ” 55 165 330
12 ” ” 66 220 495
13 ” ” 78 286 715
14 ” ” 91 364 1001
15 ” ” 105 455 1305
16 ” ” 120 560 1820
17 ” ” 136 680 2380
18 ” ” 153 816 3060
19 ” ” 171 969 3876
20 ” ” 190 1140 4845
21 ” ” 210 1330 5985
22 ” ” 231 1540 7315
23 ” ” 253 1771 8855
24 ” ” 276 2024 10620
25 ” ” 300 2300 12650
[The above is page 64 of a little green
pamphlet, “The Wheel of Fortune and
Egyptian Dreamer, with numbers for any
dream, also tables of lucky numbers.”
12 mo., pp. 73, published by Joseph
Noehler, 120 Chatham Street, N. Y. It
is very popular and has an extensive
sale among the negroes.]
The following are two policy tickets bought a few day ago. The size and
form of the other policy tickets in this city are very nearly similar,
and these will give an idea of what they are all like. They cost ten
cents each and were bought of a vendor who has a desk in a large old
paper and rag store in the rear of, and about 30 feet from the door of
the U. S. Post-office in Charleston.
[Illustration: the only genuine]
[Illustration: the only genuine]
The “policy shops” and their proprietors are as follows:
“Pool,” proprietors Jas. F. Walsh and —— Conner.
“The Only Genuine,” proprietors W. K. Brown and Thomas Finley.
“Little Havana,” proprietor J. C. Jaudon.
“Palmetto,” proprietor Syke Thorne.
James F. Walsh is a wholesale liquor dealer. He has never kept a
gambling house; is rated by Dunn or Bradstreet at $40,000 to $75,000;
credit high; takes an active but silent part in politics; occasionally
goes to a political convention, but has never run for office; is on the
official bonds of the Probate Judge, Recorder of Mesne Conveyance,
County Treasurer and (probably) Coroner of Charleston County. Though
apparently of mild manner and address, he has killed two men; one a
mulatto, for which murder he was tried and convicted, but soon bought a
pardon from Moses, the robber Governor of South Carolina; the other was
the killing of a brother Irishman, for which he was tried and acquitted
with a verdict of self defense, which verdict created great talk in the
city, it being in the opinion of the general public a clear case of
manslaughter.
J. C. Jaudon is a bar-keeper near the S. C. Railway depot, worth with
his brothers about $5,000; not rated in the commercial agencies—has only
started “policy” this year. Syke Thorne is the most notorious mulatto
gambler in the State. He has a bar-room, dancing hall patronized by
abandoned women, “policy shops,” and several “chuck-a-luck” and small
“faro” tables on Market Street, between King and Archdale Streets. He
was “pulled” by the police recently, but though “lying low,” is again in
the business. He is probably worth $5,000. In person he is good looking,
dresses well, and is quiet mannered. He has never taken any prominent
part in politics.
FARO BANKS.
The faro banks and bankers of the city are as follows:
Finley and Brown, 78 Meeting Street; faro, roulette and poker; dealers
Dowling and Neisz. Elegantly furnished.
Charles F. Levy; faro, roulette, mustang and poker; dealers Conners and
Levy. Although the finest rooms in town, they are temporarily closed for
want of funds. Powers (M. W.) a well-known young Irish contractor and
builder, holds the bank bill roll.
John Munro and Israel; roulette and faro; Munro and Israel, dealers.
Neat but not gaudy appointments.
W. J. O’Dell and a partner; two faro tables, roulette and poker.
Handsomely furnished.
A. M. Flynn, assisted by a woman who joins in the poker game, and
occasionally deals faro.
Syke Thorne, with several negro assistants. Very small game at very mean
tables.
As to whether the games are “skin” or “square” it may be said that any
one of the Charleston dealers will put up a game on a drunken man with a
large bank roll; but there are probably two of those dealers who will
try to “skin” any and everybody.
Finley and Brown is probably the strongest backed house in the city, and
it is not improbable that F. & B. back O’Dell, as he is not known to
have much money of his own, and he deals at Brown’s old stand and in his
building. Levy and Connor got temporarily to the end of their financial
rope some months ago and have not resumed business yet. Munro and Israel
do not play a very heavy game and would probably shut down after a loss
of $400. They have no backers unless since very recently. Thomas Finley,
the king of the gamblers, was a tinner by trade and took to the green
cloth and occasional horse racing about 1858. He owns considerable real
estate and is generally supposed to be worth between $30,000 and
$50,000. He is the ideal gambler as far as liberality goes, and is
exceedingly popular. He is generous and open-hearted and for ten years
furnished all the coal for the use of the Seamdies Church; is not
particularly smart except at his business; and has never been known to
have had anything to do with politics, except to contribute to the
campaign fund. He very rarely, if ever, deals faro, but plays
considerable poker for small stakes. He is said to have won $15,000
betting on a recent Congressional election.
W. K. Brown is a butcher by trade and still continues at the business.
He dealt faro for many years while running his stall in the market, but
is seldom seen now in a gambling room and is very close and shrewd. His
partner in the meat business is a very prominent Republican politician
and is now U. S. Marshal for South Carolina. Brown has never run for
office and is probably too close to spend money for his friends’
political aspirations. He is married and has several very handsome
children. Is supposed to be worth $50,000, which he inherited from
relatives in England two years ago.
John Munro is the oldest gambler in the city and is about as honest as a
gambler can be; is now poor, having been ruined by a reckless partner in
Savannah some years ago. Has had several fortunes and spent almost as
many years and dollars in ’Frisco as he has in Charleston.
The other dealers whose names are mentioned are all young men and
Charlestonians, except Neisz, who is an Alsatian Jew. They have not made
much money or reputation as yet. The most notorious of them is Charles
F. Levy, the _enfant perdu_ of a very respectable Jewish family. He shot
a man in a bar-room brawl some years ago, and Levy’s neck was in
considerable danger, but the man eventually recovered. Levy has
squandered about $15,000, left him by his grandfather, in about three
years. He is utterly without principle and is one of the best rifle
shots in Charleston.
In conclusion, it may be said that gambling has been on the decrease for
the last thirteen years in Charleston, except, possibly, in the small
matter of “policy” buying among the negroes. Plenty of money was in the
hands of the very class of men who would spend it over the faro and
poker table during the years of misrule—1868 to 1876. One of the judges
of the State at that time is reported to have been an ex-faro bank
dealer and was certainly a great devotee of the game.
The only great business defalcation publicly known to have been caused
by the passion for gaming was that of Bentham R. Caldwell, of a highly
respectable family of the city, who in the year 1879 misappropriated
$75,000, and expended it over the faro tables of Finley and Brown. Suit
was brought and the case was carried to the Supreme Court _qui-tam_
action brought by the plaintiff as a common informer to recover the
penalty under sections 6 and 7 of the 79th chapter of the Revised
Statutes of South Carolina, but the gamblers ruled the roast, as may be
seen by referring to the case of Augustus S. Trumbo vs. Finley and
Brown, as reported in the 18th (or possibly 20th) S. C. Law Reports
(Strand’s), which probably can be found in any large law library.
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GAMBLING IN AUSTIN, TEXAS.
Gambling is alarmingly prevalent in the capital of Texas. From the
foundation of the city (in 1843) until 1870, Austin was a frontier town,
where all the vices incident to places of that sort abounded and
flourished, gaming being one of the chief. Since the year last named,
while gambling may be said to have increased rather than diminished, it
has not been so flagrantly open as in the earlier days of the city’s
history. The introduction of “modern improvements” would seem to have
stimulated rather than repressed the growth of the vice. The electric
lights, which have replaced the “dip” candle of more primitive times,
have served to render the “hells” more attractive to the young men who
are to shape the destiny of Austin in the future. One of the most
deplorable features of the existing situation in that city is the
constant growth of the damning practice among the youth. The sons of the
most influential and respected families are habitual frequenters of the
gaming saloons and are rapidly becoming devotees of the soul-destroying
habit.
The resorts are numerous enough and of sufficiently varied character to
meet the requirements of all players of whatever class. The respectable
(?) houses are three, of which two are devoted to “banking” and “short”
games, and one to keno. These establishments are located in the center
of the business portion of the city and on one of the principal
thoroughfares. They are fully equal, in point of equipment and
furnishing, to those which may be found in any Southern city of the same
size. Besides these there are four or five “dives” in the lower and more
degraded part of town, where “brace,” as distinguished from so-called
“square” games, are at the very zenith of that fleeting success which
accrues to the “skin” gambler when unmolested by the authorities. In
addition to these public resorts, there are several semi-private poker
games, nightly running, which are patronized almost exclusively by the
upper classes.
With the exception of the keno game, all these houses are open day and
night, from the first day of January until midnight on the thirty-first
of December in each year. The keno house opens its doors two or three
evenings each week, as the demands of its patrons and the prospects of
business seem to justify. Saturday night, however, constitutes the great
gala festival of this resort. Then it is that the room is crowded almost
to suffocation with a motley throng of clerks, mechanics and day-
laborers. It is on Saturday night, also, that the “dives” garner their
richest harvest. In these dens of iniquity there gather on Saturday
night, at certain seasons, the negroes from the cotton fields, whose
earnings for an entire season, accumulated at a cost of toil, privation
and suffering, which might well appal stouter hearts than theirs, are
swept into the coffers of men in comparison with whom the tiger is
merciful. These unreflecting children of nature never perceive that they
have been victimized. To the last they believe that they have been given
an equal chance of winning, and should the shark who had won their last
cent offer them five dollars as a gratuity, they would be first and
loudest in singing his praises.
In almost all the houses—whatever their class—faro is the game most in
favor. In those which revel in the reputation of being “square,” the
“chances” (_sic_) of success sometimes fluctuate, but the preponderance,
in the long run, is always in favor of the bank. The “square” element in
each instance is a variable quantity. In other words, if a player is
reasonably conversant with “fake-boxes,” “strippers,” and all the other
subterfuges which are to the professional dealer as his A, B, C, he may
hope to be accorded something like an even chance. If, on the other
hand, he is susceptible, verdant and gullible, his chances are
correspondingly reduced.
A game somewhat similar to faro, known as “Mexican monte,” also
flourishes in Austin. Perhaps its popularity is due to the propinquity
of the city to the Mexican frontier. Forty-four cards are employed, the
nine and ten spots being discarded. “Chips” are “barred,” and the
players stake cash or its negotiable equivalent. The bank, too, is
exposed, and is placed in the center of the table, and contains from
$250 to $500 in silver, arranged in stacks of $20 each. The game is very
fascinating, counting its devotees by scores, and a great deal of money
is bet on it. The dealer deals from his hand as in poker, and it is
supposed to be exceedingly difficult for him to “put up” a game, a
belief that adds not a little to its popularity. There are from four to
six “monte” games run in the fashionable Austin resorts.
As has been said, the private poker games are patronized almost
exclusively by the _elite._ In the public houses all classes may be
found around the table—Americans, of high and low degree, Mexicans, and
even Chinese. In fact, poker in Austin may be said to be a “fad,” a
“craze.” Even ladies of the highest social standing may be found to whom
the terms “ante,” “jack pot” and “bob-tail flush” are as familiar as
household words. It is hard to overestimate the deplorable influence
which this condition of public morals is exercising upon the young. From
playing poker in the parlor to gambling in a “hell” is but a step, and a
short one at that; and more than one family in the Texan capital to-day
laments the downfall of one of its members through the love of gambling
acquired by indulgence in “five-cent ante” under the refined
surroundings of the higher circles of social life.
The proprietors of the gambling houses, as well as the dealers therein,
are a power at the polls and particularly at municipal elections. In
some of the wards they absolutely dictate who shall be councilmen. At
every election they use money freely. Sometimes they become candidates
themselves, as, for instance, three years ago when one of the
proprietors of one of the largest gambling rooms and himself a faro
dealer sat among the ten elected law-makers of the city. No policeman or
other peace officer dares to enter these haunts without the permission
of the proprietors; and even crimes of violence—short of murder—are not
regarded as sufficient justification for a raid.
To say that gambling is the city’s curse is to state the situation
mildly. Innumerable instances of blighted lives might be mentioned, the
fundamental cause for which is to be found in the abandonment of the
victims to this vice, pernicious as it is insidious. Within the
comparatively short space of four years, five embezzlements by trusted
employes have surprised the community. All the culprits were men of
previously unblemished reputations. Five young men of the best families,
two of them married, have been convicted of forgery and theft during the
past two years, and are now serving their time in the penitentiary, all
because of the gambling hells in the city. Three of these men held
responsible positions. One was clerk of the United States District
Court; one was in the postal money order department; another in the
money department of the Pacific Express Company; another in the
distributing department of the post-office. Young men visiting the city
from neighboring towns and from the country are inveigled into the hells
by “steerers” and lose large sums. Not long since a young man, a tax
collector of an adjoining county, came to the capital to pay taxes due
to the State. He was induced to visit one of the first class houses. He
was drugged, and in a brace game lost not only his own money, but also
that of the State. He returned home and blew out his brains.
It is among the working classes that the gambling mania is working
irreparable injury and wrong to innocent women and children. Scores of
laboring men, many of them of the better class, waste their earnings on
Saturday nights in the keno rooms. Wages are gambled away and women and
children go in rags and suffer for the want of food while the gamblers
adorn their well-fed, well-dressed persons with diamonds.
There is a law against gambling in Texas, the penalty being a fine of
$10 to $100. Three or four times a year the gamblers go into court,
plead guilty and pay $10 and costs, amounting to about $37.50, and then
continue their games. Two years ago the law was amended by adding
imprisonment for from 30 to 60 days for exhibiting or dealing games; but
only a few convictions have been had under it, and then the guilty
parties were permitted to hire substitutes while the principals returned
to their rooms and reopened their games.
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GAMBLING IN HARTFORD, CONN.
In 1849 there was published in Hartford a book entitled, “The History of
the Green Family.” It was an expose of the night side (and the worst
side) of Hartford life at that time. Its quaint title page describes it
as a work “wherein the citizens of Hartford are raked over from Lord’s
Hill to Ferry Street.” Incidents, names, dates and localities are
mentioned with an attention to detail as surprising as it is pitiless. A
vigorous effort was made by the “good people” of the city whose
peccadilloes were thus mercilessly exposed to suppress the volume, and
at the present time there are only one or two copies in existence. The
writer, however, has been permitted to examine one of these, and
accorded the privilege of making notes.
Gambling, as a profession, was not at that time carried on to nearly so
great an extent as in later years. But the gamester, the blackleg, the
men who lived by their wits and fleeced unsophisticated victims were
even then known and described. The “Climax,” a locally celebrated gaming
house, then flourished on Ferry Street and was kept by “Nels” Hulburt,
is mentioned. A bowling alley and a bar were connected with it. All the
ordinary games of cards were played, “old sledge” being an especial
favorite. “Nels,” or his partner, Weeks, generally took a hand and the
“house” did a prosperous business. This resort divided with the Clinton
House the patronage of nearly all the players, both professional and
occasional, among whom are mentioned Caruthers, a man named Judd, and a
confidence operator known as Dan Osburn. “Nels” also had a place on
Mulbury Street.
Gambling steadily increased in Hartford, attaining the culmination of
its popularity during and just after the war. Names and dates can be
obtained only through a long and tedious search through court and police
records, but the following general statements are made on the authority
of a veteran officer, who for more than a score of years has been
connected with the Hartford police. From about 1862 till 1877, gaming
ran riot. Houses in which large capital was invested were conducted with
scarcely a pretense of secrecy, and the profits of the proprietors were
enormous. Almost any one who wanted to “do” the city by night could
visit in the course of an evening half a dozen places where roulette was
in active operation and twice as many where poker and faro were being
played. The famous gambler, Pat Sheedy, was a native of Hartford. A
perfect gentleman in manners and dress, yet a most reckless player, he
was apparently equally content to win or lose a fortune in an evening.
His “management” of John L. Sullivan is fresh in the memory of the
public, as is also the story of his large winnings at roulette in a
Saratoga resort less than a year ago. He occasionally appears in
Hartford, and his goings and comings are duly noted in the local press.
But to return to the history. A single incident will show something of
the magnitude of the gaming operations in the sixties and early
seventies.
A large fire on Temple Street, almost within a stone’s throw of the
Police station, during the winter of 1872, burned out an extensive
gambling establishment. The “lay-outs” for faro and roulette were flung
out of the window. All the tables, dice boxes, counters, chips, the
roulette wheel, etc., were of the most costly description, The police
gathered up the debris, and a conservative estimate affixed the value of
the property thus sacrificed at $3,000.
From that time the police were more active. Raids became the rule rather
than the exception, especially from 1879 to 1886. Two years ago, one of
the last important visits by the officers was made, under supervision of
Lieutenant Ryan, on a gaming house on Gold Street, kept by a man named
McLean, who originally came from Meriden. He was running an extensive
faro bank, with a gambling outfit worth about $600.
Not long afterwards a raid was made by the police upon a Chinese opium
joint and gambling house on south Main Street, in the Buckingham block.
About a dozen of the celestials were arrested, arraigned and convicted
of gambling, and two were found guilty of keeping a gaming house. The
game in progress at the time was played with dice and was a peculiar
one. The player deposited any amount of money with the dealer, who gave
him a receipt therefor. The game then went on until the bettor’s money
was exhausted, or until he had won a stipulated amount, when he was at
liberty to withdraw. Slips of cardboard were substituted for chips.
There were found three Fan-Tan tables and six opium layouts in this
place.
Poker has always been and still is played in Hartford; but not to nearly
so great an extent at present as it was a few years ago. For years a
game was running in the _Times_ building. A dark, heavily mustached man
who called himself Dr. Longley, kept the room. The police got after him
and he was obliged to leave rather hastily. The game is played largely
in what are popularly known as “club rooms.” However, even those are not
doing a very brisk business just now. One can also easily get into a
game in several of the fashionable billiard and bar rooms, such as
“Mattie” Hewins’, or Dwight Mitchell’s on Main Street; or Frank Avary’s
on State Street. Probably the heaviest poker playing in Hartford,
however, is carried on at the Hartford Club House, on Prospect Street.
This is where the older, wealthier and more aristocratic men play. The
organization is a rather select one, and its roll of members includes
some of the richest and best known men in town. It is in no sense a
gambling house, yet at the same time there is a great deal of heavy
betting across the social card tables.
So far as is known there is no roulette played in Hartford at present.
The police have been too watchful for these gentlemen to prosper and
they have sought other fields.
“Policy” is played to a large extent in the city, and seemingly with but
little fear of the law. The head-quarters for this form of gambling is
in a little room, opening off the side walk on Front Street. Anyone
passing can see through the open door, the black-board on which are
posted the numbers at every drawing. James Waldron, formerly of New
York, a short, thick-set man, about 40 years of age, is at the head of
the operations in Hartford. Besides the place on Front Street, he has
another on Gold Street, and yet a third on Asylum Street. In the Front
Street place is kept a large flat book, in which is recorded every
drawing for the entire year. This is open to the inspection of all
players who are permitted to trace in its pages the history of any
number throughout the year—_i. e._ ascertain how many drawings have
occurred since it last come first, etc. The numbers are received twice a
day by cypher dispatches. Apparently everything is “square,” but the
chances are enormously against the player. This is the most popular of
all games with the colored population. It would seem as though every
member of that race in Hartford played policy. There is also a
considerable class of superstitious whites who firmly believe in “lucky”
numbers. Once in a while some one “strikes” a lucky number, but no
considerable amount is ever made.
Charter Oak Park, just outside the city limits, is the scene of the fall
race meetings in the grand circuit. Roulette is played on the grounds on
these occasions, without the slightest restraint and in full view of the
police. The games do an immense business through “race week,” not less
than two wheels and five tables were in full blast at a recent meeting.
There is a stock exchange in the city and some speculative operations
are carried on, but not to any great extent. Hartford is too near New
York to permit of the business being profitable.
On the whole, it may be said, that as compared with fifteen or even ten
years ago, there is very little gambling in the city. Professional
gamesters have to “lie low” and keep extremely quiet in Hartford. At the
same time, there is, as has been said, considerable poker playing, while
probably there are two or three faro banks still in operation. There are
no municipal ordinances against gambling, all actions are brought under
the State Statutes.
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GAMBLING IN QUEBEC.
Quebec being a city of only some 60,000 souls, the vice of public
gambling has never been able to obtain any very firm foothold. A large
amount of money changes hands here every year at games of chance, and
amongst the most confirmed gamesters are many of the most prominent
citizens. Yet so thoroughly does everybody know his neighbor’s business
that no attempt has been made of late years to open and maintain a
public gambling resort. Much of the playing for stakes in Quebec takes
place in private residences, or in rooms secured for the purpose in the
principal hotels and restaurants. In the principal club—the
Garrison—gambling of every kind is strictly prohibited and nothing but
whist is played.
Banking games are not popular, and faro, roulette and hazard are not
played at all. Poker is the prevailing game and of late years, and has
taken a strong hold upon the French-Canadian population, who evince an
unusual aptitude for it. So long as they have in reserve a fair supply
of “chips,” French-Canadian poker players excel at the game of “bluff.”
They possess in a remarkable degree the effrontry and cool “cheek”
necessary to successful poker playing for which they manifest a
predilection almost from childhood. Professionals and merchants alike
gamble at night at their clubs or at each others residences, and
students and clerks, imitating the practices of their employers and
elders, assemble for the same purpose in each other’s rooms. A well-
known Canadian politician, confided to the writer that at the early age
of ten years he had become so infatuated with poker that he used to
steal money from his father’s pockets with which to play. The ruin of
numerous bank clerks and others formerly occupying respectable positions
in the city, may be distinctly traced to this cause.
The principal center of gambling in Quebec is undoubtedly the “Quebec
Whist Club,” an institution occupying comfortable quarters over Rogers’
drug store,—the Medical Hall on Fabrique Street. It has been in
existence for nearly twenty years past, but has several times removed
its location. There is nothing “professional,” however, about this
organization. Its name is, of course, simply a cloak for the real object
of its existence. It is controlled on a sort of mutual plan by the
resident frequenters of the place, and strangers and visitors are only
admitted after introduction by a member. The game almost universally
played is poker, and the stakes may be either unlimited or for a limit
varying from two to five dollars. The game played here is usually
“straight,” in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but the older
_habitues_ of the place, some of whom have no other visible means of
support, are such adepts at the game, and, in the particular species of
mind and character reading so essential to a successful player, that
unless struck by a particularly hard strain of bad luck, they seldom
rise from the table losers at the game should such a misfortune by any
chance overtake them. They know only too well, by long experience, that
the winners of their money will quickly return to lose it again. There
are not wanting those who claim to believe that the more experienced of
these frequenters of the “club” never play against each other except as
a “blind,” but combine to “raise” strangers out of the game and divide
their profits. Many well-to-do business men frequent the club, including
newspaper proprietors, importers, wholesale merchants, hotel men, piano
dealers and jewelers. Few of these, however, continue to play at the
resort for year after year, unless in a very occasional way, for the
amount of loss eventually sustained by them would either seriously
impair their business standing or compel them to abandon the game until
they can again legitimately afford to risk further means in playing it.
The number of men who have been wholly or partially ruined by poker in
Quebec is large. An ex-member of parliament, formerly a resident of that
city, but at present of Montreal, has lost a fortune at the game,
frequently dropping as much as $1,500 a night. The continual harvest
reaped by the habitual frequenters of the club above mentioned is
maintained by the infusion of new blood through the introduction of new
members, who are generally selected from among those who are known to be
possessed of some means, and of speculative, if not gaming proclivities.
If such are not known to be poker players they are, perhaps, invited to
the rooms in the first instance, by a friend, for the nominal purpose of
partaking of refreshments, to which may be added the prospect of
enjoying a rubber of whist. The excitement, glitter and attraction of
the poker tables are counted upon, and generally correctly, to prove a
sufficient temptation to green players to risk a few dollars upon a
small limit game, “just for amusement.” The downward course of the
visitor, like the descent of Avernus, is thenceforward comparatively
easy. Half a dozen members of parliament and as many members of the city
council have been counted in these apartments at the same time. Quebec
does not by any means supply all the victims. A sharp lookout is kept
for visitors with money and gambling tendencies, though occasionally the
_habitues_ “catch a tartar,” and get “hoist by their own petard,”
through occasionally admitting an unknown blackleg. This does not very
often happen, however, as may be easily supposed, in view of the long
experience of the older members. They are usually careful, moreover, in
admitting only men of prominence or of recognized standing in
professions, political or commercial circles, or who are personally
known to some of the regular members of the club.
Acquaintances of members who may be guests at the hotels are often
visited in the evening and invited to the club, and now quite a number
of prominent business and professional men and politicians of Montreal
and other cities are frequent visitors when in town. Commercial
travelers fall an easy prey and have been repeatedly introduced to the
rooms by their Quebec customers. From time to time scores of these young
men have been ruined here, rendered desperate by their losses, and
stranded “high and dry,” after losing all their own available means, and
very often a good deal of which was not theirs as well.
One of the worst features of this club is the large amount of drinking
that goes on during the games, spirituous liquors being provided in
abundance and to be had for the taking.
An immense amount of money has been lost in Quebec on exchange gambling
of various kinds. For some few years past, bucket shop gambling has been
a popular pastime with people of wealth, and, unfortunately, often many
not possessing the necessary means of their own. So far has this
business been run into the ground for some time past, however, that many
of the bucket shops have been closed in consequence of the small amount
of trade offerings, most of their clients having been entirely ruined.
Four or five years ago, fully five times as much fictitious and
illegitimate business was done on the Quebec Exchange as of real and
bona fide transactions. Even now, a good deal of speculation akin to
gambling goes on, such as buying and selling,—going long and short on
bank and other shares, corn, wheat, pork, oil, etc.,—all on margins. The
volume of such business transacted in the city at present is about equal
to that of legitimate dealings.
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GAMBLING IN KANSAS CITY, MO.
There have been no public gaming houses in Kansas City since 1882, when
the Missouri legislature passed a bill commonly known as the “Johnson
Law,” from the fact that ex-Governor Charles P. Johnson was its author.
This statute made the keeping of a gaming establishment a felony. The
effect of the law was to drive the professional gamblers of Kansas City,
Mo., into the adjoining burg of Kansas City, Kas., where they remained
unmolested until a comparatively recent date.
The town on the west bank of the river soon became the recognized
“haven” for members of the fraternity. The faro banks were clustered
together just a few steps across the State line, where they received a
liberal patronage from the residents of the Missouri town, who had
become as it were, thoroughly saturated with the instincts and habits of
the gamester.
The proprietors of the packing houses objected to the location of such
establishments within the precincts of their business, because of the
convenience of such locations to their employes, who constituted a
considerable proportion of the patrons of these “hells.” Among those who
remonstrated were the representatives of Armour & Co., who were quick to
perceive the disastrous effects which the running of the game was
producing upon their business interest. For some years a bitter fight
was waged upon this issue. It soon, however, became apparent that the
gamblers exercised a controlling influence upon the action of the city
and county officers, and the packers abandoned what promised to be a
profitless warfare.
The laws of Kansas make the keeping of a gaming house a misdemeanor, and
the proprietors were regularly fined—even without the formality of an
arrest—a large revenue being thus realized by the city. For many years
it was an open secret that the chief of police and prosecuting attorney
of Kansas City, Kas., received a regular stipend from the gamblers, the
money being paid and accepted in consideration of an uncertain guarantee
of immunity.
Public sentiment, however, at length became aroused, and at the
municipal election held a few years ago, officers were chosen who were
pledged to enforce the laws against gaming.
Before the passage of the Johnson law to which reference has been
already made, Kansas City was a veritable Mecca for sporting men. Along
in the 70’s—in the palmy days of gambling—when the “wide open,”
“everything goes,” policy prevailed there were eleven gaming
establishments in the town, all of which were doing a most prosperous
business. Stakes were high, and the gain or loss of $10,000 at a single
sitting called forth little comment among the sporting fraternity.
The Johnson law, however, gave the signal for a hegira of gamblers to
the western side of the State line, and its enforcement on the Missouri
side of the border has been so perfect that openly there has not been a
card run from a box, or a turn called since its passage.
In the halcyon days of gambling in Kansas City, the place was filled
with men who had rapidly acquired fortunes in the mines of Old and New
Mexico, and Colorado, and in the raising and herding of cattle on the
plains. Such men flocked here to gamble, and the “professionals” from
the far west came and made this town their headquarters in consequence
of the number of dupes who had gathered here. The “capitalists” who made
Kansas City their headquarters were allured thither by the prospects of
“beating” the “banks,” the number of which steadily increased by the
constant accession to the ranks of the players.
At the time of the exodus of the gamblers across the State line there
were eleven establishments in the city, at three of which “brace” games
were played. Faro was the favorite, but “poker,” of the “stud” variety,
“roulette,” and “chuck-a-luck,” were not neglected. About fifty men were
employed in these houses, and each “bank” was supposed to possess a
“roll” of about $5,000. At times the game ran high, and $2,000 and
$3,000 were often won or lost by a single player.
There are now, just across the State line, seven gambling houses, two of
them owned by Clayton L. Maltby, one by Frazier & Baughman, one by
Cotton & Kennedy, one by Gus Galbaugh, one by Joe. Bassett, and one by
Tom Wallace. These houses are all conducted on the “square” principle,
and besides faro, have all the “side” games—roulette, hazard, craps,
stud and draw poker. The games open at eight o’clock A. M., and often
run until daylight the next morning. They are well patronized, and
Saturday and Monday nights the rooms are crowded, Saturday and Monday
being pay days at the packing houses, manufactories, and other
establishments that pay their men weekly. To give the reader an idea of
the amount of money these houses have a chance to win, or rather steal,
per month, a statement by C. L. Maltby, the principal “banker” of Kansas
City may be mentioned. Mr. Maltby has two houses, and is of a
calculating and methodical turn. He desired to know exactly what money
was exchanged for checks and played against the faro game at one of his
houses within a given time. He employed a man to set at the table, from
the time the game opened until it closed for the night, and keep an
accurate account of the amount paid in for checks. This was kept up for
one month, and the grand total amounted to $63,843.75. This money was
mainly “changed in” in small amounts, the purchases ranging from $1 to
$50, and one individual, at one time, buying $100 worth of checks. Of
course Maltby’s game did not win all this money, but the greater part of
it found its way into the drawer, and went to swell the bank account of
the proprietor.
Among the crowds that throng these rooms you will find the gentleman,
the tough, the “Rounder,” and the “Macer.”
The plan pursued by the Kansas City, Kas., authorities to “suppress
gambling” is thus described in a daily paper, under date of August 2,
1889:
“Three gambling houses in Kansas City, Kansas, were ‘raided’ by the
police last night in the periodical Wyandotte style. The Chief of
Police, accompanied by several officers, went to C. Maltby’s place and
found thirty or more men gambling. Their names were taken down and the
proprietor was required to deposit $10 apiece for his visitors and $100
for himself as security for their appearance in the police court to-day.
The police then went away and the gambling was immediately resumed. At
G. F. Frazier’s twenty-six men were playing and the proprietor paid $300
to the officers. This morning Frazier, Galbaugh and Maltby appeared in
the police court and were formally fined the amounts they deposited.
This is the manner in which gambling houses are, to all intents and
purposes, licensed in Kansas City, Kas.”
Although public gaming has been checked in Kansas City, Mo., the amount
of private gambling is enormous. At the Midland hotel, the best in the
city, where wealthy stock men from the far west make their head-
quarters, draw poker is a favorite amusement. It is played, however,
with the utmost secrecy, but generally for high stakes. At the rooms of
the Kansas City club, and other similar organizations, the same game is
indulged in, although the stakes are as a rule comparatively moderate.
Perhaps the most deplorable feature of the situation, however, is the
alarming extent to which the game of draw poker is played in private
houses—even those belonging to the most fashionable and exclusive social
circles. It is asserted by those who are competent to speak upon the
subject, that the love of play has permeated almost every stratum of
society.
Apropos of gambling in Kansas City, the following story of one of the
clubs in that place, is told: An Eastern merchant (rumor says that he
came from Boston) once found himself a guest at a leading hostelry in
that city of dust, hills, and grip cars. Being inclined to play a
“little poker,” he inquired of the urbane hotel clerk where he could
find a “gentleman’s game.” In due time he was introduced into a private
“club room,” where the proclivities of the poker-player might be
gratified by a “no limit” game. Of course the frequenters were all
“gentlemen;” gentlemen, however, of that peculiarly whole-souled variety
who would throw a drowning “sucker” a bar of lead as a life preserver.
The man from the “hub” played for several hours, and rose from the table
a loser to the amount of about two thousand dollars. He was exceedingly
wroth, and was fully persuaded that he had been cheated, although he was
not able to tell exactly how it had been done. He discharged this
Parthian arrow, however, at the crowd, before taking his departure.
“Gentlemen,” said he, as he stood before them, hat in hand, “I was
assured that I should find this a ‘gentleman’s’ game. You are all
gentlemen, and I know it. I appreciate the way in which I have been
treated, I appreciate it thoroughly. I’ve got a few dollars left, and if
some one of you will be kind enough to tell me where I can sit in a
horse-thief’s game, I believe I’ll go around there.”
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GAMBLING IN BUFFALO.
Buffalo has not been cursed with such a growth of the gambling mania as
have some other cities of similar commercial importance and whose
floating population has been so transient and so varied. It has never
received the implied sanction of public sentiment, as in New Orleans;
the gaming resorts of the city lack the luxurious elegance of some of
the gilded hells of New York; nor have the blacklegs ever dominated the
municipal government to the same extent as in Chicago. Yet the history
of the practice of the vice is not destitute of interest, presenting, as
it does, a varied succession of alternating ups and downs.
During the decade between 1850 and 1860, Buffalo was known all over the
country as a “tough town.” Situated as it was at the Southern point of
the chain of great lakes and being the terminus of the Erie canal, it
was the natural rallying point of thousands of men belonging to the
“rough and ready” class, from which the dens of those drew a majority of
their patrons. In those days it was as little condemned by the easy-
going citizens as it was interfered with by the authorities. Along the
wharves and at the sailors’ boarding houses, games of chance constituted
the principal pastime, among them “penny-ante” (i. e. poker for small
stakes) being a prime favorite. Sometimes higher stakes were wagered,
and occasionally a faro “lay-out” was improvised.
At present gambling in Buffalo is trivial when compared with the early
days of the city’s history, when the lake traffic was the principal
source of its growth and the vast fleet of small craft brought hundreds
of sailors from the West to compare experiences with canal boatmen from
the East. In those early days, Buffalo was full of sporting men of all
classes. It was the chosen rendezvous of prize fighters and its
proximity to the Canadian border rendered it attractive to that class
which for various causes, did not feel safe on American soil.
Such being the state of affairs it is not surprising that gaming rooms
multiplied only too rapidly. To use the expression of an old resident,
“faro rooms, keno rooms, poker rooms, and general gaming rooms, were as
thick as sand flies, and ran in all their glory, in full blast day and
night, without the slightest attempt being made to put the least check
on this fascinating occupation by the authorities, many of whom were as
deeply interested in it as the professionals themselves.” Fortunes were
made and lost in a day at that time. Money was plentiful and wages good,
and Buffalo soon acquired an unenviable reputation, which brought
hundreds of unwelcome visitors to the city. That notorious highway,
Canal Street, was then in the zenith of its prosperity and debauchery
ran riot.
It was just before the war that gambling received a new impetus and the
“palmy days” of which old gamblers are fond of speaking, were from 1859
to 1866, when the sports held high carnival. The public pulse was at
fever heat, and the excitement which pervaded all classes of the
community found a vent in seeking the alluring fascination of the green
cloth. Buffalo might boast of several professional gamblers, who were
then or subsequently became celebrities of various degrees. Gambling
houses were numerous and open.
But as the number of railroads centering in the city increased and a
better class of people became residents, public sentiment gradually
became aroused, and the blacklegs soon found that the political
influence which had formed their chief reliance was beginning to wane.
Gamblers came to be looked upon as social outcasts, and the hells were
vigorously denounced by the press and from the pulpit. Nevertheless the
laws respecting public gaming remained unenforced, and rascals continued
to fatten upon the credulity of their victims.
In 1866 the first effective blow was struck at the vice, and it proved
the first of a series which finally brought about almost the total
extermination of gambling in Buffalo. The Niagara frontier police was
organized that year, under a State law, and the loud cry of the better
element of the community that the law be enforced was at last heeded.
All gaming rooms were ordered closed, and those resorts whose
proprietors refused or neglected to comply were promptly raided and the
offenders punished. As the police perceived that their efforts were
endorsed by public opinion and commended by the press, they grew more
and more severe, and gambling entered upon a period of rapid and steady
decline. The most stubborn resistance encountered by the authorities was
during the annual races, when the city was filled with men who “lived by
their wits.”
While the Frontier Police, however, did excellent service in the cause
of law and order, they appeared to lack the knowledge necessary to
enable them to achieve entire success. Besides this drawback the
municipal ordinances applicable to gaming were carelessly drawn, and
many of the prominent gamblers, through the aid of superior legal advice
and the aid of local politicians, were able to evade the penalties meted
out to the “smaller fry.”
In 1870, when the Niagara Frontier Police passed out of existence and
the Buffalo City Police was organized to replace the constables who had
previously done duty, a rigorous policy toward gambling-houses was
adopted. Even pool selling at the races was checked, although it was
found impossible to put a stop to it altogether, owing to technical
imperfections of the law, which afforded loop-holes for escape.
From 1872 to 1878, the city authorities seemed to be determined in their
resolutions to suppress the vice. During these half dozen years, the
houses were very few; and the proprietors did not dare to openly solicit
patronage. The owners were men who enjoyed—for men of that class—a good
reputation; that is to say, that as far as a professional blackleg can
be “square,” they enjoyed that reputation.
The immediate cause for this renewal of activity on the part of the
authorities was to be found in the fact that the gamblers were not only
permitting, but even encouraged, young men, clerks, students and even
schoolboys to frequent their rooms. Public sentiment was clamorous in
its condemnation, and the city government was, in a measure, forced to
take the bull by the horns. The practical results of the agitation may
be thus summarized: The number of the houses was reduced, only the more
respectable professionals were permitted to carry on business;
“steerers,” like Othello, found their “occupation gone;” and only avowed
gamblers or men who were popularly supposed to be able to lose were
permitted to play. In a certain degree, the rooms were under the
supervision of the police.
With each change in the city administration, however, came the
inauguration of a new policy. Thus, in 1879, the gamblers’ dens were
more liberally treated and their business improved, while from 1880 to
1882 the laws were more stringently enforced. In 1883 gambling again
enjoyed a “boom,” and for a time threatened to regain its foothold and
flourish as in the days of yore. The local government put forth no
effort to prevent gaming, and numerous rooms were re-opened. Faro and
poker enjoyed a steady patronage, which, however, during the racing
season they had to divide with an occasional keno game. The gamblers
were encouraged, and openly predicted that gaming was again about to
become popular. Public opinion, however, spurred by the perpetration of
several embezzlements and minor crimes which were traceable to gambling,
brought about a change. Gradually the sporting element found Buffalo a
less and less attractive field of operations, until at the present time
there is not a faro game in the city, although faro is occasionally
dealt outside the city limits at a road resort in the town of
Cheektowaga, while gamblers of the “skin” variety are said to hold full
sway in the town of Tonawanda, about fourteen miles distant.
Poker is still popular in Buffalo, but the men who were the “shining
lights” of the fraternity in former years, have either sought “fresh
fields and pastures new,” or retired from business to enjoy life. Of the
latter class, however, there are but few.
There is, however, a very considerable amount of gambling yet going on
which no effort is made to suppress. In the fashionable club houses into
whose sacred precincts no agent of the police would ever think of
entering, poker is a favorite pastime, and at times stakes run high. The
members of these organizations usually belong to the wealthier classes,
merchants and professional men predominating. The presence of
unintroduced strangers is not permitted, far less, desired. In
consequence, to obtain legal evidence of gambling in these houses is
difficult, if not well-nigh impossible.
One case, however, was brought to public notice some years ago, which
opened the eyes of the public and confirmed a previous suspicion that
all was not known of the inner workings of these club houses. The case
referred to was that of a reputed millionaire, a manufacturer and a bank
president. So far as could be learned, he did not commence gaming until
he had reached mature years, but—as in the case of men who do not
commence drinking liquor until after they are 30—the infatuation of the
habit seized upon him with irresistible force. He yielded to the
allurements and was a nightly visitor at the club rooms. What games were
played by which this man was ruined, can be better imagined than
described, but his losses were heavy and so frequent that in spite of
his almost unlimited wealth, the final crash came which nearly ruined
the bank of which he was president, and his clothing business was
completely wrecked. He was burdened with an extravagant family; his wife
was notorious for her weakness in this respect; his sons and daughters
were allowed freedom in money matters which made a terrible drain on his
income. He was naturally a generous man, genial in disposition and
always ready to excuse the failings of others. His generosity was
proverbial, owing perhaps to the general opinion held of his class
(Hebrews), who are seldom troubled in this way. He was born in this
country and became rich by his own efforts. He was of a nervous
disposition, and in conversing with him a close observer would notice
quick movements which are peculiar to all gamblers. After his financial
ruin he became insane and died a physical and mental wreck.
To mention any other names of men of this class might be to do them an
injustice, but there are doubtless fifty or sixty “young bloods” who
frequent club-house gaming tables. Who they are, no definite idea could
be arrived at without long and constant watching of these houses, and
even then the innocent might suffer with the guilty.
The experience of gambling with municipal authorities is outlined above.
Public opinion as a whole, always has opposed gambling in Buffalo, and
that it flourished was mainly due to the fact that public opinion is
slow to exert itself here, and consequently, careless officials, in the
past, were not held accountable for their neglect to suppress the evil.
It is hard to say if the gamblers have ever been protected through the
bribery of the police or other officials, but one thing is certain that
in the history of gambling, money has never been demanded from gamblers
by officials, except in two or three alleged instances; proof of which,
however, was never forthcoming.
GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.
The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days”
of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide
reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or
peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William
Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a
Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite
young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers
of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave
manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and,
like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the
principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the
most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among
Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked
upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges,
lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms
and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw
away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough
gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of
prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not
until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent;
faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his
rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can
testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked
him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest
enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled
with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his
ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death
a few months ago.
GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.
The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days”
of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide
reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or
peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William
Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a
Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite
young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers
of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave
manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and,
like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the
principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the
most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among
Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked
upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges,
lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms
and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw
away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough
gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of
prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not
until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent;
faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his
rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can
testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked
him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest
enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled
with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his
ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death
a few months ago.
The name of Timothy Glassford stands among the foremost of professional
gamblers in the United States. He was, excepting Carney, probably the
oldest professional gambler worthy the title in Buffalo. For 40 years or
more he maintained an elegantly furnished house and dealt faro to the
city’s “best and most prominent citizens,” as they were recognized by
the general public. Glassford was the only gambler who was at any time a
power in politics and he is credited with having exerted considerable
influence not only in local but in State politics. Glassford made a
fortune which at one time was estimated at $200,000 (about 1867). He
died a few years ago leaving an estate worth $80,000, which includes
three stores on Main and Eagle Streets. This estate, or the larger
portion of it will go to a son. Glassford was well educated, spoke
several languages and is said to have prospered because he was an ardent
student of human nature. His reputation is that of an expert at faro
dealing, a great bluffer at poker, and his games are said to have been
square.
“Oat” Forrester, is another of Buffalo’s old-time gamblers. In his day
he was the dude of the fraternity and took great pride in being
faultlessly but neatly dressed. At times he wore diamonds worth $30,000,
and he seldom paid less than $75 for a suit of clothes. He kept a faro
room which was much frequented by young bloods. As a rule his games were
square though the brace game was played at intervals, especially during
race week. Forrester about 20 years ago was worth probably $25,000. His
health failed and he bought a house at Fort Erie, Ontario, where he
lived until about four years ago, when he removed to Chicago, and is now
said to be living with a daughter, financially ruined and dependent upon
others.
“Pige” or “Judge” Darling was another Buffalo faro player of note. He
was a distinguished-looking man at middle age, and a brilliant
conversationalist. He played at various rooms, was a large winner but a
spendthrift.
James McCormick is another who some years ago was one of Buffalo’s
notables. Naturally a gambler he was for several years successful in
“hitting” faro. Finally with a few hundred dollars he drifted West and
then to Chicago and New York. To-day he is known throughout the country
as owner of one of the celebrated strings of trotting horses, which
yearly win for him considerable money. It is said that McCormick gambles
occasionally.
Adam Clark, an English Jew, was a noted gambler. He owned a large tract
of land on Main Street, until recently run as a pleasure resort and
known as “Spring Abbey.” There is a brick dwelling there, in which he
used to preside over faro and poker games. It is said that Clark catered
only to the rich and that a “brace” or dishonest game was never played
in his rooms. In 1860, Clark probably was worth $100,000, but through
illness, his affairs were neglected and at his death his estate was so
involved that lawyers got the lion’s share. Curiously the property, for
years the home of the gambler, is now the “Home for the Friendless.”
Clark’s credit among gamblers, bankers and merchants was good and he
could borrow thousands, giving only his oral promise to pay. A Buffalo
ex-gambler states that Clark never failed to pay a debt and that several
times he was loaned $5,000 or $10,000, and on one occasion $15,000 for
which his note was not asked—his simple word of honor being sufficient
security. Clark was charitable and it is said that he gave to needy
institutions, etc., on an average $2,000 a year.
There lives in Buffalo a man who was and is to-day in knowledge and
skill one of the most expert gamblers in America. His early life was
devoted to gambling. An elegant home was his gaming den, and his guests
enjoyed substantial and costly luncheons and the best of wines as a part
of his entertainment. An iron will, always cool and quiet, winning
manners, with skill at cards such as is only acquired by one possessing
great mathematical talent, made him an expert and won him a national
reputation. He retired several years ago, and is now engaged in real
estate transactions. It is estimated that he is worth from $250,000 to
$300,000.
Reed Brockway was also famous. He began his gambling career in Buffalo,
lived there until a few years ago when he went West, it is believed to
Chicago. He played faro well, was a “dressy” gambler, and a man of high
intellectual qualities. It is said that he could keep the run of cards
in faro better than any gambler who ever played in America, and picked
out and played heavy sums on winning cards with remarkable success. It
is related that in 1867, with but six cards in the box, he played $1,500
on a king, naming it as the _last_ winning card, and made a side bet of
$500 that his calculation was correct. He won $2,000 in about four
minutes, and half an hour later had spent $200 for wine and cigars.
Oliver, or “Ol” Westcott, another Buffalo gambler, was famous as a
“plunger.” He played to win all or lose all. If the “bank” would permit
he frequently played from $1,000 to $5,000 on a single card. He is
credited with winning $60,000 in two months, after which event the
dealers throughout the country placed a limit not higher than $5,000 on
games in which Westcott played. He amassed a fortune aggregating about
$75,000, but when last heard of, ten years ago, he had taken to liquor,
lost nearly all of his wealth, and was running a small game in Colorado.
Of a semi-professional class little need be said. They have been
generally poker players who played wherever and whenever there was a
dollar to be made. Their history and characteristics may be expressed in
few words—unscrupulous; but two or three with any degree of character or
amount of money, and all “skin” gamblers.
From the inception of gambling in Buffalo to the present time the
largest amount invested in a gambling den, in the “bank,” and exclusive
of building and furniture, has been $25,000. It is estimated that in the
best days the capital directly invested by gamblers aggregated not over
$125,000, while indirectly they had at command from other gamblers or
merchant friends probably $100,000 more. Glassford, Clark and Carney ran
the most expensive houses. During the war time their running expenses
ranged from $1,500 to $3,500 per week. It is stated that Carney once
paid James McCormick $1,000 and a percentage for dealing faro. The
profits, as a rule, were varied, ranging from $5,000 to $20,000 a week
during 1860-65 and falling to an average of $1,500 in 1869-70, and to
from $500 to $1,000 from 1870 to 1873.
The relation of gambling to the criminal and political history of the
city has been comparatively unimportant. The effect has been contrary to
that experienced in other large cities. A search of police records and
careful inquiry of old gamblers fails to show that a murder, or very
serious assault, ever occurred in a professional gaming house. Small
rows in poker rooms, or in saloons connected with gambling rooms, and
raids of gamblers, constitute the affairs chargeable directly or
indirectly to gambling rooms—a remarkable record.
One of the earliest forms of gambling in Buffalo, and one which it seems
almost impossible for the authorities to reach, and which is indulged in
by hundreds daily, is policy playing. Old gamblers tell of policy shops
existing thirty years ago and, as a general rule they were then
patronized by the same class of men identical with those of to-day; that
is, chiefly barbers, colored coachmen, and small storekeepers. Mingled
with these are a number of small salaried clerks. There are two policy
companies who have agents in Buffalo. One is known as the Frankfort
company and the other the Kentucky company. Both companies are old and
wealthy, their headquarters being in the State of Kentucky, one in
Louisville and the other in Frankfort. They have two daily drawings, one
in the morning and the other in the afternoon, and the results are
telegraphed all over the country to their agents. The attitude of the
law and the police toward this mode of gambling is just as severe as in
any other kind of gambling, and if a shop is located it is instantly
raided, and the offenders are taken before the police magistrate. Here
the police work ends, and sad to relate, ends almost in a fizzle. The
present police magistrate is a declared friend to the policy players,
and when it is possible the offenders get off free. When the evidence is
too strong against them to admit of such a move, a light fine is
imposed, invariably the minimum the law allows, which is $5.00. This
fine is paid by the policy company in whose employ the agent is at the
time of his arrest. If it should be a regulation shop keeper he pays the
minimum fine of $25, and with but few exceptions this fine never goes
above that figure. Public sentiment seems to condemn it and there is now
a growing cry against it which will sooner or later make matters mend.
Policy as now run is anything but a square deal with its victims. There
are 75 numbers issued each day by the head office. They are sent to the
agents here, who are either barbers or saloon keepers. Some have small
rooms in unfrequented alleys or lanes, but of the latter class there are
very few now. The policy buyer chooses his numbers in many different
ways. Some who have been inveterate followers of this mode of gambling
rely on dreams, others depend on some little incident by which certain
numbers are brought to their mind, some shake dice, and there are a
thousand different ways in which the policy gambler guesses the lucky
number. When he pays for them he pays anywhere from five cents to ten
dollars a number, as his pocket money will allow; it makes no difference
to the agent. When the result of the drawings are made known the lucky
numbers are printed on the slips of paper, and if any one of the numbers
held by the buyer appears three times in the list he wins ten times the
amount he pays for his number. Policy agents of this city are few, but
what are termed “bookmakers,” or solicitors are about thirty in number.
These men are virtually sub-agents, and are salaried. It is estimated
that about $600 a day is spent in Buffalo in this game. One of the
principal agents here is a colored man named Frank Prince, a man well
along in years who has a small room on Center street. He has been
arrested and fined at least twice a month during the year 1889, but his
fine of $25 is always promptly paid, and he has never pleaded anything
but guilty to the charge when arraigned in the police court. Prince is a
lower type of the negro race, of a burly figure and rough in manner.
There have been about one hundred cases of policy in the police court
during the nine months of the year 1889, and fines averaged $10 in each
case. Winners in policy are few and far between, but there seems to be a
sort of mania for it among a certain class, which grows stronger the
longer they deal in it. With some business men it becomes a hobby, which
they fall into in a quiet and almost unconscious manner, but it is
seldom played by any but men of small means, in fact, it is impossible
to learn of a single case where a wealthy man has been known to buy
policy tickets. Bookmakers can generally be found in saloons and concert
halls, and around theater entrances. The regular buyer is quick to
discover his business, and his purchase is made quietly and almost
secretly. Detectives are constantly on the watch for these transactions,
and should any mysterious movement be made by two men on the street,
which would give rise to the suspicion that they were policy men, they
are carefully shadowed until caught. After once being caught they are
interviewed by the officials, and ever after made objects for
surveillance. Thus in a certain measure they are fugitives and outcasts
from all society. Still, their calling is a lucrative one, often netting
the bookmaker $15 a day the year around, and they become wealthy in
time. Bookmakers are generally heavy buyers themselves. As a class of
men they are of a roving disposition, and high livers. Nearly all have a
hang-dog expression on their faces. They take their arrest coolly, and
seem indifferent to the whole matter. They are seldom hard drinkers,
their calling requiring them to be constantly on the alert, and
exceedingly cautious in all their dealings.
The Louisiana Lottery has thousands of victims in Buffalo. Within the
past two years three large prizes have been drawn by Buffalonians and
these winnings have stimulated and doubled the sale of tickets.
Information obtained from some of the 12 agents of the lottery in
Buffalo and the representatives of the express companies indicates that
from 10,000 to 15,000 tickets are sold in Buffalo every month,
representing the investment of from $10,000 to $12,000.
The church fair is a frequent occurrence in Buffalo. Recently a fair was
held for one week, the proceeds of which have been devoted to paying the
floating debt on Music Hall. There were offered 1,500 prizes, the bait
consisting of $1,000, $500 and $100 in gold, an $800 piano, and the rest
of the prizes being pictures, barrels of flour and cement, etc. The
entertainments offered were upon the drawing of prizes, and drew a crowd
of 40,000 and upward nightly. The tickets sold for $1, and entitled the
buyer to three admissions to the hall and a chance—one in nearly
50,000—to draw a prize. About 48,000 tickets were sold and the fair
netted $46,000. Since then, say the lottery agents, their sale of
tickets has largely increased.
It seems strange—or rather, it would seem strange were it not so common
an experience—that citizens who profess to be, and no doubt are,
sincerely opposed to lotteries on principle, should indirectly give them
moral and material aid and support by lending their countenance to
schemes of this nature. The support of church and other raffles, gotten
up in aid of charity or of gift enterprises, undertaken for any purpose,
however worthy, can be justified only by a species of moral casuistry.
The altar does not “sanctify the gift,” and the line of moral
demarcation between the lottery for benevolence and the lottery for
gain, is rather shadowy. The inherent scruple as to buying chances
having been removed, it is but one step farther, and that a short one,
to the lottery office and the policy shop.
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GAMBLING IN ST. PAUL.
Before the war there was comparatively little public gaming at St. Paul.
The city was occasionally visited by professionals, but the latter
usually considered that the then infant metropolis was hardly worth the
expenditure of much time or money. Once in a while one of the guild
would accompany a victim to the Minnesota capital, in order that he
might “pluck” him at his leisure. As a rule, however, the Mississippi
steamboats formed the chief theatre of their operations, it was a rare
occurrence that they penetrated so far into the Northwest. On the boats
the play was universal, from the elegantly attired gamester whose
diamond stud flashed prismatic colors, which were reflected from the
lights of the chandeliers of the cabin, to the flannel-shirted
individual who contented himself with fleecing the crew and second-class
passengers upon the main deck. The river craft proved a much more
remunerative field for sharpers, and, as has been said, the citizens of
St. Paul enjoyed immunity from their presence.
The inborn love for gaming which seems to be found in nearly every human
breast, found its gratification in the back-rooms of saloons and in a
few club-rooms, entrance to which was denied to all but members. The
“shining lights” of the profession were absent, and games were played
for only small stakes, although even in those days there were a few
local gamblers who gained some little notoriety during the early years
of the war. But after 1865, they seemed to have disappeared from public
view, some of them becoming retail liquor dealers, others farmers, and
yet others migrating to remote localities. Some of them, however, are
still residents of St. Paul, and are fairly well-to-do. Their former
sins have been forgotten and their past record is known only to a few
pioneer settlers, the result being that they are looked upon to-day as
respectable members of society.
After the war public gaming began to flourish, and soon increased to
such an extent that between 1872-4 there were lively times in and around
the capitol. The Union Pacific had been completed and the Northern
Pacific commenced. Thousands of laborers of all nationalities who had
been thrown out of employment along the line of the Union Pacific
flocked to the Northwest where the contractors for Henry Villard’s
Transcontinental Line were glad to avail themselves of their services.
With these laborers came a horde of hungry, desperate gamblers, men with
the instincts and ferocity of wild beasts, having no regard for the
sanctity of human life, who set law and order absolutely at defiance.
The desperadoes did not stay long at St. Paul; turning their faces
Westward they advanced along the line of the Northern Pacific, their
march keeping pace with the run of the rails along the highway of
commerce. Among the best known were Cole Martin, Jack O’Neill, Dave
Mullin, “Shank” Stanfield and Dan Shumway. They made their headquarters
at a saloon kept by one Dave Crummy. They have entirely disappeared from
view, and it is probable that most of them have “passed in their last
checks.” They fought with each other as readily as with their victims,
and, one after another have been killed off.
The circumstances of the killing of Dan Shumway by “Shank” Stanfield at
Moorhead in 1872 illustrates the character of these gamblers. Bad blood
had existed between them for some time, and a shooting had been expected
at any moment. Stanfield had been playing all night, and was about to
take an early morning drink in a bar-room, when Shumway came in, drunk
and quarrelsome. Instantly, Stanfield started from the saloon to procure
a pistol. As he was passing through the door he was fired upon by his
enemy. He quickly made his way to his own apartment and soon returned
with a revolver in each hand. Then the two began shooting at each other
with great rapidity. Stanfield took his position behind a pile of
packing boxes within easy range, and Shumway soon fell with one bullet
in his hip and another in his side. Wounded as he was, he dragged
himself painfully along the ground toward his adversary, leaving a
bloody trail behind him and firing as he proceeded. But before the
miserable wretch could reach Stanfield a bullet had found lodgement in a
vital spot and the dying desperado rolled over, clenching his weapon in
his hand with all the rigidity of a death grasp. The other gambler was
badly wounded but, perhaps unfortunately for the community at large,
recovered.
Such were the men who made a hell upon earth of Brainerd, Moorhead,
Irontown, and a dozen other points along the line of the Northern
Pacific railway. Only one of the horde appears to have returned, and to-
day few would recognize in Guy Salisbury, the Evangelist, one of the
band who maintained a reign of terror at Irontown.
With the extermination of this class, gambling became more orderly and
violence was of less frequent occurrence. The law-abiding element in St.
Paul gradually compelled the fraternity to adopt quiet methods of
running their games and to seek the seclusion of private rooms. Still,
at the present time, gambling is extensively carried on in the city,
although it seldom appears upon the surface, except in a few instances
which will be mentioned below. At the same time it is a notorious fact
that, unless in the cases of a few misguided interlopers who have
neglected to “square” themselves with the “powers that be,” no gambler
is ever arrested or a gaming resort raided by the city police. There are
ten or a dozen regular hells located in the very heart of the city, a
description of some of which may prove of interest.
The most prominent and prosperous is the “Turf Exchange,” run by a well-
known sporting man named Frank N. Shaw. Associated with him in the
conduct of this establishment are generally believed to be several
citizens who occupy good positions in society, and pose as respectable
members of the community. One or two of the suspected parties hold
positions of trust under the city government and if they did their duty
would suppress the place instead of abetting it. The “Turf Exchange” is
known as a pooling room. Pools are sold there on horse races, boat
races, ball games, prize fights, elections, and any and all other
turnings which offer a chance for a wager. The patrons of the
establishment are for the most part clerks from stores and offices,
mechanics, and others who work for stipulated wages. Bets are accepted
for any sum from $1.00 upward. A favorite method of losing money here is
that known as “making combinations.” That is, naming the winners in
three horse races, or other sporting events which occur on one and the
same day. If a man is lucky enough to hit upon precisely the winning
combination, the proprietor pays him heavy odds, but it is readily seen
that his chances for so doing are disproportionately small. During the
base ball season this resort is crowded by day and night, and a
considerable force of telegraph operators is employed in receiving the
reports which come in over the wires, and the services of a large staff
of assistants is needed in checking up the results on the boards, in
selling pools, and keeping the books. The yearly net profits of the
Exchange are said to exceed $40,000.
It is only the initiated, however, who are aware that immediately above
the pool rooms a gambling hell is in full blast. The up-stairs den is
well furnished and the games played include faro, roulette, poker, the
wheel of fortune, dice, etc. Not many months ago two fast young men of
St. Paul claimed to have lost $1,500 and $1,800, respectively, in this
place. They brought suit against Shaw to recover the money. As nothing
has been heard of the proceedings since their institution, rumor says
that the action has been quietly settled out of court.
Little more than a year ago the pool room was victimized by some adroit
sharpers who tapped the telegraph wires, and by withholding messages for
a few minutes were enabled to make bets which proved disastrous to the
proprietors of the institution. The Western Union was suspected of
complicity in the scheme, but a careful watch failed to reveal any
crookedness on their part. The tapped wire was finally located, and the
plan was found to have been originated by a man whose reputation as a
professional “crook” has earned for him the insertion of his photograph
in a prominent position in every rogues’ gallery in the country. Strange
as it may seem, the sufferers made no effort to bring the sharper to
justice. They even shielded him at the time, and are supposed to have
protected him from arrest upon a requisition from the governor of
Indiana, by giving him secret information. Of course such information
could be obtained only from an official source, and one of the city
officers who is believed to have an interest in the pool room stands
very close to the quarter from which the knowledge might have been had.
Next to the pool room, the gambling establishment which enjoys the
largest patronage is that known as Sherwin’s rooms, situated over a
saloon on East Seventh Street. Not many years ago one of the proprietors
of this place found it convenient to absent himself from St. Paul, owing
to his alleged connection with a brawl in which a man lost his life.
When public indignation had cooled down, through some mysterious
influence brought to bear on the authorities, the genial gamester was
allowed to return, and is at present plying his former vocation without
molestation.
Not many months since, a desperate affray occurred in those rooms in
which a white man was dangerously stabbed. The affair was brought to the
notice of the authorities, but no steps were taken to punish the
assailant or to close the place. The injured man was an employee of the
city, and, in the slang of the streets, “stood in with the gang.” He was
easily persuaded not to prosecute the negro, for the reason that such a
step on his part would call public attention to the existence of the
gambling hell and compel the police to take some action, “for when the
ball is once set rolling, you cannot tell when it will stop, you know.”
Nearly all the ordinary games of chance are played at Sherwin’s.
In connection with the establishment, refreshments are sold, and if a
player should win any considerable sum he is at once surrounded by the
harpies, male and female, who urge him to expend his winnings in wine
and liquors, and make “a good fellow” of himself. In this way a large
percentage of the money lost at the tables is again taken in by the
proprietors over the bar.
Another well-known gambling hell is Banigh’s European Hotel, where the
usual games are carried on.
Besides the places already mentioned, there are a number of dives of a
low character, scattered about the city. Nearly every central
thoroughfare contains at least one. Their location is known to every man
about town, and it is idle to suppose that the police are ignorant of
their existence. On Minnesota Street gambling dens of the lowest
description flourish, for the accommodation of the colored population,
and where “crap shooting” is the favorite amusement. The police have
recently found it necessary to close one of the most disreputable of
these resorts, because of the frequency of dangerous brawls which
occurred there.
If the category of the gaming resorts above given comprised the whole
story of gambling in St. Paul, the tale would not materially differ from
that which might be related of nearly every large city. But places of
the character described do not constitute one-tenth part of the number
of gaming resorts in the city. Out of all the hotels in St. Paul, there
are only one or two where gambling is prohibited, and in which the
proprietors do not knowingly rent rooms for gaming purposes. These rooms
are usually occupied by professionals, who are guests at the hotels, but
whose character is well known. Faro and poker are the games most
commonly played, and sometimes stakes run up to a considerable amount.
The saloons swell the list of places where this vice is practiced. The
bar room which does not permit card playing for money in its back room
is a rarity, and sometimes games of no little magnitude are played at
these places. When the police are questioned as to the existence of
gambling in the city, they invariably reply that they are not aware of
its existence within the corporate limits. And while there is no
evidence to prove that they do actually know that practices of the sort
described are being carried on, to believe that they are ignorant is too
severe a strain upon the credulity of the average citizen.
In private clubs there is much gaming and the stakes are often high. It
appears, however, to be beyond the police powers conferred by the
existing laws to put a stop to this species of gaming. The mania seems
to have infected every grade of society from the highest to the lowest.
“All sorts and conditions of men” gamble. Young merchants, confidential
clerks, trusted book-keepers, wage workers of all descriptions, and even
school boys. Men of religious professions form no exception, and a
church member is by no means a _rara avis_ at the tables.
No form of gambling is so universally popular or so widely patronized as
the Louisiana State Lottery. The head quarters for the State of
Minnesota are located in St. Paul. The manager employs a fair sized
clerical force to assist him in the distribution of tickets, which are
scattered broad-cast wherever it is believed that there is a possibility
of their sale. Almost every saloon has a lottery agent, and these men
are allowed from 2½ to 7 per cent on their sales. A large proportion of
the people who buy these tickets are regular purchasers, and make an
investment (usually a permanent one) of from $1.00 to $10.00 every
month. _Bona fide_ instances of winning through this species of gambling
are exceedingly rare.
The institution, like the gambling dens which curse the city, is also
run under cover of the official mantle. About a year ago, an effort was
made to break up the business through the indictment of the manager and
his assistants by the grand jury of Ramsey County. A number of witnesses
were subpoened, but when they were called upon to testify it was
discovered that they had been conveniently got out of the way. In
consequence, the investigation dropped and anyone who wished to waste
his money in a vain attempt to secure a capital prize finds no
difficulty in purchasing the ticket which he may select.
The “bucket shop,” pure and simple, is unknown in St. Paul. There is
more or less speculative trade in “futures and combinations,” but the
total amount is insignificant as compared with the volume of legitimate
business—probably at a rough estimate, not exceeding $2,000,000
annually.
----------
THE GAMBLER’S LUCK.
To prove how matters will go wrong,
When gambling ways you start along,
Just listen to this tale:
I tramped for many a weary day,
And funds were gone, and skies were gray,
For trade was flat and stale.
My blood seemed chilled, the outlook black,
As I came hoofing down the track
And reached a country town;
I did not know a single soul
To ask for hash, or beg a bowl,
And I was done up brown.
I earned a dollar in that town,
And in a faro bank sat down,
And took a little horn;
The checks they used, my gentle youth—
You may not think I tell the truth—
Were grains of Indian corn.
I scanned the players there awhile,
A pleasing thought soon made me smile,
Mused I: “Here’s luck for me.”
I knew a few miles further back,
There stood a corn-crib by the track,
As full as it could be. As full as it could be.
Though dark and wet, I left the place,
And turned my eager, hopeful face
Towards that brimming bin.
Foot-sore, I reached the happy spot
And felt among the lucky lot,
And took a big ear in.
I shelled it as I went along,
And sang the only happy song
I’d sung for many days;
I stuck my stake into my clothes,
And in that bank I stuck my nose,
For I had made a raise.
I watched that game an hour or two,
And tried to look as green as you,
And thought I’d play it fine.
I walked up like a country jake,
And took a handful of my stake
And placed all on the nine.
The dealer turned his eagle eyes
On mine, which caused me some surprise,
And said in tones quite bland:—
“My friend, it may not look quite right,
But no “reds” here are played to-night.”
And thats the way it panned.
I trudged along the track next morn,
And there I saw old farmer Thorne,
Empty his bins with care.
In that large crib, chuck full of grain,
The sight of yellow ears brought pain,
For not one “red” was there.
GAMBLING IN MINNEAPOLIS.
Minnesota is not dissimilar to other States of the Union in respect to
gambling, but, unlike other Western States and territories, it has
achieved an enviable reputation. This is due to two causes, the
character of its population, and the nature of its resources and
industries. Census statistics show that the greater proportion of the
inhabitants are either of Scandinavian or New England descent, neither
race of which has, at any time, shown any pronounced disposition to
gamble. Possibly this may be accounted for by considerations of climate
and geographical location, inducing conditions of life that inculcate
lessons of rigid economy and teach the true value of money.
Minnesota being essentially an agricultural State, those incentives to
gamble have been lacking which seemed part and parcel of the development
of other Western States where mining and “flush times” went hand in
hand; where money came easily and went rapidly.
Minneapolis, one of the two chief cities of the State, has always been
and yet is the “head centre” of whatever gambling is done in the
commonwealth. There, it has always been conducted more on the plan of a
regular business enterprise than in the majority of cities throughout
the United States; in fact, it has been and is now a complete monopoly,
a trust on a small scale, and, like other trusts, it trusts nobody.
Minneapolis is a young town. Its phenomenal growth in the last decade
has been marvelous, and one is not surprised to learn that the gambler
of Minneapolis, the village, is the gambler of Minneapolis, the thriving
city. Gaming has existed under both Democratic and Republican
administrations, and politics can be said to have cut little figure in
the calculations of the gamblers. It was merely a question whether it
should be conducted openly or behind closed doors; whether the general
public, or only certain persons, be permitted to cross the threshold and
enter the apartments sacred to the use of King Faro, his aids and
satellites. The answer to this question has been generally given in
accordance with the personal sympathies or political obligations of the
city executive.
As previously mentioned, gambling in Minneapolis has always been a
monopoly. This monopoly has been known, in the parlance of the town, as
the “combination.” This nomenclature saves time and the bother of
mentioning the gamblers by name, every one knowing who are meant.
This combination started some years ago and first consisted of Pat
Sullivan, an old soldier, and John Flanagan. A little later on, these
were joined by Frank Shaw, Mike Shelley, and William Tanner, better
known as “Col.” Bill Tanner. Shaw, however, only remained a member a few
months. Before the forming of the combination, Flanagan and Sullivan
conducted establishments which embraced all known gambling games and
devices, and were believed to be conducted strictly “on the square.”
This was during the administration of Mayor John De Laittre. That
official had spasmodic fits of morality, sporadic attacks as it were, in
consequence whereof, Messrs. Sullivan and Flanagan ran the place very
quietly, though every now and then the police authorities would make a
raid, the tangible result of which was to show that portion of the
population which would otherwise have remained ignorant that gambling
still existed in Minneapolis, and could be only suppressed or
exterminated through the efforts of a zealous mayor, backed by a
marvellously acute force of police and detectives.
Mayor Rand allowed the games to be conducted quietly, and did not
interfere as long as no complaint of “brace” playing was made.
Under the rule of Mayor A. A. Ames, a fanatic on the question of
personal liberty and the right of a man to do as he pleased,
irrespective of the rights of the remainder of the community, gambling
was conducted “wide open,” with no restrictions save those placed upon
it by the gamblers themselves. It was too wide open to suit the majority
of the conservative voters and that large element which, though liberal-
minded, had some respect for decency and some regard for outward
appearances; and at the next election, Mr. George S. Pillsbury, a member
of the famous firm of millers and brother of the Governor, was elected
mayor, defeating Mayor Ames by a decisive majority.
Under his rule a complete transformation took place. It was from one
extreme to the other; the difference between Cimmerian darkness and the
bright glare of the noonday sun, could not be more marked than the
revolution that occurred in the administration of municipal affairs, and
the city was governed on the plan of a small New England village. Square
gambling was prohibited, but a notorious brace game was in full blast
during the entire Pillsbury administration.
Mr. Pillsbury was a candidate for re-election on the strength of the
record made in the cause of pure morals, but he was ignominiously beaten
by Dr. Ames. Upon the election of the latter, the change resembled the
oscillation of the pendulum from one extremity of its arc, to the other.
It was one extreme to the other. Ames proceeded again to enforce his
peculiar views on personal liberty. His previous administration had been
peculiarly objectionable to the orderly and law abiding citizens, who
set about devising methods to check the scheme of “throwing the town
wide open.”
Right here a word of explanation concerning the power and authority of
the mayor, is essential in order that a proper understanding of the
matter may be reached. Under every administration down to the last one
of Dr. Ames, the mayor was the head of the municipal government,
possessing supreme authority over the police officials, whom he could
appoint and dismiss at his own sweet will, without let or hindrance. It
can be easily perceived how this privilege might be abused and the power
perverted, if not prostituted to unlawful ends. Thus the whole machinery
of the law was under the control of one man, resulting in a veritable
despotism on a small scale, under which one person, the mayor, was the
important factor for good or for evil in the city.
Gamblers, saloon-keepers, and the sporting classes generally, welcomed
his election with one accord. City ordinances regulating liquor selling,
were to be calmly and quietly, but no less surely ignored. And they
were. The result was a saturnalia of crime. Saloons ran all night if so
minded and customers demanded it. The gambling houses were in full
blast, and the city swarmed with thieves, fakirs and blacklegs of every
description, from smooth adventurers of the Traylor and Post pattern,
down to the petty shell worker and flimflam fellow. It was time to call
a halt.
As it so happened the state legislature was in session, and it was
determined by good citizens, irrespective of political affiliations, to
go before that body and pray for relief. After much consultation, a bill
providing for the appointment of a police commission, consisting of two
members from each dominant party, with the mayor as ex-officio member,
was formulated. The bill was passed by both houses, and became a law
through the Governor’s signature. Under its provisions the appointing
power was conferred upon the council, and well-known citizens received
the honor of serving as members. This act left the mayor shorn of power
and authority. The police commission ruled and decided whether city
ordinances should be enforced or not; the same body controlled the
police, and decency once more ruled. At a recent session, the
legislature amended the bill by reducing the number of the police
commissioners to two, outside of the mayor, who still remained an ex-
officio member. Nevertheless gambling has existed, and still exists, no
matter what the political complexion of the city administration may have
happened to be.
With this brief introduction it is only necessary to give a condensed
history of the games and devices that have flourished in Minneapolis,
the object of whose proprietors has been to lure money from those, who,
it must be admitted, would have liked to acquire wealth by means far
removed from honest toil and labor.
At all the houses here have run the usual games ordinarily conducted in
so-called first-class gambling rooms; that is to say, faro bank,
roulette, stud poker, and hazard, with various short card games. Faro
bank is king. Its legitimate percentage in favor of the bank is of
course responsible for its large following of devotees, and the great
majority of players make their way to that table immediately upon
entering the halls. A “tenderfoot,” who was playing against a brace game
out West, chanced to inquire what limit would be given him. The reply
was “from John Smith’s green cloth to the blue sky of heaven.” This
limit it may be remarked _en passant_, was somewhat liberal, but in view
of the kind of game that was being dealt the proprietor could afford to
let a man place his money freely. In Minneapolis it has been slightly
different, the limit being generally placed at fifty to doubles, and
twenty-five to cases. Occasionally a well-known player who was known to
be possessed of plenty of funds has been allowed two hundred and a
hundred. This, however, may be called the exception rather than the
rule. The play against faro bank has always been fairly steady, with the
houses winning in the long run. Comparatively few heavy losses or
winnings have ever occurred in Minneapolis. Dink Davis, Pat Sheedy, and
other celebrated high rollers have rarely visited the city. The only
heavy loss suffered was in the old house at 205 Nicollet Avenue, when
Frank Shaw, Flanagan and Sullivan were the main proprietors in 1887.
This may scarcely be called a legitimate losing, but rather the result
of what some gamblers would call a bit of sharp practice. The house had
only been running in full blast for a few months. Everything was wide
open, in the heyday of Mayor Ames’ administration. Among the dealers
employed was Mr. Harrington, a very good all around gambler, and withal
a first-class artist. Harrington was well liked by his employers, who
thought highly of his capabilities, and had perfect confidence in his
honesty, so far at least as they were concerned. But as events proved
they were mistaken. Mr. Harrington had a particular friend, one Mr.
Hayes, who gambled on the outside strictly, and was known as a hard faro
bank player. These two smooth gentlemen, it is said, put their heads
together and concocted a plot, which was in brief that Harrington should
“throw off” the game to Hayes. The scheme worked to a charm, and Mr.
Hayes’ luck became proverbial among those that were leading the gay life
of a sport. Matters ran along for some little time, and it was not until
the game was some $10,000 loser that the house management began to
suspect that there might possibly be something wrong, or in gamblers’
parlance “an African in the woodpile.” A quiet investigation ensued, and
it was not long before the chair that knew Mr. Harrington, knew him no
more, forever. Then it was that the erstwhile familiar faces of Messrs.
Harrington and Hayes became as shadows of the past, though ever and anon
their forms would rise like Banquo’s ghost to haunt the Macbethian forms
of the combination that had heard that there was honor among gamblers.
But Harrington has paid for his duplicity in this instance, as the
better class of gamblers utterly refuse to have anything to do with him,
and he stands a fair chance of being forced to earn an honest livelihood
by working at his trade—that of a compositor.
Next to faro bank, in point of attraction, is roulette. Watching the
ball go round has a certain grim fascination for a great many people—and
then it is quick action for your money; nervous people are not compelled
to wait in suspense to know whether they lose or win. A simple twist of
the wrist, the little ivory is whirling around and around until it stops
in one of the many compartments—red or black, or in the fatal zeros that
sweep the board. But still the number of devotees at its altar is not
large. In fact, in the whole town there are not half a dozen men who
prefer roulette to faro, provided that they have any considerable amount
of money. Those with only a few dollars in their possession play it in
order to get a stake to play faro. A journalist here, and part
proprietor of one of the daily papers, is the only individual that has
achieved any notoriety in this direction. It was no unusual thing for
him to win or lose a thousand dollars at a sitting. This sort of play
is, however, exceptional, the majority of players against the wheel
scarcely having funds enough to buy a stack of white checks.
Next in order of popularity come hazard and stud poker. The former is
chiefly patronized by beginners, and the latter by that numerous class
of men who consider themselves a little wiser than their fellows.
Neither the greenhorn nor the player who is wise in his own conceit
takes into consideration the enormous odds in the one game, or the large
“rake off” in the other, regulated only by the conscience (?) of the
dealer, and his knowledge of just what the players will stand. Therefore
the harvest is ripe and is quickly garnered. Hazard has never been much
of a favorite, the play being scarcely extensive enough to meet
expenses; while on the other hand, the stud poker tables have always
been well patronized. The short card games in these public rooms were
usually played by professional gamblers for the sake of whiling away a
few hours, with just a sufficient monetary consideration to vary the
tedium and monotony.
The above statements apply to every gambling house that has been ever
run in the city, conducted strictly on the square. But, as in all other
trades and professions, there are grades. The habitues and customers of
one establishment seldom visited any of the others, and in the most
exclusive resort, that at 219 Hennepin Avenue, the common crowd were
refused admittance by the colored servitor that guarded the door. At
least good clothes and the appearance of a gentleman were necessary to
effect an entrance into this particular lair of the tiger.
But passing mention must be made of one establishment that flourished
under the highly moral Pillsbury administration, and was permitted to
continue unmolested, while other houses were compelled either to close
up or run in such a furtive way that a search warrant was almost a
necessity in order to find the haunts of the animal. This place was and
is known to all sports, thieves, confidence men, and blacklegs
generally, throughout the length and width of the United States. It is
designated as the “Elite,” and is located on Nicollet Avenue! To the
uninitiated and the casual observer it is simply a saloon, and a very
good saloon at that. But up-stairs was a complete gambling outfit of the
most crooked description. It was commonly believed to be a notorious
brace house, and many a man was there “skinned” out of hundreds of
dollars. It was given out that it was the only place in town where a man
with a penchant for faro bank would be accommodated, and he was
accommodated with a vengeance. “Steerers” were numerous in those days,
and embraced such shining lights in that particular line of industry as
“Sammy” Barrett, “Jerry” Desmond and “Charlie” Dean, while distinguished
confidence men, such as William Traynor and George Post, did not disdain
occasionally to introduce a wealthy fly into the spider’s web.
At this time the place was reputed to be owned by Col. Wm. Tanner and
Bill Munday. Tanner is a cool-headed man, who has never been known to
let an opportunity of “getting the best of it” go by. He has always
prospered and is worth several thousand dollars in cash, besides some
rather valuable real estate. Munday, on the other hand, was somewhat of
a handicap and a dead weight on the institution. His personal habits
were most objectionable; he was irritable, quarrelsome, and a general
nuisance. Finally, in sheer desperation, Col. Tanner purchased his
interest, and Munday retired to his native heath at Burlington, Iowa,
where at last accounts he was engaged in defying the prohibitory law.
This “brace” house flourished like the proverbial green bay tree, until
the advent of Mayor Ames, when the regular houses were permitted to
open. Strong pressure was brought to bear, and Tanner, after removing
from the “Elite” to a place on Washington Avenue north, finally effected
a compromise, abandoned his game and became a partner with Sullivan and
Flanagan.
In the meantime, Frank Shaw announced his intention of defying Sullivan
and Flanagan and opening up whether they liked it or not, and he too was
admitted into partnership. Then Sawyer, who with “Bob” Potee used to run
the famous No. 3 Missouri Avenue in Kansas City, appeared on the scene,
and declared his intention of corralling some of the large profits that
rumor said were going into the pockets of the combination. He was
permitted to open, paying the combination a certain percentage of the
profits. However the screws were gradually put on, and ultimately he was
forced out of business in Minneapolis and went to the Pacific coast.
Sawyer was anything but popular with either his associates or patrons.
He was cold with the former and supercilious toward the latter. Within
the last year or so Mike Shelley, a native of Minneapolis and a local
sport and saloon-keeper, has become identified with the gambling
interests, taking the place of John Flanagan, who has retired on a
moderate competence, amassed by a strict attention to business, and the
practice of careful domestic economy.
At the present writing, in the year of grace, 1889, gambling is
nominally confined to one club, which, however, is really open to the
world at large and all mankind. In fact, gaming is just as general as it
ever was, except that the combination, instead of running two or three
establishments in open defiance of the better class of citizens, now
quietly runs but one house and only caters to the moneyed men and
clerks, the “dinner-pail brigade” not being considered desirable
customers.
Such is a succinct account of gambling in Minneapolis, as the term
gambling is generally understood. But other forms of the vice flourish
unchecked and unmolested by the authorities. Bucket shops, under the
guise of produce exchanges, the “clock,” policy playing, “crap” games,
and the sale of lottery tickets run on as though there were no let or
hindrance imposed by State law or municipal ordinances. All these enjoy
an excellent amount of patronage.
The bucket shops naturally get the largest play, that is to say the
heaviest. The immense amount of wheat daily received at the city for
consumption by the mills, has made Minneapolis a great grain receiving
port, and this fact has doubtless given an impetus to this form of
gambling or speculation, as it is more politely termed. The Minneapolis
Chamber of Commerce resembles the Chicago Board of Trade, and it is
there that the “big guns” try to rob one another on the turn of the
market, just as one card sharp tries to fleece another, or a greenhorn,
on the turn of a card. Those outside the pale must perforce be satisfied
to stake their money in the bucket shops against the Chicago quotations.
In the opinion of many reflecting men this is the most pernicious form
of the vice, because a large number of eminently respectable people
persist in not regarding it as gambling, but consider it as merely a
speculation. This delusion blinds many victims who would not for the
universe enter a gambling house and put down their money on a fair
layout, or bet on the whirl of the roulette wheel. The play against the
bucket shops is steady, and it is a cause for wonder where all the money
comes from. Margins are continually being wiped out of existence, but
the speculators exhibit a recuperative power that is truly astonishing,
since after being “knocked out” in one round, they continue to “come up
smiling” in the next, and, strange to relate, no instances have been
made public of employes who have stolen in order to continue a wild
career of speculation, that ultimately ended in flight, prison, or
suicide. Either fickle fortune must distribute her favors with
comparative impartiality, or speculation does not run riot with that
exuberant luxuriance known in many of the large cities. The chief
establishment in Minneapolis, that of Pressey, Wheeler & Co., failed
about a year ago, not from lack of business, however, but because it was
not content with a steady income from the commissions received and
became imbued with the idea that it was within the realm of possibility
to beat the Chicago Board of Trade. It was a costly experiment; the firm
went under, but its business reputation was such that plenty of
financial backing was easily secured, and they are now doing business at
the old stand, with a third party interested. The minor establishments
of this character pursue the even tenor of their way, apparently
satisfied with the assured prospect of a comfortable living.
The “clock,” a device worked automatically, which at intervals of half a
minute threw out two cards, which were supposed to represent stock or
bonds, the lower one showing that the stock fell a certain notch below
the previous quotation, and the upper card a like increase, has had a
checkered career, but on the whole cannot be said to have made an
abundance of money for its owners. In its fundamental principle it
resembled the faro bank, but it was a little more trouble to play the
game, and its patrons were never very numerous, after the novelty of the
thing had worn off. It was beaten out of almost a thousand dollars one
day through collusion between a player and the man whose duty it was to
place the cards in the clock at the beginning of the day’s work. But
this trick has never been repeated, one experience of the sort having
rendered the managers cautious in the extreme.
Policy has always been considered the colored man’s game, and 4-11-44
has a familiar sound to thousands of people who have not the faintest
conception of the meaning of “saddles” and “gigs.” Its patrons in
Minneapolis are confined mainly to negroes, although occasionally a
Caucasian will hire a dark-skinned waiter or barber to play a few
numbers for him, just to tempt the fickle goddess. It is a difficult
matter to get the facts in this particular instance, for the reason that
the policy vendors are almost constantly under police surveillance, and
a raid is by no means infrequent. This may be attributed to a lack of
political influence, and the small proportion of colored people to the
entire population.
Craps, a dice game, always a favorite with the colored man and brother
and the street gamin, is being introduced into the more aristocratic
circles, and has become quite popular as a game of chance. The quaint
expressions of “come seven, come eleven,” “where’s my point,” “little
Joe,” “big Dick from Boston,” and the like, are now frequently heard
from the lips of the high-toned white gamblers as they carelessly toss
the dice in the early morning hours, after the regular games are closed.
The play at times runs high among the white votaries, but in their hands
it lacks the sauce piquante with which the game is flavored by the lowly
descendant of Ham.
Minneapolis can boast of a full-fledged pool-room, owned and controlled
by Frank Shaw. Since the inauguration of winter racing at New Orleans
and the tracks at Guttenburg and Clifton, the place runs during the
entire twelve months of the year. The establishment purports to give
track odds, but in many instances shortens them materially. The
proprietors have decidedly the best of it, for the play is constant, and
as it is for small amounts there is but little chance for the house to
make any considerable losing on any one book. The bookmakers are very
cautious, and refuse big bets on “short horses” for fear they may be
worsted through some sort of crookedness. In the books as low a wager as
fifty cents is recorded, and in the combination and Paris mutual pools
the small sum of twenty-five cents is thankfully accepted. It can be
easily seen that the temptation is great to invest a quarter or a half
with a bare possibility of having it returned tenfold in the brief space
that elapses between the time the shout that “now they’re off,” and the
moment when the announcement of the winners is made in the dulcet tones
of the telegraph operator. One glance at the habitues of the pool-room
shows plainly the folly of attempting to beat the races. The majority of
them are poorly dressed, unkempt and frowsy. Every dollar that finds its
way into their possession goes straight into the hands of the
bookmakers, and hope gradually changes into passive despair, as the
names of the leaders of the race are announced, and as the quarters are
recorded by the “tick-tick” of the electric instrument. Those, and there
are many of them, that have crossed the last ditch and are unable to
raise a cent, spend their time in “touting” and importune each newcomer
to buy this or that horse, confidently assuring the victim that it would
be impossible for him to lose. In the event of their prediction being
realized, they get a dollar or so, and proceed to back some “short”
horse, on the improbable chance of “making a scratch” and winning
several times the paltry amount which they have staked. This lost, the
same old process is repeated. It is lose, lose, lose. The bookmaker is a
veritable Minotaur, who must be appeased by frequent sacrifices. Honor,
friendship, truth and reputation, all go in the futile attempt to gain
money without the proper equivalent of hard work. It is pitiful, yet
still the law does not interfere, and the work of destruction goes on,
fresh recruits being constantly received into the ranks, only to find
that instead of being generals, they rapidly degenerate into very
ordinary privates, to whom the shelter of the guard-house is a boon. The
rarity of Christian charity is amply exemplified daily in this pool-
room. No matter how much money a victim may have spent, he would not be
given enough to buy a loaf of bread, and he knows this only too well.
The owner and employes grow fat and prosper, while the victim dresses in
rags, and oft times goes hungry after investing his last half dollar or
quarter in a vain endeavor to win back the money that has gone before.
Although the sale of lottery tickets is prohibited by law, and papers
are forbidden to print advertisements of lotteries, the statutory
provisions are openly violated, at least so far as the sale of tickets
is concerned. There is no avowed agent, as is the case in several other
cities, but people who wish to invest have no difficulty in securing the
tickets without going through the formality of sending their money to
New Orleans. There are several saloons whose proprietors are really the
representatives of the lottery companies, and would-be purchasers, who
are well known, experience no trouble. The drawings are posted in a
conspicuous place, so that it is extremely easy to ascertain just how
near you have come to drawing the capital prize. This once fell to two
Minneapolis citizens who had invested a dollar apiece, and in return
received $15,000, less the cost of collection. Numerous small prizes
have been drawn at various times, yet the greater portion of the money
spent for lottery tickets never comes back in the form of prizes, at
least to Minneapolis. But as a well-known Chicago gambler once sagely
remarked, “A sucker is born every minute,” and there is no lack of
people to buy in the vain effort to get something for nothing.
On the whole, it may be said that while Minneapolis is not so bad as
some other cities that might be named, there is nevertheless a wide
field for a law and order society that would not be afraid to promote
and aid, by all proper methods, the rigid enforcement of the laws
against gaming.
In what has been said above, no reference has been made to private
gambling. Its constant increase, however, is a fact as certain as it is
deplorable. Gentlemen gamble at their clubs and teach the mysteries of
poker to their wives, their sisters and their daughters, by their own
firesides. Ladies of recognized social position may be found who are as
familiar with “jack pots” and “bob tail flushes” as they are with the
etiquette of the drawing room. Herein lies the most dangerous menace to
the future of the young men of the city. Men who are willing to
subscribe liberally toward a fund to be used in the suppression of
public gaming seem to be cursed with such an obliquity of moral vision
that they are able to see nothing objectionable in playing a “social
game for trifling stakes” amid the more refined surroundings of home. If
they could but have their eyes opened to the possible consequences of
such infatuation, they would hesitate long before they ran the risk of
transforming the “home” into a stepping stone in the path to the “hell.”
GAMBLING AT PEORIA, ILLINOIS.
For more than thirty years public gaming in Peoria has been practically
under the control of a syndicate, the members of which all belong to the
same family. For a considerable period but one establishment was in
operation, which was conducted by three brothers. Of late years,
however, three other houses have come into existence, but it is asserted
that they do business only by the grace of the brothers in question. Of
the latter it may be said that they are known no less for their
liberality than for their calling. While they have made money rapidly,
they have spent it freely, and the coarse notes which they have gathered
in across the green cloth have gone into circulation without delay. A
member of this same family, now well advanced in years, after having
“sown his wild oats,” entered politics and was elected mayor of the
city. As to the general character of his administration the author is
not in a position to speak. The fraternity generally, however, have been
under the impression that the suppression of gambling was not one of the
ends which he set before himself as the goal of his ambition. In fact,
rumor (which, not being particularly well founded, it would be
charitable to disbelieve), has it that a rather near relative more than
once appealed to the chief executive of the city for protection when
hard pressed by men who claimed to have been victimized in his house.
Outside of the select circle already referred to, Peoria has never
proved a particularly profitable locality for sporting men. In itself,
it presents not a few inherent attractions to men of this stamp. It is
the focus of several lines of railroad, the seat of a populous and
wealthy county, and, above all, the centre of the enormous whisky trade
of the West. Its floating population is at times very large, and it is
not to be wondered at that the favored few who have enjoyed a monopoly
in gambling have found it easy to accumulate large sums. These
considerations have lured other professionals to the spot, but only to
find that for them to attempt to make headway against an impregnable
combination was like endeavoring to fight against fate.
Confidence men have always been apt to regard Peoria as a favorable
field in which to look for “suckers.” At times a moderate degree of
success has attended their efforts in this direction, especially on
occasions when a particularly large crowd was present in the city, as,
e. g., during the holding of State fairs and of political and other
combinations. But on the whole, the city has been comparatively free
from the incursions of this class of swindlers. Perhaps it may have been
the abundance and cheapness of the “golden corn juice” which interfered
with their operations. Either the sharpers or their dupes may have found
the indulgence of one vicious appetite so easy as to interfere with the
gratification of another. However this may be the fact remains that the
city has never proved a specially remunerative theater for this
description of thieves.
The best known proprietors of banking houses in Peoria have been the
Warner brothers, Becker, Hale and Christy. Most of them are understood
to have succeeded fairly well in their chosen calling, and this
circumstance is undoubtedly due in a great measure to the character of
trade for which Peoria is noted. The distillers spend money freely and
the circulation of bank notes is brisk. Moreover, the customers of these
gentlemen are generally men who are not averse to seeking recreation in
an attempt to break the bank.
In fact, it is a matter worthy of comment that intemperance and gaming
usually go hand in hand. Like twin monsters they stalk through the land
with giant strides, leaving despair and ruin in their track. They
supplement each other in the work of destruction. Liquor inflames the
passions, stimulates the imagination, blunts the moral sense, and
impairs the reasoning powers of the mind. The natural result is that the
victim of the alcohol habit is easily incited to patronize the gaming
hell. On the other hand gaming always induces excitement, and leaves
either fictitious exhilaration or profound mental depression. In either
case the gamester has resort to stimulants; it may be to heighten the
exuberance of his joy; possibly to drown the recollection of his
troubles or stifle the voice of conscience.
It is not the intent of the author to imply that Peoria differs from
other cities of its size in this regard, nor would he say that the
presence of a distillery in any town tends directly to promote and
foster gambling. Yet any great center of the liquor traffic naturally
draws thither a class of men who can see nothing specially wrong in
gaming, and who, finding such resorts in active operation at any given
point, are apt to extend to them an active patronage.
So far as lottery gambling is concerned, there cannot be said to be much
of it at Peoria. The negro population—to whom “4-11-44” appeals more
closely—is by no means so large as in various other cities in the State.
Nevertheless, tickets in the Louisiana lottery, and even “eighths” are
purchasable at these resorts where young men “do most congregate.” “The
fangs of the serpent are far-reaching,” nor does there seem to be any
way of limiting the number of victims unless the snake be “scotched” as
soon as it raises its head. All honor to the State, which, although
well-nigh hopelessly in debt, declined to surrender its moral freedom to
the grasp of the anaconda. All honor to the National Administration
whose executive head has called attention to the best remedy for
removing this blot upon the civilization of the nineteenth century. All
shame to the truculent spirit (not to say venality) which rampantly
raises its head not only to defeat public policy but also to debauch
public morals.
GAMBLING IN INDIANAPOLIS.
From time immemorial, the capital of Hoosierdom has been recognized
among sporting men as a poor locality in which to attempt to conduct a
gambling house. Not so much because of the higher morality of the
inhabitants, nor on account of the rigid enforcement of the laws against
gaming, as for the reason that the authorities, from the patrolmen on
the “beat” up to officials of high rank, have been wont to levy such
heavy assessments upon keepers of resorts of this character that the
business has, as a rule, proved unprofitable. It is a common saying
among “crooks” that at Indianapolis “arrangements may be made” for
committing any offense, from picking a pocket to “cracking” a safe or
“sand-bagging” a man, but such privileges “come high.”
Still, gambling hells have existed in the capital of Indiana since a
date considerably antecedent to the war, and it is probable that it will
always be possible for men who wish to seek their own ruin through this
channel to find the means at hand. A demand has never yet failed to
create a supply. Before and during the war the principal resorts were
those of Basey, Noe, Reynolds, Dunn, Russell and Mortland. These men
were old residents and enjoyed more privileges than were accorded to
parties from abroad who came later, such as Snow, Barnes, O’Neill,
Martin, Steiger, Williamson, Warner, Swift and others, who did business
from time to time at subsequent periods. Mortland prospered, and
invested his winnings in real estate, erecting a fine block on Illinois
Street nearly opposite the Bates House. A certain portion of the
building was especially designed for the purposes of a gambling house.
Howard Barnes opened the “Maison Doree,”—an elegant resort, where faro,
poker and keno were played, and having elegantly furnished rooms for the
accommodation of private parties. The establishment enjoyed a large
patronage, as did also the “House of Lords” and the “Dollar Store.” But
the rooms most favored by gamblers of the higher social classes, and
where the play was heaviest, were those of O’Neill, situated at number
ten Canal Street. The proprietor also opened a keno room, but
considering the demands of the authorities extortionate, refused to
comply with them, and war upon him was declared at once. His houses were
raided night after night, and he himself repeatedly indicted. The result
was that he found his business destroyed and left Indianapolis for the
more congenial latitude of Washington City.
“Brace” faro kept even pace with the “square” game, but was always
conducted on a cheap scale and by men who, as a rule, made little money.
Among the best known faro dealers, who were said to belong to this
class, were Jake Fidler, Charley Young, “Sock” Riley, Fred White, Clift
Dougherty, “Little Walter” Ellworthy and George Slaughter.
While the officials were able, however, to keep the banking games in
check, poker never could be wholly suppressed. For twenty years there
has been a game at the Bates House, at which many members of the
Legislature have taken a hand while in attendance at the Capital. Among
the players have been numbered some of Indiana’s “favorite sons”, men
who attained distinction at the bar and in public life, the names of
some of them being as familiar as household words to the great body of
the American people. Other games of poker were played at rooms conducted
by Ridgeway, Forbes, Stark, Baker, McCarthy, Richardson and Sim Coy.
Owing to the fact that Indianapolis is a great railroad centre, the
Union Depot in that city has always been a favorite stamping ground for
confidence men, who have reaped a golden harvest from the verdancy of
their dupes. They have varied their operations at the depot proper by
“working” the trains running into and out of the city. “French” Joe,
“Big” Kendricks, “Sock” Riley, Lou Houck and George Duvall, each with a
mob of confederates at his heels, have at various times made
Indianapolis their headquarters.
At present, the city is known to the fraternity as “closed”, and the
only gambling worth mentioning is the poker game at the Bates House, to
which reference has been already made; and another game played over the
English Opera House. Both these are commonly regarded as “swell”
resorts, and at times high stakes change hands across the table.
What has become of the notorious characters who, as has been said,
formerly pursued their nefarious calling here? A few of them have found
other employment in the same city, while others have betaken themselves
to new fields. Snow died of consumption. Ridgeway was found dead in his
bed. Mortland was thrown out of his buggy and killed. Basey committed
suicide by jumping from the window of the Occidental Hotel. His son-in-
law, Major Russell, once known as the genial man about town, witty, well
informed, and a universal favorite, poisoned himself. Ben Law, Jr., is
serving a life sentence for murder. Ben Law, Sr., is awaiting trial on a
charge of having killed his hired man while asleep in bed, being
instigated thereto by jealousy. George Leggett, a businessman and
gambler, and Ed. Brown (sometimes known as “scar-faced” Brown) a
notorious character from Lexington, Kentucky, induced a man named John
Acky, a good-natured, clever fellow, but too fond of liquor, to enter
into a partnership with him in the conduct of a gambling house. Acky had
just received the last installment of his inheritance from his father’s
estate. Brown was to be the dealer for the establishment. The game was
opened, and Acky was easily led away from the room and freely plied with
liquor. When he became sober and returned to the place, he was told that
the bank was broken, some unknown man having “won the roll”. This story
appeared to Acky to be rather flimsy, and on inquiry he soon satisfied
himself that he had been swindled. He went to Leggett and, telling him
what he believed, asked for a loan of twenty-five dollars. Upon being
refused, he procured a pistol, and, after taking several drinks, went in
search of Leggett and Brown. He found them in a billiard hall and shot
Leggett, killing him instantly. He was convicted of murder and hanged.
Brown subsequently came to a miserable end, being killed in a brawl at a
mining camp at Leadville. “Verily, the way of the transgressor is hard.”
The defalcation of Wm. E. Denny, Assistant Postmaster at Evansville, is
too fresh in the public mind to call for repetition here. His confession
showed that he had lost the money embezzled across the green cloth.
Such instances as these are by no means exceptional in the history of
gambling and gamblers. A great poet is authority for the assertion that
“man never is, but always to be blest.” Practical experience teaches
that man who have become infatuated with the gaming habit always defers
reformation until the “morrow,” which never comes. The philosopher who
seeks for illustrations of the truth of this statement need not confine
his researches to the City of Indianapolis or the State of Indiana. The
defalcations of trusted employees—whether in the employ of the
government, of private corporations, or of individual firms—are too
plentiful to call for enumeration. The hard-earned accumulations of the
poor, stored—dollar by dollar—in the vaults of savings banks, go to
swell the revenue of the professional blackleg, dissipated through the
peculations of a dishonest official. Trust funds, the sole support of
widow and orphan—are sunk in the pitiless insatiate maw of the “tiger,”
and the man whose death bed was rendered an easy couch because of his
confidence in the honor of the friend in whom he trusted, is powerless
to arise in defence of those who were dearer to him than his life. O,
the cursed maelstrom, in whose dark eddies, fortune, truth, honor, find
a common grave! Would God that my feeble voice might arrest the man,
who, playing on the outer edges of the whirlpool, is destined to be
sucked into its vortex. Of a truth, the path to the gaming resort is one
“whose steps take hold on hell.”
A single remark may be made as to the interference of the Indianapolis
authorities with public gaming. While, as has been said, the city is, in
gambler’s parlance, “closed,” the outrageously flagrant manner in which
the gullible stranger is fleeced at the Union Depot has brought the name
of the town into disrepute. Gaming resorts are few, but confidence men
reap a golden harvest from travelers, and the municipal government lifts
not a finger in their protection.
GAMBLING IN SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS.
The city of Springfield—one of the most beautiful of its size in all the
West—being at once the capital of the State and an important railroad
centre, could be hardly expected to be free from the incursions of
professional gamblers. While public sentiment among the better class of
citizens is outspoken in condemnation of the vice, there has never been
any determined effort on the part of the authorities to suppress it.
This may be ascribed partly to the weighty political influence in
municipal affairs wielded by the “tougher” elements of society, and in
part to the fact that only occasionally do the gamblers so far outrage
public decency as to flaunt their business before the eye of the public.
The practical result of this state of affairs has been that a sort of
tacit truce exists between the law-abiding citizens and this class of
law-breakers.
The locations of the public gaming-houses, some half dozen in number,
are nearly as well known as are those of the public buildings; and while
they cannot be said to be “wide open,” it is by no means difficult for a
player to gain admission. They derive their revenue from all classes,
and they number among their patrons even men who are openly loud-voiced
in denouncing them. More than one wife and mother in Springfield (and of
what city cannot the same assertion be made?) sheds, in secret, bitter,
scalding tears over the ruin—financial and moral—which these plague
spots, these veritable pest-houses, have wrought in homes which were
once the abodes of comfort, happiness and peace. But the hells reap
their richest harvest during the biennial sessions of the General
Assembly, when members vie with lobbyists for places around the tables.
More than one law-maker has lost, at a single sitting, in such houses as
Brewer’s or Manning’s, more than his _per diem_ and mileage for the
entire session.
Another prolific source of revenue is found in the vast numbers who
flock to Springfield from the rural districts, either to interview their
representatives in the legislature, or to inspect the State House and
view the other lions of the capital. Strangers of this description are
promptly marked by the “ropers” and “steerers” as their own peculiar
prey, and woe betide the luckless wight who listens to their
blandishments.
The Springfield gambling houses are not, as a rule, models of elegance
in their appointments, nor are they—if the prevalent impression is well
founded—above resorting to chicanery when it appears probable that
tortuous devices may be safely and profitably employed. For many years
“Tom” Brewer (who later transferred his residence to Chicago) was the
acknowledged “king of the games.” He was recognized as a good dealer and
was a “high roller” at other houses, his impassive countenance betraying
no emotion in the moment of either loss or triumph. Of irascible temper,
however, and fond of the “flowing bowl,” he was continually involved in
brawls. At such moments he cared for neither “God, man, nor the devil;”
and was quite as likely to select the Governor of the State as a victim
on whom to empty the vials of his wrath as anyone else. Legislators and
tramps, clergymen and “bums” all stood on one common level. Other
members of the local fraternity wondered at his temerity, admired his
daring, and followed his lead, yet at the same time his personal
popularity was never very great.
Not all the gambling at the Illinois capital, however, is carried on at
public resorts. Private poker clubs were formerly numerous. For years,
certain young bloods about town were wont to gather at the Leland Hotel
for a friendly game of “draw.” In another, yet not remote, quarter of
the city assembled professional men and men of letters, the roll of
members comprising some of the brightest minds of Central Illinois, for
purposes of relaxation and social intercourse. Here poker constituted
one of the chief diversions, and play, although, it is said, never high,
was constant. In private houses, also, the same mania finds its
devotees. “_Facilis descensus Averni_;” and it is but a step—and a
comparatively short one—from “five cent ante,” in the drawing room, to
poker in the gambling hell, that portal through which so many thousands
have entered on the path whose end is the felon’s cell or the outcast’s
grave.
To the credit of the young and middle aged men of Springfield, however,
be it said, that at present poker clubs are by no means so flourishing
in Springfield as they were a few years ago. The reason unquestionably
is that some of those who in former days, were among the chief patrons
of the game have had their eyes opened to the dangers that lurk in
“social gambling.” During the palmy days of the “clubs,” professional
gamblers sometimes succeeded in securing admission to a game as
visitors. “Once upon a time,” as the children’s chroniclers say, a
polished stranger “from the East” appeared at the leading hostelry. His
dress was faultless; his manners frank and engaging. He was introduced
into the “club,” where he soon rose in general esteem. He played freely,
and at first with varying success. Gradually the “fickle goddess”
selected his chair as her permanent resting place and it was not long
before his extraordinary “luck” had pretty well “cleaned out” the
habitues of the rooms. Play fell off, and the stranger’s “business”
having been accomplished he bid his late friends adieu and disappeared
from public view. Suspicion did not then rest upon him, but subsequent
developments proved conclusively that he was a professional “pigeon
plucker,” and an accomplished expert at every form of card-sharping.
[Illustration: “AS THE TWIG IS BENT, THE TREE’S INCLINED.”]
PART III.
CHAPTER I
THE TURF
Of all the evils connected or associated with games of chance in this
country, perhaps the most vicious are those which surround the race-
courses of the land—not only those extensive parks which are recognized
as having a legitimate existence, but as well the country tracks where
racing events are casual and sporadic. The “turf,” as we are popularly
accustomed to term the race course with reference to its gambling
features, implies not only the element of chance as manipulated by
systematic knavery, and which will be found elsewhere fully explained,
but also what is termed the legitimate sport of gentlemen, conducted as
honestly as it may be and with every disposition on the part of managers
and judges to give a fair test of the speed and endurance of the
competing horses. Even in the latter case, it is a notorious fact that
race tracks that are conducted in their official management under the
highest auspices and by the most responsible individuals, are not in
their actual surroundings, influences and results, less pernicious nor
injurious than those which are openly in the charge of recognized
swindlers and scoundrels. Even as to the great “events” which in this
country are recognized and patronized, to the great misfortune of public
morals, by the press and by society, governed though they may be by
honorable men, and with every concerted determination for a fair and
proper exhibition of honest results, it is notorious and undisputed,
that these exhibitions are the harvest fields of systematized vice, and
that while the judge in the stand may be immaculate, the seller of
pools, the bookmaker, the touter, the tip-givers, the turf prophets and
all the others who camp upon the trail of the credulous and unwary with
schemes that, by methods of certainty, enrich the gambler without risk
on his part, are one and all dishonest and designing scoundrels to whom
the sense of honor is unknown, and whose infamous and insidious
influence is one of the gravest dangers to which the morality and
uprightness of the youth of our country are exposed.
The origin of horse-racing, as with that of our modern athletic sports,
comes from the classic ages; but in the contests of equine speed and in
the competition of personal skill or valor in the “brave days of old”
there is no record of the thimble-rigging propensities which these
latter days have developed. The competitions of those times were for
public honor and prizes, for the encouragement of features which were
essential to the public welfare and safety. In that period all free men
were warriors, upon whom depended the security of life, property and
national existence. The cultivation of ambition to excel in personal
strength and swiftness had, therefore, a patriotic and commendable
foundation; and the same as regarded the trials of speed by horses,
which were for the improvement of the qualities upon which the warriors
had to rely in these their main coadjutors upon the field of battle. All
this had nothing in common with the turf as we recognize and realize it
to-day. For this we have to look back to our mother, England, from whom
it was an inheritance of shame whose evil influence has expanded like
the upas tree ever since it first took a root in our land. In England,
while it has been customary for turf enthusiasts to trace the history of
their trade from about the reign of Charles I., the fact is that it was
not really till the reign of George II. that the “turf,” as property
understood, became a recognized entity. Prior to that time there had
been plenty of horse-racing, in which gentlemen rode their own horses,
and which was almost entirely free from the vicious concomitants which
have later surrounded, characterized and dominated the race track. The
leading meetings in England are the Newmarket, Epsom, Ascot, York,
Doncaster and Goodwood. It is at Epsom that “the Derby,” an event of
interest to the whole sporting world, is run. This is known as the
Cockneys’ Holiday, and has been the subject of many an exemplification
of the highest attainments of the art of word painting. Indeed the
interest attaching to the vast and heterogeneous throng is to many
greater than that which belongs to the race itself, every element
between the palace and the poor-house being there represented. Ascot is
favored frequently by the presence of royalty, and is on this account
always the scene of a brilliant display by the aristocracy. Goodwood is
also an aristocratic meeting, representative of the south of England and
distinguished by the great value of the prizes offered for competition.
The distinguishing feature at Doncaster is the race for the St. Leger
stakes, which rivals the Derby in sporting importance; and it has been
claimed that upon these two events not less than twenty-five per cent.
of the whole English population are bettors, either risking their money
on the tracks or at the pool rooms, which in every town throughout the
country sell chances upon the results.
It is a somewhat remarkable fact that of late years while, in England,
the most energetic efforts have been made, and with good success, to
keep the thimble-riggers and blacklegs _off the track_, this fraternity,
_outside the track_, in the adjacent hotels, and in other outside towns
where interest in the result centers, carries on its audacious trade
with increasing extent and profit, while to-day, throughout Great
Britain, the mania for gambling upon the results of contests upon the
turf is more wide-spread and deep-rooted than ever before. The harm
resulting to public morals is incalculable, and will possibly more than
offset the efforts for good of the ministers of religion. There is not a
race meeting after which we do not hear of the downfall of some
“plunger,” who in “legitimate” betting has risked his all upon the
“wrong horse,” bringing ruin and disgrace too often upon the innocent
wife and family, and opening up the alternative of crime, dishonor or
suicide. Yet these are but the least of the injurious influences of
gambling upon these race meetings. They are only heard of by reason of
the conspicuous extent of the individual losses, or the prominence of
the persons thus involved in the ruinous consequences of the national
vice. Far more serious, more deplorable and more demoralizing are the
results upon the infinite number of the “smaller fry,” who submit
themselves as easy victims to the skillful swindler who runs the
“speculation list” or the pool-room, whose specious but delusive
allurements send the honest hand of many a youth surreptitiously into
his employer’s cash-drawer, to be drawn forth forever tainted with
dishonor; and merely in order that the ill-gotten gains of the
experienced swindler may be enlarged. Round about all such tracks, too,
may be seen the gaming devices of every description, and all the
nefarious instrumentalities by means of which the honest man is deluded
of his earnings for the benefit of systematic knavery. And yet the race-
track is the “national sport” of England; to it, and all its
contaminating, crime-producing, society-wrecking and soul-destroying
influence, royalty lends its condescension, and princes and peers their
active countenance and aid; bishops and churchmen, members of Parliament
and professional men, participate and applaud; while even those in
charge of the little children afford them special holidays in order that
their young minds may be subjected to impressions which, in the years of
their older youth will make them the easy prey of the agents of this
monster vice. It is in the glitter and glamour of all its brilliant
external attributes that England finds the pride with which she claims
the turf as her peculiar national institution; it is in the ruined
reputation, the blasted life, the broken heart, the wreck of happiness,
the loss of honor and the headlong course to crime, which are to be
traced by the tears of women and the wails of children, in the blighted
homes throughout the land, that we recognize in the turf and all that
pertains to it, England’s national curse, that must surely sooner or
later invite and evoke a national retribution.
The details of the various rascalities practiced in connection with the
“turf” being common to all countries, we shall deal with these features
of the English national sport, at the close of this chapter, in a
general explanation of the methods which affect the results of all race
meetings, and which add strength to the steel meshes of the net in which
the innocent and confiding bettor is certain to become involved.
THE AMERICAN TURF.
It is to be said to the honor and credit of the Puritan and Pilgrim
settlers of New England, that they had a strong antipathy to every form
of vice, and in their interdict against the evils which they had left
England to escape, horse-racing was especially included. On the other
hand the early settlements of the Old Dominion, (which originally
included Kentucky), and of Carolina, were of aristocratic stock, retired
army officers, the younger sons of gentlemen, etc., and as the early
conditions that prevailed precluded many of the ordinary sports, horse-
racing, generally in the form of the steeple-chase, was encouraged. This
was not, however, the “turf,” in America, but it was the means of
affording a nursery for the splendid animals which have made the
American turf famous for the wonderful achievements in time and speed of
its horses. In those early days travel in the South was almost
altogether by saddle horses, and hence the necessity for developing
those peculiar qualities in the horses used, as made them valuable for
racing purposes. The stock was recruited from the best blood, imported
from England, and as it was a peculiar mark of social distinction, where
all men ride, to be well mounted, great care was taken in cultivating
and improving the breeding of horses. Yearly meetings for running races
became the custom; but at these affairs there were no bookmakers nor
blacklegs, and the betting was generally of that perfunctory character
which usually exists where the competing parties are interested rather
in the results than in the stakes. As the country developed, the new
state of Kentucky, with its splendid climate, its crystal streams and
its unequalled grasses, became distinctively the home of fine horses,
which up to the present day even, she has continued to supply to the
racing world.
The trotting race had its origin in New York and took its peculiarity
from the general use of the light wagon for road traveling. In this way
the only possible method of testing speed was the “pace” or “trot,” and
for many years in the Northeastern States the trotting meeting was the
recognized form of sport, the practice becoming general and being the
invariable accompaniment of every county fair. The earliest recorded
organized trotting meeting of which there is any specific record is of
date of 1818. The fastest time for fifty miles was recorded in favor of
Spangle at Union Course, Long Island, Oct. 15, 1855. The best time for
two miles under saddle was at Fashion Course, Long Island, July 1, 1863,
by George M. Patchen. We mention these dates to show that as long as
thirty-five years ago there were important meetings of the turf, and
also to point out the fact that the public sense of humanity, growing
with the increasing refinement of the country, has reduced these trials
of speed generally to one-mile contests, and frequently to the half-
mile.
Trotting races began to assume an aspect of national importance shortly
after the war, and the first National Trotting Association was organized
in February, 1870, under the name of the “National Association for the
Promotion of the Interests of the Trotting Turf,” which in 1878, at a
congress of members, was changed to that of “National Trotting
Association.” It is a curious fact that the origin of the National
Association arose in the abuses which invariably follow the practice of
racing for money or of betting on unknown results. There had been
complaints all over the country of crooked work on the race tracks—of
“blind” horses being entered under assumed names to gull unsuspicious
victims; of jockeys who “pulled” the winner so as to make him the loser;
of improper decisions by judges, and of a thousand and one things in the
way of serious and petty crookedness on the leading race tracks. It
became generally recognized that the confidence of the public in the
integrity of racing contests in America was becoming exhausted and that
racing was falling into contempt as well as falling off in its profits.
Organization was originally effected in response to a circular sent out
by the Narragansett Park Association, of Providence, R. I., in 1869. It
proposed the formation of a central body for general control, and the
establishment of a code of rules and penalties for the government of all
tracks as the most effective means of correcting existing abuses and
elevating the standard of honor and fair play, and the character of the
American Trotting Turf. The results were gratifying so far as those
objects were concerned, though it is a serious question whether the
country would not have been greatly the gainer had the race-courses and
their attending evils been allowed to extinguish themselves by the very
excesses which were at that time making them offensive and contemptible.
However, the organization was effected as stated, officers elected and,
a code of laws adopted, under which the chief of the evils complained of
disappeared from the official protection of the tracks, though they
still continue under more insidious and less offensively unscrupulous
methods. The membership of this association consists of the
representative of a trotting course. In order to show the extraordinary
growth of this mania for speculating upon the chances of the horse-race
we may state that, commencing with 51 in 1870, in 1886 there were 273
courses represented in the National Association, while now there are
317, and in the American Association 419—in all 736. The government of
the National Association is effected through the medium of a Board of
Appeals consisting of five District Boards and a Board of Review, each
of the former being entitled to three members of the general board,
giving it thus fifteen members in addition to the President and Vice-
presidents who are ex-officio members. The Board of Review is composed
of a chairman appointed by the President from each of the five
districts, and this Board has and exercises supreme authority and
jurisdiction, being a final court of resort which decides all appeals
from the decisions of the District Boards. The objects set forth on
behalf of the association are the improvement of the breed and the
development of horses by promotion of the interests of the American
Trotting Turf; the prevention, detection and punishment of frauds
thereon, and uniformity in the government and rules of trotting and
pacing.
In 1887, a number of Western tracks separated from the original body and
formed the “American Trotting Association,” with objects precisely
similar, and methods not materially differing. In fact, many parties are
represented in both Associations, as a matter of policy, and to ensure
the enforcement of rules and penalties upon all courses.
Running races have of late very largely supplanted trotting races in
public favor, for the reason that they offer to the public a more vivid
and intense excitement, and to bettors a speedier settlement of their
concern about the result. Five persons will attend, it is said, a
running race, where one will attend a trotting race.
To enumerate the “principal courses” would be a task that would take
space with little profit, but we can gather some idea of the extent of
opportunities that are open to the sharks that swim the sea of
speculation in races throughout the Union, when we say that at the great
Suburban race, Sheepshead Bay, N. Y., in 1890, there were present not
less than twenty thousand persons according to gate receipts; while at
Washington Park, Chicago, thirty-four thousand people have been counted
on important occasions. And these, let it be remembered, do not
constitute a tithe of the actual number of the eager victims of the
gamblers of the turf. In all our leading cities to-day are pool-rooms,
where may be seen excited crowds who by the use of the telegraph wire,
on the same principle as quotations are announced on the board of trade,
follow the races from start to finish with as much accuracy as if they
were at the tracks, and in this way the prey of the gambler is increased
without limit, and his operations made to permeate near and remotely
into society that otherwise would never have sought nor had the
opportunity of seeking the contact.
A NATIONAL VICE.
If reckless indulgence in games of chance of every description, in
lottery enterprises, in the board of trade, and in the pool-room, can
be, as it is, appropriately denominated a “national vice,” that
appellation belongs with especial emphasis to the gambling of the race-
track. This is true, probably, mainly because of the fatal facility with
which contact is there had with the evil influence that draws men and
boys, aye, even women and girls, into its deadly toils. The race-track
is governed by presumably respectable persons. It has the convincing
support of the press, universally, to sustain its claims to
harmlessness. Church members and people of recognized reputable
position, bankers, merchants and professional men, are openly seen
“making their bets,” in the face of thousands of their fellow citizens.
Women surrender to the glamour of its fascinations, and may be seen in
numbers, any day on any grand stand, “backing” their favorite in the
race. In the face of such example as this, then, how can we expect that
the youth of the land shall escape? Already they are sufficiently imbued
in their personal and business ambition with the spirit of speculation
that pervades the nation, and in the feverish haste to get rich suddenly
are ready to turn to any resort that may seem to offer them the
opportunity of making large winnings for a small investment. True, the
youth may have been warned by a pious mother or a prudent father that
gambling is a vice, and one of the most dangerous and pernicious of all
that threaten the interests, the welfare and even the safety of society.
But when the young man sees the pillar of the church, or the refined
lady leader of polite society, who mayhap occupies the front pew in the
church which he attends, openly patronizing gambling, is it any cause
for wonder that he concludes the good counsel which he brought from home
was merely a mistake, and that there’s “no harm in it” after all? And
once in the circle of that treacherous maelstrom of vice, at first
imperceptibly to himself and in slow and apparently safe revolutions, he
is gradually but irresistibly drawn to the fatal gulf, in which
character, integrity, hope, and the best opportunities of life are
remorselessly swallowed up.
Every bet that is made upon a race-course is emphatically and
indisputably participation in the commonest kind of a lottery—is
gambling pure and simple; and if it has been found necessary by
Congress, acting upon the advice of the National Executive, to legislate
against the existence of the incorporated lotteries that exist by State
authority, why is it not equally the duty of Congress to declare all
betting unlawful? This is not a new proposition. Under existing law the
illegality of gambling by betting is recognized in the refusal of the
courts to enforce debts or contracts incurred under a bet. If the
principle were logically carried out, it would afford a safeguard to
society which, as yet, moral sentiment appears to have been unable to
extend. But what moral restraints, the teaching of parents and the
exhortations of the clergy, have failed to achieve, may be accomplished
by what this book contains: by tearing away the mask of harmless sport
from the death’s-head that grins behind it, and exposing, in all its
hideous nakedness, not the moral wrong that there is in the vice of
gambling by betting, but the personal rascality toward the individual,
the plain and evident object of robbery that is involved in all the
schemes of the book-maker, the pool-seller, and every other person who
makes either a _profession_ or a systematic _practice_ of offering bets
upon the results of the race-track. While our young men may be eager to
get rich by the easiest means, we have much confidence in the hard
common sense that is characteristic of every American youth, before the
natural acuteness of his intellect and spirit of self-preservation have
been insensibly dulled by the insidious and subtle approaches of a
danger that draws near him with a smiling countenance. With, however, an
ample fore-knowledge of what those advances mean in reality, with pride
and apprehension both on the alert, every young man will firmly refuse
to allow himself to be deliberately gulled, and will turn his back in
contempt upon the pickpockets of the pool-room and the race-track.
THE POOL ROOM.
We have already alluded to the pool room as an accessory to gambling at
the track. This is one of the most nefarious of all the modern
instruments of evil, and ought to be summarily abolished by specific law
in every State in the Union. Its worst feature, perhaps—in addition to
the fact that it is a skin game played to catch “suckers,” as the
gamblers term their latest dupes—is that it seeks out and offers
opportunity to a class of citizens who could never be reached by these
machinations in any other way. Clerks, students, apprentices, and such,
would in all probability never have the time nor the means to squander
in a trip from New York to Sheepshead Bay, to witness a horse race. The
pool-room brings the race to him. He can visit them at his noon hour or
in the idle hours of his evening rest. Here he is deluded into the
belief that a small investment will bring a rich return, and is easily
wheedled by a “capper” into investing his small hoard on “tips” that he
is assured are certain to win. Of course he loses, and to retrieve his
loss will probably go to his employers’ funds to get the means to
continue his play. And so from bad to worse till exposure and ruin
overtake him.
Pool rooms are conducted upon the science of exactness, not only as to
the promptness and accuracy of the reports upon the blackboard, but also
with regard to the certainty that the pool seller will be the only one
in the room who will be a sure and solid winner each time. The pool
board displays the whole course of the race, in its smallest details. It
shows when the horses are “off,” which one is “in the lead;” which
“second” and which “third;” how they stand at the “quarter,” the “half,”
the “three quarter,” and their positions down the “stretch,” and within
ten seconds after the “finish,” will display which horse was winner, and
which took second and which third place. Previous to the race the board
has reliable and definite information of the state of the track, whether
“fast” or muddy; gives the name of the jockey who is to mount each
horse, the weights and all information necessary to the man who governs
his bets by what he considers the most reasonable chance to win.
The pool-seller works his gambling racket on what he calls the
percentage principle. In all pools sold by auction, he deducts a certain
sum, generally 5 to 15 per cent., from the amount in the pool, and pays
the balance to the winner. The book maker arranges his book with
reference to the “odds” for or against; that is, the individual chances
of each horse upon the information which he has available, and which if
he be at all expert in the business will enable him to insure his
personal success every time, except only in the case where all the
patrons buy the same horse and that horse should be the winner
a—contingency that is, however, not as one to one hundred, and about as
liable to happen as that the sucker who has bought on a “cinch tip” will
win the pot.
It may be interesting for many who have no knowledge of pool room
practices, and will better illustrate the devices by which the “sucker”
is snared, to have a few illustrations of actual proceedings that have
transpired. Here, for instance, is what is called a “book” taken from
the blackboard at the Imperial pool rooms, Chicago, June 12, 1890:
THE MUTUAL POOL.
PURSE $400—WEST SIDE TRACK, CHICAGO.
First Race, Maidens, Seven Furlongs.
────┬─────────────────────────┬────┬──
20│Emma McDowell │ 105│ 1
10│Dora Morne │ 105│ 1
10│Jack Staff │ 106│ 1
50│Norwood │ 107│ 1
40│Flora McDonald │ 98│ 1
10│Jennie Gronnod │ 105│ 1
10│John Clarkson │ 103│ 1
3│Corticelli │ 110│ 1
20│Imogene │ 105│ 2
30│Council Platt │ 100│ 5
2│Later On │ 106│ 1
5│Jack Batcheler │ 107│ 1
10│Tall Bull │ 110│ 1
20│Arizone │ 105│ 5
50│Miss Longford │ 105│ 1
10│Jasper │ 107│ 1
15│Rock │ 111│ 2
────┼─────────────────────────┼────┼──
315│ │ │27
In explanation it is to be observed that the bookmaker never bets in
favor of any horse. He invariably offers odds against every flyer on the
programme. The first column of figures gives the odds offered; the
second the weight carried by each horse, and the last the figure against
which odds are offered. For instance, the first line means that the
bookmaker offers twenty to one against _Emma McDowell_. Now, if this
horse should win, the bookmaker would pay out $20, and having won all
the other bets he would still be the winner, because he would receive
$26 against the loss of $20. It will be observed that on _Later On_ he
only lays odds of two to one, and on _Corticelli_ three to one. These
are the favorites—horses which offer tolerably certain chances of being
winner, and on which the book maker will take the smallest possible
limit of chance. The favorite won the race and the book maker has to pay
the winner $2, so that he is the winner by $25, counting out of the pool
of $27, $2—$1 of which was his stake and the other that which had to be
returned to the winner. If the horse _Norwood_ had won the book maker
would have been out $25. But no such contingencies are to be dreaded by
the gentleman who presides over the pools. He is kept posted from
sources that are always inside and unquestionable, and in offering the
heavy odds knows that he runs no risk. This computation of winnings is
based on the supposition that only one bet at the figure of $1 named was
made, but the probability is that instead of this being the case the
actual winnings may be safely estimated at $2,500 instead of $25. In
this business an important figure is the “tout,” who, while actually the
bookmaker’s agent, assumes the role of a gentleman who, by some means or
other, has procured a “cinch tip” (meaning a sure thing), but is
unfortunately short of money. “Now,” he will confidentially inform the
sucker, “give me $10 to bet on _Norwood_, and we’ll divide the pot.” The
money is produced, and, of course, goes to swell the book maker’s wad.
These touts always induce their victim to bet on the “short horses”—that
is, the horses against which the heaviest odds are laid, for two
reasons. First, because the money more certainly goes where he is
employed to steer it, and second, because in the rare and unprecedented
event of the tail-ender on the blackboard becoming the winner on the
track, the tout’s share of the winning will be so much larger. The tout
will ply his vocation so industriously that on a board like the above he
will have given a “tip” and got a bet laid on nearly every horse on the
board. In this way he is almost certain to have one winner out of the
lot and when the latter receives his stake the tout says, “There, didn’t
I give you a straight tip!” He gets a liberal share, and his reputation
for inside information is spread among the crowd, and his chances of
increasing his victims in succeeding races are immensely increased. As
for the losers, no one pays any attention to them. Even the tout won’t
take the trouble to condole with them, and realizing that the mob of a
gambling room do most heartily despise a “kicker,” they will probably
sneak away to kick themselves in private. To illustrate the wisdom of
the tout in always deluding his dupes to bet on the “short horse,” it
may be mentioned that once in a great while, through some influence not
comprehended by the book maker and his crowd of sharpers, the “short
horse” will be a winner. This generally happens when the horse has been
managed by some professional who, having discovered his qualities, has
played a game on his brother gamblers, kept his pacer’s capacity a
careful secret, probably has had him “pulled” by the jockey to make a
bad record in a preceding race, so that he can gather in heavy odds in
the event in which he intends to show his hand; and so the book maker
becomes a victim in the game of “diamond cut diamond,” and the tout is
made happy by a liberal share in the chance hit. We say “chance” hit
because the tout never gives an honest tip, and if he really had the
knowledge of the “short horse’s” prowess he would have informed his
patron, the book maker, and the long odds would never have been given.
As an instance of this kind of luck it may be stated that recently
during a St. Louis meeting, at Roche’s pool-room in that city, a book
was made in which the odds against a certain horse were laid at 100 to
1. A tout persuaded a man from North Missouri to let him have $50 to bet
on the race. The tout bet 100 to 1 on the horse, and to his own
astonishment, the amazement of the book maker, and of everyone else, his
horse won the race, the result being that the book maker lost $5,000,
while the tout received a bonus of $2,000 of the money.
THE COMBINATION BOARD.
This board enables you to have an opportunity to select a winner in
three different races. The board is arranged as by this diagram:
LATONIA—TRACK MUDDY.
───────────────────────┬─────────────────────────┬──────────────────────────
Third Race—6 Furlongs.│ Fourth Race—5 Furlongs.│Fifth Race.—Steeplechase.
Handicap. Purse $500. │ Purse $400. Selling. │Purse $400. Full Course.
───────────────────────┼─────────────────────────┼──────────────────────────
1. ┌Wrestler, 108│ 1. Laura Doxey, 110│ 1. Irish Pat, 138
└Prophecy, 114│ 2. ┌Ferryman, 98│
2. Copperfield, 100│ └Katie J. 105│ 2. Ascoli, 145
3. ┌Bonnie Annie, 90│ 3. Irma B. 97│
└Lady Blackburn, 96│ 4. ┌ Bert Jordan 102│ 3. Elphin, 173
4. ┌Gilford, 106│ └James V. 105│
└Vatel, 106│ │ 4. Gov. Hardin, 120
──┬──────┬────┰───┬────┴─┬───┰──┬─────┬────┰──┬──┴──┬────┰───┬──────┬────
1│ 111│ 2┃ 14│ 142│ 3┃27│ 233│ 1┃40│ 324│ 8┃ 53│ 421│ 2
2│ 112│ 1┃ 15│ 143│ 10┃28│ 234│ 1┃41│ 331│ 10┃ 54│ 422│ 3
3│ 113│ 1┃ 16│ 144│ 1┃29│ 241│ 1┃42│ 332│ 1┃ 55│ 423│ 1
4│ 114│ 3┃ 17│ 211│ 1┃30│ 242│ 2┃43│ 333│ 4┃ 56│ 424│ 1
5│ 121│ 4┃ 18│ 212│ 4┃31│ 243│ 3┃44│ 334│ 5┃ 57│ 431│ 2
6│ 122│ 5┃ 19│ 213│ 30┃32│ 244│ 4┃45│ 341│ 6┃ 58│ 432│ 1
7│ 123│ 1┃ 20│ 214│ 1┃33│ 311│ 5┃46│ 342│ 1┃ 59│ 433│ 2
8│ 124│ 1┃ 21│ 221│ 2┃34│ 312│ 11┃47│ 343│ 2┃ 60│ 434│ 3
9│ 131│ 2┃ 22│ 222│ 3┃35│ 313│ 10┃48│ 344│ 1┃ 61│ 441│ 4
10│ 132│ 1┃ 23│ 223│ 1┃36│ 314│ 1┃49│ 411│ 3┃ 62│ 442│ 6
11│ 133│ 1┃ 24│ 224│ 1┃37│ 321│ 1┃50│ 412│ 1┃ 63│ 443│ 1
12│ 134│ 1┃ 25│ 231│ 2┃38│ 322│ 2┃51│ 413│ 1┃ 64│ 444│ 1
13│ 141│ 2┃ 26│ 232│ 1┃39│ 323│ 3┃52│ 414│ 1┃ 65│ │
──┴──────┴────┸───┴──────┴───┸──┴─────┴────┸──┴─────┴────┸───┴──────┴─────
25 60 45 44 27
Total, 201
We will assume that in placing the bet you put your money on _Gilford_
or _Vatel_ for third race, _Irma B._ in the fourth, and _Ascoli_ in the
fifth. The number of your ticket would be 58, represented by the figures
4, 3, 2, these latter numbers indicating the horses named, as numbered
on the score card. If your judgment has been correct, being the only
purchaser of ticket number 58, for $1 you would receive the proceeds of
the sale of the other tickets, or $201, _less_ the percentage to the
bookmaker, who pockets $30.15, or 15 per cent. thereon. But as a matter
of fact, _Copperfield_ wins the third, _Laura Doxey_ the fourth, and
_Elphin_ the fifth. These horses being “favorites,” thirty tickets were
sold on them, and the bookmaker having abstracted his $30.15, each
winner receives only $5.69. In this board the bookmaker relies solely
upon his percentage, and if the amount set forth be amplified to
correspond with the sums usually bet at the race tracks and pool rooms,
it will be seen that the profit is not only a handsome one, but it is
the only one on the board that has the least “possible, probable shadow”
of chance in its favor. The combination on the short horses won’t win
once in a thousand times, while the winner on the selling combination
gets only a sixth as much as the cosy and certain profits of the book
maker.
FRENCH MUTUALS.
In these pools, the board is made up for each race as it transpires, and
is set forth in the following manner:
WEST-SIDE TRACK, CHICAGO.
First Race. Purse $400. Six Furlongs.
NO.
──────────────┬──────────────┬─────┬────────────
50 │ Tom Karl │ 109 │ 10
51 │ Prophecy │ 100 │ 12
52 │ Fayette │ 109 │ 3
53 │ Hornpipe │ 100 │ 8
54 │ Susie B. │ 109 │ 20
55 │ Famous │ 112 │ 5
56 │ Catherine B. │ 102 │ 6
57 │ Donovan │ 106 │ 4
58 │ Tall Bull │ 107 │ 10
59 │ Only Dare │ 106 │ 2
──────────────┴──────────────┴─────┴────────────
80
PLACE.
──────────────┬────────────────────┬────────────
60│ Hornpipe │ 11
61│ Susie B. │ 19
62│ Famous │ 8
63│ Tom Karl │ 12
64│ Fayette │ 5
65│ Prophecy │ 10
66│ Tall Bull │ 10
67│ Donovan │ 8
68│ Only Dare │ 2
69│ Catherine B. │ 5
──────────────┴────────────────────┴────────────
90
In this case, the player selects his horse for first or second place,
tickets for first place being called “straight,” and those for second
place, “place.” Generally only favorite horses are bought for straight,
but on this board there appears to have been a large field of favorites.
The buyer may purchase as many tickets as he pleases for either
“straight” or “place” chances. In this event it appears that there were
eighty tickets sold as “straights,” and the tickets being sold for $2
each, the amount in the pool book would be $160. The pool-seller deducts
5 per cent. of this amount, or $8, and the balance of $152 is divided
between the holders of the ten tickets sold on _Tom Karl_, the winner.
This would give to each ticket $15.20, whether held by one party or in
different hands. In awarding the results in the case of the “place” in
this event, the pool book exhibited 90 tickets at $2 each, or $180. The
seller deducts his 5 per cent., or $9 from this, and after deducting
from the remaining $171, the sum of $44, representing the amount paid in
by the bettors on the winner of the race, _Tom Karl_, 12 tickets at $2,
and on _Prophecy_, the winner of “place,” 10 tickets at $2, or $44 in
all, he proceeds to divide the balance, $127 equally between these two
winners. Thus $63.50 is divided among the ten tickets on _Prophecy_,
giving to each $6.30, and the same amount among the holders of tickets
on _Tom Karl_, or $5.30 to each ticket.
METHODS OF THE “HOUSE.”
Let it not be supposed, however, that the book maker, or his
confederates who stand in with him, are to be contented with a fifteen
per cent. upon the money that passes through the pool book. On the
contrary, he is the most expert and successful of all the gamblers who
“play the races.” He is generally the only one of this nefarious outfit
who receives a genuine and reliable “tip.” His intimate relations with
the jockeys, stablemen and all the _habitues_ of the training stables
and racing grounds, are such that he is generally able to pick out a
winner, and to discount the results of a race in advance. Thus assured
he skillfully sends out his touts to give “tips” that will bring the
most grist to his mill, that is to say, to industriously disseminate the
belief that that horse will win, which he knows has no chance of
success. Under this influence the amateur sport, and the average patron
of the racing ground or pool-room, will generally plunge largely on the
horse they imagine is to bring them a rich booty, while the pool-seller
looks on complacently, knowing that all the money in the strong box
belongs to him as surely as if the race had been already run.
The methods employed by these pool-room experts are of the most
ingenious and daring order. For instance, at a race in St. Louis
recently, the book maker had a secret wire brought into his pool-room,
by which he received the actual result several seconds sooner than the
news sent by the public wire which supplied the official record. In
these few brief seconds of opportunity, and in the intense excitement
always prevailing at this point, he was enabled to pocket thousands by
“betting on a sure thing.” In short there is no device nor subterfuge,
nor daring rascality of any description, to which he will not bend the
most astute cunning and the greatest energy in order to extend his
thieving operations upon the pockets of those innocent pigeons who lend
themselves to be plucked under the miserable and baseless delusion that
the pool-room is run “on the square” and that he is getting even a
gambler’s chance in the unequal contest with the skillful and audacious
knavery with which he is led to contend. Indeed, it is remarkable that
men of courage, of resources, of acute perception, of tireless energy,
of a self poise that never fails, and an activity of intellect equal to
any emergency, as most of these successful sharpers are, should not have
preferred to bring their talents to bear upon honorable and lawful
occupations in which they could not fail to apply those qualities to the
greatest advantage.
THE FRIENDLY “TIP.”
In every pool room, amid the conglomeration of representatives of
“queer” industries always there to be found, is invariably a liberal
sprinkling of “cappers” or “touts.” These are the lowest and most
contemptible of all the instrumentalities employed by the turf sharp,
and the most dangerous because they always do their work in the guise of
pretended friendship, and under the basest kind of betrayal of
confidence. The lowest kind of a bunko steerer is a gentleman by
comparison with this most contemptible of all the crawling things that
infest this footstool. We have given some insight into the character of
his operations. Let it be remembered that every tout is in the employ of
the book maker; that every man who offers another a “tip” on a race-
course or at a pool room is a “tout,” beyond any peradventure, and be
certain that his frank and apparently generous and off-handed advances
are but in reality the means by which he intends to aid in the operation
of picking your pocket. He is a liar by instinct, by choice and by
occupation, and no matter how engaging his manners, or however plausible
his representations, you may safely set him down as a thief, and deal
with him accordingly. His very approach is an insult to the intelligence
of every man whom he seeks to “play for a sucker.”
EXTENT OF THE DEPREDATIONS OF TURF GAMBLERS.
The amount of money abstracted from the business industries, and incomes
of the people, mainly of the cities, of the United States, is simply
something appalling in its magnitude. In all the great centers of
population in the United States: New York, Chicago, Philadelphia,
Boston, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville, Kansas City, Denver, New
Orleans and San Francisco, the depredations of the gambler will be found
to run into the millions in each case. In Chicago and New York it is
impossible to make any estimate. The actual truth, if it could be
revealed, would no doubt be deemed incredible. One fact, however, that
is definitely ascertained, will give some idea of the magnitude of this
crime against society, in the western metropolis. At the Fall meeting at
Washington Park, in 1889, forty-two gamblers paid to the track
authorities, $100 each per day for the term of twenty-four days, the
duration of the meeting. That amounted to $100,800. In addition to that
they had to pay for the most expensive kind of living at the highest-
priced hotels; and had to pay for “police protection,” touters, cappers
and hangers-on, salaries that professional men would envy, and had to
make high-rollers’ profits. Altogether, there cannot be a question that
these sharpers, for the privilege for which they paid over $100,000,
must have taken away out of the city, in the neighborhood of half a
million of dollars for this one meeting alone. This would represent at a
fair computation $2,000,000 for the year, without taking into account
the enormous amount constantly being drained from the community by the
other gambling operations.
NEVER A LOCAL AFFAIR.
In addition to these features—which certainly those responsible for the
social, moral and material welfare of the community do not seem to
realize—it is to be remembered that when the race-meeting has closed,
when the principal thieves with their robber retainers have departed for
the scene of their next activity, and good people heave a sigh of relief
that their boys or their clerks or their students are now no longer in
danger of this temptation, their deadly influence still remains. While
the races, for instance, are progressing in St. Louis, the pool-rooms,
the billiard rooms and saloons, by use of the telegraph, continue to
keep alive the taint of turf gambling, to keep the temptation to our
youth ever present, and to make easy for all, the deadly descent to
Avernus. Here, too, the work of the skin gambler, the jackal of his
tribe, is made particularly easy. Fraternities of these fragrant
personalities are organized, who between the different cities keep each
other “posted” on the true tips on races, and give the very latest and
most reliable information as to the probabilities of each race. The dupe
bets upon the regular “blackboard” reports; the scoundrel upon a dead
certainty. The robber rejoices in his good fortune; the victim curses
his “bad luck,” perhaps, but has no suspicion that he has not had an
even chance upon the board.
POOL-ROOM HABITUES.
If any young man, or old man for that matter, who is in the least degree
fastidious upon the point of keeping decent company, will but get some
one acquainted with the character of pool-room assemblies, or take the
trouble to exercise judgment for himself, he will learn or perceive that
which will make him take himself speedily away. Here all the proper
distinctions of society are violated, and the lawyer or doctor, lost by
his infatuation to self-respect, may be observed taking “pointers” from
a ragged and ill-smelling stable-boy. The banker, with the cashier of
his competitor, are jostling with a frowsy bootblack; the business man
discusses the board with the pickpocket; the thief and gambler is
everywhere. The odor of state prison associations is upon many. The
pimp, the bummer, the thug, the midnight housebreaker and the daylight
lawbreaker, all mingle in the throng with the representatives of
business probity and youthful innocence—with the prop and stay of one
family, and with the hope and pride of another household. If it were not
for the fascination that centers upon the betting board and renders
decency oblivious to its shameful surroundings, no man of sense, with a
spark of manhood or self respect about him, could, for a moment endure
the contamination of surroundings so degrading. The scene is one of the
most repulsive that any pure mind could conceive. It is the monstrous
anomaly presented of the vesture of life with warp of virtue and woof of
vice.
FEATURES PECULIAR TO THE TRACK.
While many of the evil influences which are organized in the pool-room
to defraud, deceive and destroy, are common to the race-track, yet the
latter possesses nefarious peculiarities whose features ought to be well
scanned, and therefore carefully avoided. At the race track, while the
vile types of character which infest the pool-room are to some extent
visible, they have not the same freedom of communication nor familiarity
with the visitor to the track as is the case in the pool-room. In the
pure outer air they shrink from intrusion upon respectability, and are
content to flock by themselves. Here it is, the well-dressed thief, the
polite and polished tout, the sanctimonious sharper, and the keen and
experienced shark, who carry on the operation of fleecing the victims of
turf rapacity are to be found. The scene in itself is far from
repulsive, as is the case with the pool-room. On the contrary, it is a
kaleidoscopic view of human society of every decent grade seen in its
most attractive form. Costly equipages, daintily dressed fair ladies,
bright colors, the beauty of flowers and the fragrance of delicate
perfume; men, each one dressed, like McGinty, in his best suit of
clothes, moving hither and thither in constant bustle, flutter and
excitement, the busy hum of multitudes of voices and the general and
exhilarating impression of life, movement and animation, combine to give
the race-course attractions that are apt to obscure its deadly menace to
honor, honesty and morality. Looking beneath this fair exterior,
however, we find a very charnel house, reeking foul with infamy and
fraud.
THE LADY GAMBLER.
Here we may observe the lady of fashion in her costly equipage stopping
to despatch her coachman for a card, and to take instructions for a tip.
Of course he gets the tip, for he knows where to go for it. He and the
tout are pals, and after the lady shall have lost every one of her eager
and confident ventures and leaves the ground with pocket-book light but
disappointment heavy in her heart, we may get a glimpse at the decorous
coachee as he smiles softly to himself, and thinks upon the liberal
portion of his mistress’ money he will have to divide with the tout in
the evening. Ladies who visit the race-track to bet are carefully
“spotted;” their servants are suborned, and they become the very easiest
and silliest victims that fall to the lot of the “fancy.”
THE CONFIDENTIAL STAKE-HOLDER.
A common swindle in the crowd at the pool-seller’s stand at the track is
the eager and excited young man who is victimized by a brace of
sharpers. They have watched him and sized him up; they recognize when he
is ripe enough to pick and then dexterously perform the operation of
gathering him in. “Bet two to one on Susie G.,” cries Mr. Verdant Green,
after a short argument with his elbow neighbor. “I’ll take you,” retorts
the other, counting out his bills, “we’ll put the money into the hands
of this gentleman here.” Benevolent-looking rascal, who has been
abstractedly looking the other way, is appealed to and consents to be
the depository of the wagers. The race is on; excitement becomes
intense; everybody is straining eyes upon the flying horses. Not so the
confidential stake-holder and his friend. They have gone from the gaze
of Mr. Verdant Green—“though lost to sight, to memory dear.” If they
could be found ten minutes later they might be discovered in the act of
dividing an easily earned “swag.” This kind of swindle is as old as the
flood. But all do not read the newspapers, and, as the gams say,
“there’s a sucker born every minute.” That is a cardinal doctrine with
them, and they ought to believe in it firmly, for does not their
experience seem to prove it? No one, however, who has read this book,
whether he read newspapers or not, will be liable to be deceived by this
simple fraud.
SKIN GAMES OUTSIDE THE TRACK.
One of the very worst features that attend race meetings is the
unavoidable presence, at every convenient point of proximity to the race
track, and lining every approach and avenue to the central scene, of all
the known skin games of which the reader of this book will have been
afforded ample knowledge elsewhere. Here assemble the three-card-monte
swindler, the shell-game shark, the wheel of fortune fakir, and in short
every conceivable representative of the smaller forms of swindling by
means of the practice of gambling. They cannot, it is true, get into the
enclosure. Race-track representatives draw the line of its virtue there.
True they are not a whit worse than their brethren inside, who play for
higher game. Both are merely plundering honest people by means of
gambling schemes. It is the case of the pot saying to the kettle, “Keep
off; I fear you may besmut me.” But the shell game man and his confreres
do not hanker to be within the sacred high fence. They can catch their
kind of suckers just as well outside, as they come and go; and many a
confiding innocent beside, who has not enough money to buy a seat on the
grand stand, nor to make a bet on the race, has yet sufficient to lose
by a turn of the wheel. They are not particular, bless you, these
smaller knaves. They do not want the earth. So long as they get all the
sucker has got, even though it be but a little, they are content.
Again, there are cases where the winning horse actually _has_ become
sick; so sick that he has had to be scratched, or been compelled to fail
in even getting a “place,” and that even where the stable has been
watched night and day by a man with a blunderbuss. Of course everybody
knows, including the dupes who have laid their money on him, that the
favorite has been “dosed.” Some suspect that the watcher may have been
bribed by the enemy, and permitted his care to be drugged for a fee. It
might be; but the odds are in favor of his innocence. The experienced
mind will look for a larger villain. There was a big sum of money on the
race: it would be an easy matter for the owner of the horse winning to
scratch him, or allow him to be beaten, and win more than was on the
board and in the stakes. Horses have been sold out by their owners, on
American and English race courses, and will be again, so long as knavery
lasts in the form of gambling on horse racing. And when you observe that
said owner is particularly tumultuous and volcanic in the expression of
his wrath, and encrimsons the surrounding air with richly embroidered
profanity, then you may be tolerably sure that you might reach the
secret of the case if you could only get deep down into his trousers
pockets.
WAYS THAT ARE DARK AND TRICKS THAT ARE NOT VAIN.
In no other human enterprise is it more frequently demonstrated that
“the race is not always to the swift.” It is a not uncommon practice for
owners of a horse by confederacy with book makers, and other necessary
aids, to groom a horse to win a heavy stake upon a dead certainty. First
the horse and his capabilities are discovered. Then he is ridden in one
or two races to lose. He becomes regarded as a permanent tail-ender. His
appearance on the blackboard is greeted with derision. Reports are
circulated that the horse is “sick,” particularly just before the event
for which he is being held back. He makes his appearance when his time
has come. Nobody will bet on him. The wildest sort of odds against him
are cheerfully offered, and as quietly gathered in by the confederates
of the owner and pool-seller. He takes the field and comes in an easy
winner in such a handsome manner that old sports who were not in the
combine, recognize, with words not loud but deep, as they go down into
their pockets to settle, that they have been “sold again.” In this as in
all other ways the average bettor or amateur gambler stands no show. He
has no chance, though he may think he has. He is simply food for sharks.
THE JOCKEY.
As the “king maker” to the claimant to the thrones of the days of old,
so the jockey to the horse race, and to the high hopes which rest upon
the particular animal in his charge. The jockey is generally a kind of
person who would be a stable-boy, a boot-black or a street sweeper, if
he were not a jockey. Being a jockey, he is clothed in purple and fine
linen, and gets his $10,000 or $12,000 per year—which would pay salaries
for two ministers of the gospel of the very first water, or of at least
four superintendents of schools. Is the jockey paid this magnificent
salary for being a jockey? Not at all; nor is he paid for being honest.
It is for being honest to his _employer_ in carrying out his wishes in
regard to the horse, as it may happen to be more profitable to the owner
to win or lose. Do jockeys ever sell a race? Probably: sometimes in
obedience to the orders of the owner, and occasionally on his own
account. In the latter event it is generally his last race; but he can
afford to retire to an opulent private life, for his reward is
exceedingly liberal. Who shall tell when the jockey is riding honestly
or dishonestly? He alone knows the minutest shade of the temper and
capacity of the horse. Half a nose may lose a race when he has seemed to
have done his best. And yet he might have won by a neck had he so
elected. The plain amateur, everyday sport who is slated to be swindled
in any case, as well as the anxious owner, the vendor of pools, and the
maker of books, are all at the mercy of the discretion of the jockey.
Hence the frills upon his raiment; hence a salary so large that it is
concluded that life can offer him no other temptations. In very many
instances, indeed, the jockey is the instrument through whom the
thousands of dupes are sold, the owner sometimes directing the robbery,
and on other occasions being included in the list of goods delivered.
The high-salaried jockey is a part of an evil system. Take away the
gambling feature from horse racing, and let us have honest sport, and
the jockey would be glad indeed to ride “square” for a dollar a day and
found. And there will be no honest competitions of speed on the race-
track until the immoral, rascally and thieving element of betting on the
result, or gambling, as you may be pleased to term it, has been
abolished, either by legal enactment, by public opinion, or by
repudiation on the part of the people who now patronize it—in which
latter case, the victims refusing to come to the fold to be sheared as
they do now, the evil would die for want of pockets to pick.
THE HANDICAP FRAUD.
In the “handicap” race lies one of the great opportunities for rascality
on the race track. There is no doubt that some of the events which offer
the largest prizes, in which the public takes the deepest interest, and
which seem on the surface to be about the fairest tests of all for a
square contest of speed, have become masterpieces of organized
scoundrelism. The theory of the handicap is that all the horses are so
exactly weighted that they start on a footing of perfect equality in the
race, and that if it were possible for them all to cross in an exact
line at the starting point, they would come under the wire nose to nose.
Of course, to secure such an exact start is an impossibility, and the
struggle is presumed to be a supreme effort on the part of each jockey
to make up the space lost at the start. It makes a grand and thrilling
spectacle to witness a handicap race: but it is generally a delusion.
They are just going through the motions, and any gentlemen in the
combination can tell you when the “start” is declared which horse is
destined to come out first at the finish. In cases of crooked races of
this kind, the horse is generally selected a season in advance and a
combination between certain leading horsemen is made to allow him to be
the winner and divide stakes and betting winnings. The stable from which
this “dark horse” comes will have generally two or three others in the
field, and the selected winner is ridden falsely for a whole season, and
given a bad record, so as to give him so ridiculously light a weight at
the handicap race that his winning is a comparative certainty. To be
sure, other elements of fitness to win the race have been carefully
ascertained, and his exact speed and staying qualities are well known to
those interested. When he goes into the field a certain winner, he gets
lightest weights and the longest odds to be had, and when he comes under
the wire he is worth his weight in gold to his owner or managers.
Sometimes it happens that there are two cliques working in the dark in
this fashion, and then a division has to be made. A private meeting
between the two selected horses is had, and this is a race for keeps and
in which the best horse wins. Then both parties form a common syndicate,
and labor to double the anticipated profits. Being leaders of the turf,
they have ample opportunity to gull the public. The sporting papers, or
sporting editors are “tipped” to systematically “bear” the winning
horse, and to “write up” other horses which appear to give the public a
fair chance for winning, or at least an even chance in betting upon the
few favorites which have been selected for “stool pigeons,” which are
“bulled,” in the estimation of the public without stint. When it comes
to the test, the dark horse has a comparative walk-over; the syndicate
reaps a golden harvest, and the public can divide the loss between the
individual suckers who have been gulled. Sometimes it has happened that
a genuine dark horse has honestly won, and these schemers come to grief.
But that is as rare as teeth in the mouth of a hen, and the fact
remains, generally speaking, that in this as in every other department
of betting on the events of the turf, the confiding public is swindled
on a deliberate system by which the professional gambler could not lose
if he chose, unless he were to conspire actively to attain that end.
This, however, there is no fear of, for a more selfish, cold-blooded and
rapacious breed of blood-hounds never pursued a defenceless prey.
OFFICIALLY PROTECTED CRIME.
The author of this work has traveled over most of the surface of the
United States, and has set up the green tables in towns and cities in
nearly every State in the Union, and in each and every instance he has
been compelled to purchase official protection for his unlawful trade;
making payments in some cases to mayors; sometimes to the chiefs of
police or city marshals, and on other occasions to individual policemen.
In this way the authority that is invested with the duty of protecting
society is suborned and prostituted to the vile end of extending
official protection to the very crime which it is its sworn duty to
exterminate. That this perversion of public authority is almost
universal seems to be unquestionable. We have recently been furnished
with a forcible example of this in the great city of Chicago, where it
has been strikingly illustrated that when rogues fall out honest men
sometimes get their own. For months in the western metropolis efforts
had been made to compel the public authorities to the enforcement of the
law regarding this vice. It was persistently denied by the local
authorities that there was any gambling going on in Chicago, and this in
the face of a general public knowledge to the contrary. In order to
prove the hypocrisy of the position of the officers of the city
government in this matter, a daily newspaper entered upon a crusade upon
its own account. Private detectives were hired and raids constantly made
for some weeks, resulting in many arrests, the seizure of a large
quantity of gaming apparatus and its destruction in the court-rooms of
the city. Yet, still the authorities refused to act and continued to
ignore the prevalence of gambling rooms throughout the city, even after
the press had given lists of names and full information upon which to
proceed. It was publicly and very directly intimated that this alleged
ignorance on the part of the city government was a matter of bargain and
sale—that specific money payments were made by the criminals for
immunity from the proper consequences of their criminal operations;
that, in fact, the officials of a great corporation had been suborned to
become accessory to the operations of the gamblers. One part of this
nefarious understanding was that while the races at Washington Park were
in progress the down-town pool-rooms should remain closed in order that
the race-track swindlers might be enabled to make the most of their
opportunities. With the same scrupulous fidelity which is said to
characterize transactions between some other violators of the law, this
agreement was carried out. Then followed another race meeting at the
track of one Corrigan, a noted horseman on the West Side. Corrigan
claimed the same privilege of shutting out the pool-room competition as
had been extended to the Washington Park club.
The pool-room keepers refused to recognize any obligation of the kind.
They claimed that their agreement with the city administration had been
completed; that they could not afford to remain longer closed up, and
that by reason of their payment of the assessments which had been
regularly levied upon them by the representatives of the city
administration, they were entitled to continue their business without
molestation. Then Corrigan began a war upon them by the aid of a private
detective organization, and the shameful fact that the gamblers had the
protection of the police force and its management became apparent beyond
dispute. Not only was this the case, but the officials who had hitherto
placidly ignored general and widespread gambling in the center of the
city, became the active and open allies of the city gamblers, and used
their legal powers in an endeavor to punish Corrigan by making arrests
at the race-track. Corrigan resorted to the courts for protection
against this interference, and secured a bill of injunction restraining
the Mayor and Chief of Police from interfering with book making at his
track. In the bill filed to secure this injunction the whole disgraceful
bargain between the representatives of the city’s police force and the
crooks and gamblers was distinctly related, alleging a direct compact of
corruption by which crime purchased a stipulated protection at the hands
of those sworn to uphold and enforce the laws. There is little reason to
doubt that this practice is not confined to Chicago. It exists
everywhere. It calls for a remedy, because it is a dangerous and deadly
menace to morality, and to the security and safety of society. An
aroused public opinion is needed everywhere to offset this great evil,
and it is one of the earnest purposes of this work that good people may
be awakened to the sense of the danger that threatens the public welfare
in this particular. The foundation of justice, the fountain of the law,
are thus assailed with an unscrupulous boldness that would be incredible
if the facts were not beyond dispute. It is impossible to conceive a
graver danger to the best interests of the republic than this widespread
pollution of the honor of the custodians of law and morality, and the
instinct of self-preservation on the part of all the decent elements of
society should point the way to a united effort to secure reform and
redress.
THE EXTENT OF THE MANIA.
Year by year the fever of gambling on the races increases in intensity
and the range of its operations. Thousands upon thousands go to the
races who would not be able to distinguish between a Kentucky
thoroughbred and a Miami valley towpath mule. They do not go for the
“sport” there is in a splendid contest between the noblest of the brute
creation. They go to “speculate,” to “buy pools;” in short, to gamble,
in the idiotic hope that by some blind chance they may return a
“winner,” with a hat full of gold bought for a silver dollar. In fact
they go out sheep and they return home shorn. Speaking of the recent
universality of this gambling mania, a story goes that lately a St.
Louis wholesale merchant’s cashier came to him one day and said:
“I should like to get away this morning sir; my sister is to be married
to-day.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said the good-natured merchant.
Presently came the book-keeper, with a rueful countenance, who said:
“I’m feeling very unwell, sir, and if you could spare me, I’d like to be
excused for to-day.”
The amiable merchant cheerfully gave the requested permission. Shortly
after the errand boy appeared.
“Please, sir; my grandmother died last night, and she’s to be buried
this afternoon. Please may I go home?”
“To be sure, my boy,” said the merchant. “Sorry for your mother; here’s
a quarter for you.”
“Well,” soliloquized the merchant, “since they’re all gone, I might as
well shut up shop. I guess I’ll call and see the doctor to-day.”
At the doctor’s he got word that the physician had just been called away
to visit a patient in the country, so he concluded to do some business
with his lawyer. At the latter’s office he discovered that the man of
law had gone to file a paper in the probate court.
“Well, if I can’t see anybody,” said he to himself, “I might just as
well go over to the races awhile.”
As he approached the grand stand he observed astride the roof a small
animate object, which closer inspection proved to him was his office
boy, who was thus attending his grandmother’s funeral. In front of the
stand stood the doctor holding a roll of bills in one hand, and shouting
for bets on his favorite horse. Up on the stand he observed the lawyer
wildly swinging his hat and hallooing like a maniac. Passing around the
corner of the stand he came upon his sick clerk and the one who was
marrying his sister, each with a schooner of lager in his hand and in an
evidently hilarious condition.
“Well,” mused he, “King David was a good judge of human nature when he
said, ‘All men are liars.’”
A FALSE GUIDE.
There is one topic more that may appropriately be used to conclude this
chapter, and that is the recalcitrancy to the highest welfare of the
people, and the best interest of true public morality, of the most
powerful instrument for good or evil that to-day exists. The press of
the country is not only fully cognizant of the deplorable evils that
arise from gambling on the turf, but lends to it countenance,
encouragement and aid; and it does so undoubtedly for the money there is
in it. The newspapers spread page after page of the turf and its events
over their daily issues. The attractions and the interest of the race
meetings are set forth with all the skill at their command. They become
agents of thieves by publishing “pointers” on the races, and giving
advice to bettors which is no more honest nor reliable than that of the
sharks of the pool-room. They are thus false to their high mission;
false to their lofty responsibilities, which should in all things guide
and direct; false to the interests of society, and to the welfare of
their readers and patrons. Surely it is time to call a halt in the
prostitution of this noble influence to the purposes of race track
gambling and systematic knavery. The sordid influence which leads them
to become an active party to the debauchery of public morals would no
doubt give them the cohesion in action that grows out of a common source
of plunder; but newspapers are amenable to one influence—that of a
united public opinion. Let the ministers of the gospel, the natural
guardians of our morality; the teachers, the parents, and all good men
everywhere, bring a united and emphatic protest to bear upon the press,
to induce it to desist from encouraging this national crime, and from
familiarizing the youth of America with the methods and fascinations of
turf gambling, and we may yet hope to see the newspapers of the land
stand upon this question on the side of the family hearth, and of God
and morality.
CHAPTER II.
THE EXCHANGE
The origin of the commercial exchange is coeval with the beginning of
commerce. According to that eminent Oriental scholar and historian,
Rawlinson, the city of Babylon contained several of these marts, each
devoted to the sale of some particular description of merchandise, and
Herodotus intimates that one of them was set apart exclusively to the
sale of wheat, corn, barley, millet and sesame. Athens and Rome also had
their exchanges, and during the middle ages the traders of Venice were
wont to assemble in the Rialto. Marseilles boasted of a Chamber of
Commerce in the fifteenth century, and as early as 1566 London merchants
were accustomed daily to convene in the open air at various localities
in Lombard Street, until the erection of the present Royal Exchange, and
to-day exchanges or bourses are among the prominent commercial features
of every great European city.
The idea of a commercial exchange germinated in the United States before
the war of the American Revolution. Here, as in Europe, the basis of
every mercantile exchange is a voluntary union of business men, who deem
it for their mutual interest regularly to assemble in some convenient
locality, for the purpose of effecting the sale of commodities or
securities, and of profiting by the fluctuations in market prices. Stock
exchanges, produce exchanges, chambers of commerce and boards of trade
are all essentially identical in character, the principal point of
difference being the nature of the commodities bought and sold.
The New York Chamber of Commerce, founded in 1768, is the oldest
organization of this kind in this country. Similar institutions were
established in Baltimore in 1821, and in Philadelphia in 1833. In 1858
there were ten chambers of commerce and twenty boards of trade between
Portland and San Francisco. In 1865 these bodies organized what is known
as the “National Board of Trade.” In this association are represented
Albany, Baltimore, Boston, Buffalo, Charleston, Chicago, Cincinnati,
Cleveland, Denver, Detroit, Dubuque, Louisville, Milwaukee, Newark, New
Orleans, New York, Oswego, Peoria, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Portland,
Providence, Richmond, St. Louis, St. Paul, Toledo, Troy and Wilmington.
As an institution, the commercial exchange has been productive of some
good, but much harm. If restricted in its scope to the legitimate
purposes of commerce, it is unquestionably of the highest benefit to the
business world. When its operations are diverted into illegitimate
channels it becomes a source of incalculable injury to society. As a
great market place, it plays an important part in modern civilization;
as a gigantic agency for the promotion of gambling in the commodities of
the world, it is a snare, a delusion and a curse.
Not all the gaming hells of the country combined afford facilities for
gambling equal to those furnished by these organizations. The faro
dealer places a limit upon the stakes wagered; upon the floor of ’Change
one may bet without limit. Not everyone can obtain admittance to the
gilded _salon_ of the tiger; the commission merchant, or broker, who
does business upon the Stock Exchange or Board of Trade accepts orders
from all comers. The character of the transactions in which his
principals engage is to him a matter of indifference, his interest being
centered in their frequency and extent.
To one who is not versed in the methods of conducting trading in the
mercantile exchange, the jargon of the ordinary journalistic report of a
day is unmeaning gibberish. “Longs” and “shorts,” “puts, calls and
straddles,” “scalpers” and “plungers,” a “squeal,” a “squeeze,” an
“unloading,” are terms as destitute of significance as though they were
words from a foreign tongue. Yet the mode of doing business is not so
complicated that any man of average intelligence need fail to grasp it.
The author—as he has already stated in his autobiography—was once
connected with a firm operating on the Chicago Board of Trade, and as
such, acquired an intimate acquaintance with the _modus operandi_ of its
dealings, and he believes that his work would be incomplete should he
ignore the marble palace through whose noiselessly swinging doors so
many thousands have entered upon the path of shame which leads to ruin.
Not that the Chicago Board of Trade is either worse or better than the
score of similar institutions scattered through the country; nor is it
intended to select that organization as the object of special
animadversion. The methods of all commercial exchanges are, as has been
said, substantially identical.
Members of these bodies may be classified on any one of several general
principles. One system of classification has relation to the character
of their operations; in other words, all members may be divided into two
classes, the first comprising those who venture on their own account
(popularly known as “speculators”), and the second embracing those who
buy or sell only on the receipt of orders from outsiders (_i. e._,
brokers). Under another system, members may be classified as those who
wish to enhance the prices of commodities on the one hand, and those
who, on the other, seek to depress market quotations. The former are
technically known as “bulls,” and the latter as “bears.” These
sobriquets are derived from the well-known propensities of the two
descriptions of animals, the one to hoist and the other to pull down. A
“bull” is one who seeks to advance prices; a “bear” one who strives to
lower them. The distinction between “longs” and “shorts” is
substantially of the same nature. A “long” is a speculator who,
believing that the price of a certain commodity is destined to advance,
buys freely in anticipation of a rise. It follows that he is naturally,
if not inherently, a “bull.” On the other hand, a “short,” judging that
quotations are destined to decline, sells wherever he can find a
purchaser. He, naturally, is a “bear.” It must not be forgotten,
however, that neither of these parties for a moment actually expects
either to receive or deliver the articles which he buys or sells; and
the reason for this apparently inconsistent statement will be explained
hereafter.
With these few prefatory words of explanation, we will pursue the course
of the speculator, after which will be given a definition of the slang
terms used, and following this the reader will find a concise
description of the adventitious agencies employed in the manipulation of
the market.
[Illustration: CHICAGO BOARD OF TRADE.]
And first, as to the speculator: He may fall within either one of two
categories—the professional or the occasional. Yet even under the
general caption of professional speculators, operators may be divided
into two classes. One embraces men whose large wealth enables them to
contrive and engineer what is popularly known as a “corner;” the other
includes those who follow in their wake, believing that they can discern
their intentions, and laying the flattering delusion to their souls that
they can presage the course of prices. The professional speculator, as
being the “larger fish,” should first claim our notice. He it is who
originates and conducts “corners,” by which term is meant the forcing up
of prices for any given commodity to a point far beyond their legitimate
value, with a view to enriching the few at the expense of the many. Men
of this stamp ordinarily associate with themselves kindred spirits,
whose natural bent is the same as their own, and whose capital may prove
of value in carrying out their schemes. The combination having been
formed, the first objective point is the selection of some commodity or
stock to “corner.” The choice having been made, the next step is,
quietly and unostentatiously to buy all of it that can be purchased. Let
not the unsophisticated reader for a moment suppose, however, that the
syndicate thus formed proposes to buy the article in question at current
rates. Far otherwise. Prices must be depressed, and there is an obvious
way in which to effect this result. Every market in the world is
supposed to be governed by the normal relations between supply and
demand. It follows that free offerings of any commodity are likely to
reduce its quotable value. What, then, are the tactics of the
“operator”? Evidently to offer to sell freely. Under the influence of
the precipitation of large lots, prices recede, and the speculator is
shrewd enough to purchase “at the bottom of the market.” Of course he
does not expose his policy by buying such enormous quantities in his own
name. He has recourse to firms doing a strictly commission business, of
whom he employs a multiplicity, and who always refuse to disclose the
name of their principal—not from any high sense of honor, but from
motives of self-interest, for the simple reason that such exposure would
result in a peremptory withdrawal of business. Having secured the
desired quantity of the stock or commodity selected, the clique proceeds
to advance the price, not abruptly but gradually, selling a little here
and buying a little there, the object being the mystification of the
miscellaneous dealers. At last comes what is known as the “squeeze.” The
cabal having all, or at least the great preponderance, of the article
where they can, if they choose, call for its immediate delivery, refuse
to entertain any offers at less than the limit fixed. The consequence is
that the “shorts”—i. e., the men who have sold to the syndicate—are
compelled to settle at the price to which the coalition has forced
quotations. The method of operation can be best illustrated by a
suppositious case. Let us suppose—simply by way of illustration—that a
coterie of dealers in grain resolve to force up the price of wheat,
although not to localize the illustration, we might assume the formation
of a “corner” on some one of the numerous stock exchanges with which the
country is blessed (?), or cursed. But let us take the Chicago Board of
Trade, with whose methods the author is most familiar: Let us suppose
that the article to be “cornered” is “July wheat,” and that the
combination has been formed in March. Resort is had to the tactics above
explained. Wheat for July delivery is first depressed, then bought, and
in the end sold without regard to its inherent value, but solely with a
view to what the “shorts” may be forced to pay. The profits of such
“corners,” thus constructed, are sometimes enormous. Yet, as in the game
of faro, the most expert dealer is sometimes put to heavy loss by the
combination which is playing against the bank; so even the machinations
of the strongest and shrewdest operators are brought to naught either by
a combination of brighter minds, by a failure carefully to guard every
weak spot, or, it may be, by very chance. The same elements are present
in both games, faro and stock-jobbing. These corners are conceived in
cupidity, carried on in deceit, and consummated in heartlessness; yet
there are not wanting those who affirm that the commercial exchange is
the very prop and bulwark of American commerce! That the exchange, in
its legitimate scope, affords an easy and safe way of doing business,
cannot be denied; that its practical operation is to foster speculation
and encourage reckless gambling is equally indisputable.
This assertion seems, on its face, perhaps, ill-considered, yet it is
abundantly justified by facts. We have, thus far, considered only the
tactics of the professional “operator.” Let us, for a moment, consider
the fortune (or misfortune) that awaits the occasional speculator. The
latter closely resembles the man who plunges, headlong, into the Niagara
rapids without even a rudimentary knowledge of the art of swimming. Like
a chip, he sports upon the crest of the eddying waters of the whirlpool,
until, gradually drawn nearer and nearer toward the centre, he is sucked
into its very vortex, sinking to reappear no more. Yet this comparison
is weak. The outside speculator who fancies that he can buy or sell on
“pointers,” (i. e. private information) given him by parties well-
posted, very nearly approaches an idiot in the matter of intelligence.
Let us take, as a single illustration, a case which fell under the
author’s personal observation. The experience of the victim (whom we
will call Jones) is by no means exceptional. Mr. “Jones” was advised by
a friend (?) that “old Higgenbotham” had bought up all of a certain
article and that within sixty days prices were destined materially to
appreciate. Naturally “Mr. Jones” found his interest, as well as his
cupidity stimulated. What would his friend recommend him to do? “Buy, of
course; and buy heavily,” was the answer. “But I don’t know how to buy,”
objected Jones. “Why,” replied his advisor, “that’s the easiest thing in
the world, Q X & Z, one of the best houses in the street, are particular
friends of mine. Take my card and go down and see them. They’ll use you
right.” The unfortunate “Jones” listened to the siren song. He
interviewed Q X & Z, by whom he was received with distinguished
consideration. The firm of brokers explained to him how he could, by
depositing with them a “margin” of five per cent. on the par value of
his prospective purchase, become the putative owner of twenty times the
amount of his deposit. Of course he must buy for future delivery, this
not being a “cash” transaction. But there was no doubt that prices would
advance. Oh, certainly not.
Mr. “Jones” was naturally a little timorous, being unaccustomed to
speculation. He advanced a few hundred dollars, however, by way of
“margins,” and at the conclusion of the “deal,” found himself winner by
a handsome sum. His experience was a revelation to him. He ventured
again and again, with varying success. Finally he found himself heavily
interested on the wrong side of the market. He was assured that prices
must necessarily take a turn, and he could ill afford to lose the sum
already risked.
To understand the nature of the risk which he had incurred, however,
some explanation of the method of speculating by means of margins is
necessary. To illustrate: let us suppose that a certain article—say,
wheat is to-day at $1.00 per bushel, of course 10,000 bushels are
nominally worth $10,000. Imagine a legitimate purchase of such a
quantity at these figures. Should the price advance one cent per bushel,
the 10,000 bushels would be worth $10,100; should it fall off one cent
the wheat would be worth only $9,900. In the former case the buyer would
win $100; in the latter he would lose a like sum. In the case of a bona-
fide sale, the whole of the $10,000 is actually paid. In a speculative
transaction the purchaser only advances a part of the price, usually a
few cents per bushel, which is placed in the hands of his broker, who
gives him a receipt therefor. The commission merchant conducts the
business in his own name, assuming personal responsibility for the
payment of the money. To protect himself against possible loss, which
may result from violent fluctuations in the market, he insists upon a
marginal deposit as above stated. Should the depreciation in value
approach the limit of the margin, the speculator is called upon to
advance more money. If he fail to do so, and the decline continues, the
broker protects himself by selling out the article bought, charging his
customer with the loss sustained, together with his own brokerage
charges, and handing over to him whatever small balance may remain to
his credit. In the case of a speculative sale, precisely the same
methods are employed, except that as the seller’s gain is derived from a
depreciation and his loss through an advance, when the “margin” is in
danger of being “wiped out,” the broker closes the transaction by buying
on the customer’s account instead of selling.
But to return to the experience of Mr. “Jones.” As has been said he had
ventured largely, and he found himself confronted with financial ruin.
Although engaged in a money-making business, he had plunged so deeply
into the maelstrom of speculation that his capital was seriously
impaired. What was to be done? To withdraw meant bankruptcy; yet, how
could he go on? Only one way presented itself to him. He was the
executor of his brother’s will and the guardian of his brother’s minor
children. The trust funds placed under his control might be utilized to
avert impending disaster. Not that he would wrong the orphans whose
patrimony had been committed to his care, but he would temporarily
borrow the money of the estate, to be returned with interest, within a
few weeks. He succumbed to the temptation and the result need hardly be
told. The combination formed for the purpose of controlling prices
absorbed these funds as it had the others, with the same relentless
rapacity as do the knights of the green cloth the last hard-earned
dollar of the day-laborer. The day of settlement arrived, the bubble
burst and the unfortunate man found himself buried fathoms deep in
dishonor and ruin. Not only was he penniless, but he realized that
wherever he went the finger of scorn pointed out his every step. A
temperate man before, he plunged headlong into dissipation. His wife
found herself compelled to leave him, and to-day, stripped of fortune,
bereft of family, deserted by friends, he walks the streets with
faltering tread, aimlessly and hopelessly; living God knows how; hanging
about bucket-shops and pool-rooms, considering that a fortunate day on
which, honestly or dishonestly, he can earn half a dollar.
Nor is this an isolated case. The speculator who has been alluded to is
but a type of a class of men whose name is legion. The ruined
reputations of confidential clerks, cashiers and administrators of trust
funds mark the path of the reckless operator as milestones mark the
causeway. The terrible fascination of gambling, whether through
speculation or cards, when once the votary has succumbed to it, can be
most fitly compared to that of the opium habit. The victim of this body-
debasing, soul-destroying vice is willing to risk his hopes, not only
for time but for eternity, on the gratification of his appetite. So does
the devotee of the faro table or the man infatuated with the allurements
of the exchange stake his life, his honor, his very salvation upon the
turn of a die or the rise or fall of a particular stock.
Better, far better, were it for the man who enters a gaming resort that
his first wager prove unsuccessful; far happier would he be who
determines to “speculate in futures” did his first venture result in
heavy loss. In either case the influence of failure would prove a
deterrent sufficiently powerful to avert years of future misery, if not
ultimate destruction.
The technical nomenclature of the exchange—sometimes termed the “slang
of the street”—which, as has been remarked, is incomprehensible to the
uninitiated, in itself affords some key to the nature of the business
transacted. Some of the most common terms are here defined, although to
enumerate them all would swell the dimensions of the present chapter
beyond the limits assigned it.
A “scalper” is an operator who makes it his practice to close his
transactions as soon as he can see a small profit, say a quarter of one
cent. His operations are neither more nor less than betting on a rise or
fall in prices.
The “guerilla” is a species of the genus “scalper,” few in number, and
makes a specialty of dealing in stocks and commodities: So unsavory is
the reputation of this class that it has fixed the appellation of
“Hell’s Kitchen” and “Robber’s Roost” upon certain localities in the New
York Stock Exchange.
Still another class is composed of those who strive to enrich themselves
by the fictitious rise and fall of a particular stock in which they
constantly deal.
The terms “long” and “short,” when used as adjectives, have been already
explained, and their signification when employed as nouns is practically
the same. A “long” is a speculator who has bought heavily in
anticipation of a rise. A “short” is one who has sold freely in
expectation of a decline. The action of the former is called “loading.”
“Forcing quotations” is keeping up prices by any means whatever. When
this is accomplished by the dissemination of fictitious news or the
circulation of unfounded rumors, the operator is said to “balloon”
prices.
A speculator is said to “take a flyer” when he engages in some side
venture; he “flies kites” when he expands operations injudiciously; he
“holds the market” when he prevents a decline in prices by buying
heavily; he “milks the street” when he manipulates so skilfully that
they rise or fall at his pleasure; he “unloads” when he sells the
particular stock or commodity of which he is “long;” he “spills stock”
when he offers large quantities with a view to lowering or “breaking”
prices; if he is successful in these tactics he is said to “saddle the
market.”
A “bear” is said to be “gunning” a stock when he employs all his energy
and craft to “break” its price. He “covers,” or “covers his shorts,”
when he buys to fulfill his contracts. He “sells out” a man by forcing
prices down so that the latter is obliged to relinquish what he is
“carrying,” perhaps to fail.
The nature of a “corner” has been already set forth in detail. The
operator or clique organizing and managing it is said to “run” it. The
day when final settlement must be made between the opposing parties
engaged in such a transaction is termed “settling day.” If the “bears”
are forced to settle at unusually high prices they are said to be
“squeezed.” The “squeeze” which has followed many a corner has
precipitated not a few wealthy men into financial ruin. This
circumstance, however, is usually a matter of utter indifference to the
manipulators. The success of a “corner” is sometimes prevented by what
is known as a “squeal,” or revelation of the secrets of the pool or
clique by one of its members. Sometimes the plans of the organizers of a
“corner” are brought to naught by a “leak” in the pool, that is, by one
of the members secretly selling out his holdings. Of course, a “corner”
can be formed only on what is known as a “future,” or future delivery,
by which is meant the sale and purchase of some stock or commodity to be
delivered at some period in the future.
Yet another form of gambling very common upon the floors of stock and
commercial exchanges is known as dealing in “puts,” “calls” and
“straddles.” When a person buys a “put,” he pays a stipulated sum for
the privilege of selling to the party to whom it is paid, a certain
quantity of some particular stock or other article, within a fixed time,
at a designated price. Thus A might pay to B one hundred dollars for the
privilege of selling him one hundred shares of Union Pacific stock at a
stipulated price, within ten days. As a matter of course, the price
named is always a little below the current quotation ruling at the time
the contract is made, _i. e._, the day upon which the “put” is bought.
If, for instance, the “put” is sold at 80 cents on that day, and the
market declines to 75, A might tender to B the one hundred shares, and
the latter would be compelled to take them at that price. In such a case
A would have gained five dollars per share, or five hundred dollars in
all, provided he had “covered his shorts,” _i. e._, bought in the stock
which he had already put, at the latter figure. As a matter of fact,
neither party contemplated an actual delivery. The market having
declined, A’s net gain is, of course, only four hundred dollars, he
having already paid one hundred dollars to B. This appears an easy
method of winning money. As a matter of fact, however, experience has
shown that very few men win through the purchase of “puts” and “calls.”
A “call” is similar in its general nature to a “put,” but differs from
it in that the buyer of the former has the privilege of calling or
buying a certain quantity, under the same conditions. The seller of the
“put” contracts to buy, and of the “call” to sell, whenever the demand
is made.
A “straddle” is a combination of the “put” and the “call,” and is the
option of either buying or selling. The cost of these “puts,” “calls,”
and “straddles,” which are known as “privileges,” varies from one to
five per cent. of the par value of the stock, or the market value of the
commodity involved, and depends upon the time they have to run, the
range covered, and the activity and sensitiveness of the market.
It is claimed in behalf of these privileges that they are, in their
essence, really contracts of insurance, and as such are entirely
legitimate. The general public, however, has always regarded them as a
complex system of betting, and believes that they constitute one of the
most pernicious features of the exchange. The fallacy of the argument in
their favor, above outlined, becomes apparent when it is remembered that
the law regards all contracts of insurance as being one form of
gambling, and sanctions and enforces them only on grounds of public
policy. The burden of proof is upon the defenders of “puts” and “calls”
to show that, even if it be conceded that they are contracts of
insurance, they can be justified as being necessary to the furtherance
of commerce or the welfare of society. That they do not tend to promote
commerce is shown by the fact that neither party to the transaction for
a moment contemplates the actual delivery of the article bought or sold.
It is essentially a wager between two individuals as to the future
course of the market, one betting that prices will advance, and the
other that they will decline. The absurdity of claiming that they
promote the general welfare of society, (were such a claim advanced),
may be easily demonstrated by calling attention to the economic
consideration that the winner has done nothing to produce the money
which he pockets, and by pointing to the pecuniary loss and moral
debasement which they entail. They sustain somewhat of the same relation
to the dealings of the large operators as does the keno room to the faro
bank.
The legislature of Illinois, a few years ago, placed the seal of its
condemnation upon the practice by making it a misdemeanor to deal in
privileges. It is said (although the author is unable to vouch for the
truth of the statement), that this virtuous action on the part of the
lawmakers was due to the influence brought to bear upon them by a well-
known member of the Chicago Board of Trade, who had been dealing
extensively in “puts” and “calls,” and had lost heavily. However that
may be, the Chicago Board, after permitting the practice for years,
adopted a rule prohibiting their sale, and even went to the length of
suspending a few members for its violation, among them being one of the
most prominent operators upon the floor. This spasm of virtue, however,
was not of long duration, and at the present time such privileges may be
procured from members of that august body with the greatest ease.
The action of this great Western Exchange in the premises may possibly
have been prompted by motives other than a desire to comply with the
statutes. Long after the enactment of the law, privileges were sold as
freely as before its passage. In time, however, it was found to be a
two-edged sword. Operators found it possible to purchase “puts” for the
purpose of buying against them, and to buy “calls” with a view to shield
themselves from loss when they became “bears.” Thus an army of sellers
appeared when the “call” price was reached, and a horde of buyers when
the market touched the price at which “puts” had been sold, the
consequence being that the range of the market was curtailed. Members
objected to tactics which robbed the market of that elasticity so dear
to the speculator’s heart. Carping critics say that the virtue of the
directors was the outgrowth of disappointed self-seeking. In other
words—speculation—the very life-blood of the exchange was being
curtailed. _Hinc illae lachrymae._
But the action of the directors, as was soon found, rendered it possible
for certain members, who were willing to incur the risk, to do a
thriving business in privileges provided the transactions were secret.
Of course firms desiring to obey the rules were at a disadvantage, and
legitimate brokerage suffered. There was one obvious, logical
conclusion: “Allow every one to engage in the business or no one.” This
commended itself to common sense, and a carefully worded resolution was
adopted, the practical effect of which, as every one understood it, was
virtually to remove the ban from the sale of privileges. Since that
time, “puts” and “calls” may be purchased with the same ease as one may
pay his taxes.
But let us return to the methods employed in the manipulation of prices.
Reference has been already made to the very common practice of
attempting to “bull” or “bear” quotations by buying or selling large
quantities, or “blocks” of some particular article. There is probably no
description of market in the world so extremely sensitive as the
commercial exchange. A sale or purchase of any given commodity by
certain, well-known operators, is often sufficient to excite its pulse
to fever heat. A similar result may ensue from a report that the
Secretary of the Treasury contemplates a call of a certain denomination
of bonds; that Bismarck had been heard to say that the French blood was
too thin and needed a little more iron; that a norther in Texas had
killed a herd of cattle; that a few grasshoppers had been seen in the
neighborhood of Fargo; or that the mercury was believed to be about to
fall in Northern Minnesota. The great speculators, the master minds of
these gigantic institutions, are quick to perceive this sensitiveness,
and equally prompt to avail themselves of it. Fictitious news is as
potent an agency in advancing or depressing prices as is the genuine
article, and it is a sad truth that there are not wanting large
operators who do not scruple to employ it. It is said—and there is good
reason to believe the statement to be true—that there are men at all
great commercial centers whose only occupation is the dissemination of
unfounded reports, with a view of raising or lowering the prices of
certain commodities in regard to which the rise or fall of a fraction of
a cent may mean the gain or loss of millions. These manufacturers of
fictitious news are said to “wear purple and fine linen and fare
sumptuously every day.” The results of their operations are to be found
in the wrecking of important financial and corporate interests and the
corresponding enrichment of the unprincipled manipulators who employ
them.
Some years ago, there came a mysterious rumor to the New York Stock
Exchange, that the directors of a certain railroad in the Northwest had
decided upon taking a step which could not fail to prove disastrous in
the extreme to the interests of the corporation. No one was able to tell
just where the rumor originated, yet it found sufficient credence to
depress the price of the road’s stock, and to induce free selling. The
next day came the refutation of the story; the stock recovered its tone,
and the clique in whose interest the lie had been sent over the wires
reaped a profit of $60,000. In the slang of Wall Street this was called
“a plum.” It is difficult to see the difference in moral turpitude
between such tactics as these and “steering” for a “brace” faro bank.
An acquaintance of the author, who served with distinction during the
late civil war, on his return home, was employed by a company owning
alleged oil lands in Pennsylvania, to superintend the sinking of wells
within its territory. The salary was liberal and the duties not arduous.
Wells were duly sunk, but no oil discovered, after a time, the gentleman
in question received instructions from the headquarters of the company
in an Eastern city to telegraph, on a certain day, that a well recently
sunk, was yielding a certain large number of barrels per day. This
dispatch was to be followed, a day later, by one of similar tenor,
making a like assertion in reference to another well. The party who gave
these instructions well knew that a certain class of speculators on the
exchanges are in the habit of discounting private information through
the bribery of telegraph employees, and he placed no little reliance
upon this fact for the furtherance of his scheme. The event proved that
he had calculated wisely. The telegrams were duly sent and were read by
other parties before they reached the man to whom they were addressed.
The result was that the company’s stock bounded upward with the celerity
of a rubber-ball, and the projectors of the enterprize unloaded at an
enormous profit. Of course, the purchasers found out that they had been
deceived, but as none of the officers of the corporation had
disseminated the report of the finding of oil, it was impossible to
attach any responsibility to them.
And yet there are not wanting those who affirm, and stoutly maintain,
that without the commercial exchange, business would be brought to a
stand-still, and commerce paralyzed; that Boards of Trade and Produce
and Stock Exchanges are prime factors in advancing the welfare of the
country. And this is said despite the fact that the percentage of
legitimate business done is utterly insignificant in comparison with
that which is purely speculative in its character. The sales of one
agricultural product alone upon the floor of a single mart of this sort
for one month alone have been known to equal the production of the
entire country for a whole year! Is this legitimate commerce, or is it
gambling on the wildest and most extensive scale? Members of various
Boards in the United States who assume to do a strictly legitimate
business, send out circulars through the rural districts, the sole
object of which is to induce the recipients to speculate upon the floor
of ’Change. These communications depict, in glowing terms, the ease and
certainty with which ignorant countrymen may acquire fortunes in a day,
through the purchase of a “put” or a “call,” or a “straddle.” They
purport to explain, fully and clearly, the methods of speculating in
stocks and grain, and represent the system as simple and easily
comprehensible, while the authors know that the system is in itself
complex and the issue a venture—at the very best—uncertain. It is not
pretended that the transaction contemplates an actual transfer of the
commodity from seller to buyer. Is this frank? Is it manly? Is it
honest?
Scarcely a decade has passed since the whole country rung with the
echoes of the “Fund W” scandal. Unquestionably the men who engineered
that gigantic scheme of fraud were not representative members of any
commercial exchange, yet it is equally certain that but for the
facilities afforded for the perpetration of the fraud through the
Exchanges’ methods of doing business, that stupendous swindle would have
been impossible. Yet the infatuated speculators who do business through
legitimate houses, believe that they can trust their own judgment as to
the future of the market! It may be that such folly has its parallel,
but it is not to be found in that of the man who stakes his money on the
issuance of a particular card from a faro box.
Few of those who have never witnessed the daily routine of business on
the floor of an Exchange can conceive the wild uproar, the hubbub, the
confusion, the tumultuous excitement, which there reigns supreme. Let us
take a glance at one of the best known. During the busy hours of the
session the floor of the magnificently proportioned room is crowded.
Scattered about at distances more or less regular, are large marble-
topped tables, about which gather groups of men engaged in quiet, though
sometimes earnest, conversation. These tables contain drawers, in which
members, who pay well for the privilege, keep samples of the commodities
in which they deal. Hurrying to and fro about the room may be seen
brokers and their clerks, carrying in their hands small paper bags,
containing samples of grain which has been consigned by growers or other
shippers, for sale. Similar bags are strewed all over the tables.
Everything indicates activity, and it is evident that important business
is being transacted. The sound of the voices of the traders rising from
the floor to the visitors’ gallery, joined to the clicking of the myriad
of telegraphic instruments, reminds one of the ceaseless hum of bees
around a hive, heard in midsummer, when the nodding clover and bending
buckwheat invite the tireless workers to taste their sweets.
Such is the scene during the early hours, but as the morning advances
the picture changes. In the center of the room are four octagonal
“pits,” formed by short flights of steps which rise from the floor on
the outside and again descend on the inside. In these so-called pits is
carried on the heaviest business of the Exchange. One is devoted to the
sale of wheat, another to corn, and a third to provisions, pork, lard,
etc. Gradually, as the minutes and hours pass, they fill with an eager
crowd of traders, which swells in numbers until the area itself and the
steps leading to it, are literally jammed with an excited throng,
yelling, gesticulating, waving their arms and shaking their fists in
each other’s faces. The hum has risen to a surge, and to the onlooker in
the gallery the scene seems to have been transformed into Bedlam or
pandemonium. On the upper row of steps of one of the pits, men stand
facing each other, forty feet apart. One raises his hand and makes what
appear to be cabalistic signals to the other, who makes some other
equally mysterious signs. Then each produces a card on which he makes an
entry, and the dumb show is duplicated by others. To understand this
pantomime, no less than the significance of these frenzied cries and
frantic gyrations of arms and fingers requires an education of peculiar
character, the education of the habitué of the floor. Each motion of the
hand, each turn of a finger has its significance, representing the
quantity of the particular commodity sold, and the price at which it is
bought. These angry, dissonant voices, proceed from the hoarse throats
of opposing factions, one trying to “bull” and the other to “bear” the
market, and each striving to rival the other in clamor and persistency.
No wonder that the excitement is intense. The entire wheat crop of the
country is being sold before it is harvested, and much of it before it
is planted, and on transactions of such magnitude a variation in price
of even a fraction of a cent, means the gain to one and loss to another
of tens of thousands of dollars. Fortunes are accumulated and sunk in an
hour. One operator sees wealth within his grasp; another perceives
bankruptcy staring him in the face. It is not strange that under such
circumstances the strongest passions in the human breast should struggle
for mastery, and find vent in expressions as wild as they are
exaggerated.
Yet outside this howling, seething, surging crowd, within hailing
distance from the center of all this hubbub (were language audible at a
distance of thirty feet), sits a row of men, some of them in the prime
of life, some of them scarcely past its meridian, others wearing the
silver crown of age. Cool, collected, seemingly dispassionate, they
exchange conversation which appears to be humorous, to judge from the
laughter which it provokes. To the casual observer, they seem to be in
the “madding crowd,” but not of it. Yet one who carefully watches their
movements may see that from time to time signals are exchanged between
some one or other of them and some individual on the steps of the pit.
These men, thus sitting apart, are the great operators, those who make
prices, and whose every movement is watched, as possibly affording a
clue to their intentions. Jealously, however, do they guard their
secrets; impassable are their countenances, and imperturbable their
demeanor. With the seemingly stolid indifference of the veteran
gamester, who sees his last dollar swept from the table by the turn of a
card and gives no sign of regret, these men calmly witness the wiping
out of a fortune by a rise or fall in prices, and manifest not the
slightest indication of emotion.
To the visitor sitting aloft the spectacle is strange, bewildering,
fascinating.
But let us descend to the floor, to enter upon which the stranger must
obtain a card of admission. Here one passes men who have won largely,
but whose countenances betray no symptom of exultation, and others whose
losses have been heavy, yet whose laughing faces and merry jests
indicate no dissatisfaction either with the world or with life. The busy
operators at the telegraph key-board are too much absorbed in their work
to give heed to the Babel of confusion around them. Messenger boys
scurry hither and thither, in anxious quest of men for whom they bear
tidings, perhaps of grave consequence. Suspended from various points
about the room are charts, tables and diagrams, relating to almost every
conceivable subject, the report and forecast of the Signal Service
office; the supply of cereals at every market in the civilized world;
the movement of breadstuffs and provisions at home and abroad; the
cargoes of steam-ships from American, European and East Indian ports;
comparative statements of receipts and shipments; and one thousand and
one other matters, a knowledge of which may be of interest to members.
On the front of one of the long galleries are huge dials, whose index
fingers record the fluctuations of prices in the pit. On days when
speculation runs riot and excitement is more than usually rampant, these
pointers sway to and fro with a rapidity of movement almost bewildering.
But before we have satisfied our curiosity, or sufficiently indulged our
admiration of the completeness of the mechanism of the gigantic machine
whose revolutions we have been contemplating, the striking of the great
gong indicates that the active business for the day in one of the
world’s greatest marts has closed. To one who has regarded the
transactions with the indifference of a chance spectator, this sound
means little more than the tolling of the bell, which in some high tower
marks the hour. But on more than one listening ear upon the floor it
falls like the knell of doom. To many a venturesome speculator who has
unfortunately placed himself upon the wrong side of the market, it is
ominous of a crisis in his affairs which must be promptly met if he is
not to be overtaken by ruin, perhaps by disgrace. He must become a
borrower, or be publicly posted as being unable to meet his contracts.
Perhaps he has already overstrained his credit, and knows that his
commercial paper must go to protest. Who can surmise all the varied
feelings which the sound of that gong awakens in the breasts of not a
few of those who hear it? Yet no sign of emotion is visible in the vast
throng of brokers and their principals as they descend the broad marble
staircase or hurry to the elevators. They laugh, smoke and chat as
though they were returning from a merrymaking, rather than from a
gathering where millions of money had been staked, and where, perchance,
some of them had sold their honor for a mess of pottage.
The charter powers bestowed upon some of these commercial corporations
is enormous, rivalling those conferred upon courts of law. Thus, the
charter of the Chicago Board of Trade contains the following provision:
Section 7, after providing for the appointment of a “Committee of
Reference and Arbitration,” and a “Committee on Appeals,” and fixing
their jurisdiction, further provides that “the acting chairman of either
of said committees, when sitting as arbitrators, may administer oaths to
the parties and witnesses, _and issue subpœnas_ and attachments
_compelling the attendance of witnesses, the same as justices of the
peace_, and in like manner _directed to any constable to execute_.”
[Illustration: OPERATORS EXCITED.]
[Illustration: A “DEAL” BEING SETTLED.]
Section 8 contains provisions of an equally extraordinary character. It
reads as follows: “Whenever any submission shall have been made, in
writing, and a final award shall have been rendered and no appeal taken
within the time fixed by the Rules or By-Laws, then, on filing such
award and submission with the Clerk of the Circuit Court, _an execution
may issue upon such award, as if it were a judgment rendered in the
Circuit Court, and such award shall thenceforth have the force and
effect of such a judgment, and shall be entered upon the judgment docket
of said Court_.”
The granting of such extra-judicial powers upon men who possess no
special aptitude for their exercise is, to say the least, an anomaly in
jurisprudence. That a court so constituted should naturally incline to
the enforcement of agreements which are, in their essence, gambling
contracts, is no more surprising than that juries of unbiased men should
set them aside, or that courts, whose aim is to enforce the spirit as
well as the letter of the law, should non-suit plaintiffs seeking relief
under their provisions. Over and over again have courts and juries
declined to regard a sale, the parties to which did not contemplate a
bona fide delivery in any other light than as a bet or wager, the
collection of which could not be legally enforced. It is a serious
question whether an act clothing a loosely organized—if not self-
constituted—tribunal with the powers of the highest court of original
jurisdiction in a great commonwealth, is not a blot upon the judicial
system of the State which sanctions it.
In what has been said, however, the author intends to draw no invidious
distinction between the commercial exchanges of the country. As a rule,
they occupy the same plane; and in respect of being a blessing or a
curse to the country at large, they must stand or fall together. At the
same time, the Board of Trade of the Western metropolis has seen fit to
take a position which is, to say the least, somewhat anomalous. In the
preamble to its “Rules and By-Laws” it declares that among its objects
are: “to inculcate principles of justice and equity in trade * * * *”
and “to acquire and disseminate valuable commercial and economic
information.”
As regards the “principles of justice and equity in trade” which are
“inculcated” by commercial exchanges generally, nothing more need be
said. Were the transactions on their floors confined to actual sales at
prices influenced only by legitimate means and natural causes, there can
be little doubt that they would prove potent factors in the furtherance
of commerce and advancements of its best interests. It is not in this
aspect that the author is considering them. His reprehension of their
practices is predicated upon the other, and broader, side of their
character, _i. e._, their speculative side. It can scarcely be called an
open question whether it “inculcates principles of justice and equity in
trade” for one man to buy up all the wheat in sight (and out of sight
too, for that matter) and then force an alleged buyer, but an actual
rival whom he has done his best to mislead, to settle with him at a
price exceeding by 100 to 150 per cent. the actual value of the
commodity.
But it is the “object” last mentioned—the “dissemination of valuable
commercial and economic information”—concerning which the exchange in
question has taken such a peculiar position. Originally, the
“information” at its command, whether “valuable” or otherwise, was
“disseminated” with the automatic regularity of clock work. Whether this
dissemination was undertaken for the benefit of the public at large, or
from motives purely selfish is immaterial in this connection, although
the “object” may be, perhaps, inferred from the course of the directors.
It was found that places far less pretentious were being opened and were
doing a thriving business. Within the shadow of the great tower sprang
up an “Open Board,” which attracted speculators who might otherwise have
conducted their operations through the channels opened by the more
august body. Moreover “bucket shops” (the pernicious character of whose
methods will be explained hereafter) multiplied and flourished. The
quotations of the regular exchange were as the “vital air” to the
smaller concerns. “Withdraw our quotations,” said the directors, “and
all competition will come to naught.” A wrangle ensued, followed by
litigation in the courts, resulting in the triumph of the more renowned
body, the “genuine, old, original Jacobs.” In other words, the
“dissemination of valuable commercial and economic information,” came to
an abrupt and untimely end, and one of the “objects” of the
organization, announced to the world with gravity, parade and rhetorical
flourish, failed of accomplishment.
Alas for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun;
And alas, too, for the sincerity and consistency of poor, weak human
nature.
Some years since, the president of this same exchange, in congratulating
the members upon belonging to the ideal institution of the world, went
out of his way to stigmatize all the other exchanges of the country as
“bucket shops,” justifying his assertion by the charge that the latter
depended for quotations upon that over which he presided, a circumstance
which, in his opinion, formed the essential nature of a “bucket shop.”
In other words, if the “valuable commercial and economic information” as
“disseminated” by one body were used by members of another similar
organization, the latter were preying upon the public, setting snares
for the unwary and fleecing the ignorant. It is difficult to conceive of
any loftier height to which egotism could soar. Of what value are the
charts and diagrams to which reference has been made except to
“disseminate” among members of this particular exchange the “valuable
commercial and economic information” gathered by a kindred organization?
Yet the self-stultification went even farther. At the very moment when
the chief executive of this board was indulging in these rhapsodical
flights of rhetoric, a determined effort was being made to open, in
connection with that institution, as a sort of “side-show,” a stock
exchange, where speculation might be carried on for the benefit of
brokers and others, which should be based upon “information disseminated
by the New York Stock Exchange!” Could inconsistency farther go? To use
quotations on grain and provisions is piratical; to take advantage of
quotations on stocks derived from a market one thousand miles away is,
in every sense, proper and legitimate!
This fact is not mentioned in derision of the particular organization in
question, but as an illustration of the absolute selfishness, the
unbridled greed for gain, and the instinctive spirit of gambling which
form the salient features of the average American commercial exchange as
it exists in the present year of grace. For its members, the world is
divided into two classes—the exchange and the rest of mankind, the
latter having been created for the aggrandizement and glorification of
the former. If the dissemination of information result in the enrichment
of the master spirits, and the garnering of a golden harvest of
commissions by brokers, let the good work go forward; if the publication
of private news, however untrustworthy, will, like an _ignis fatuus_,
lead the unsuspecting still further into the morass of blind and
reckless speculation, let the “valuable economic information” be
scattered broadcast upon the four winds of Heaven. But palsied be the
hand which, with unhallowed touch, would desecrate the ark in which is
contained the sacred privilege of the members to monopolize the
fictitious sale of breadstuffs and provisions, to absorb alike the
fortunes of the rich and the earnings of the poor, who like foolish
children, chase the rainbow, in the vain hope that at the foot of the
arch, so gorgeous in its prismatic tints, they may find the fabled pot
of gold.
Yet if the legitimate exchange presents features worthy of condemnation,
what shall be said of those veritable plague spots upon the body
commercial, those festering cancers which eat into the very heart of
social morals—the “bucket shops”?
These institutions are peculiar to American cities. The more phlegmatic
temperament of the denizens of the old world does not lead him into the
vagaries of the citizen of the “great Republic,” where wealth fixes
caste, and gold is too often worshiped in the place of God. In the
United States, more than in any other country, activity, mental as well
as physical, is regarded as the chief end of man. In fact, a rocking
chair under full swing, would be no inappropriate heraldic national
emblem. It is true, as a German paper says of us, that we “chew more
tobacco and burst more steam engines than any other nation on earth.”
With us, life is restless, and we can find recreation only in
excitement. It is this feature of our national character that inclines
us to gaming and to speculation in a far higher degree than any other
people. Could it be eliminated from our nature the “bucket shop,” like
Othello, would find its occupation gone.
Yet the reader, the lines of whose quiet life are cast outside the whirl
and turmoil of a great city, may not understand the signification of the
term. A “bucket shop” is an establishment where those whose inclinations
prompt them to speculate in stocks or produce, but the scantiness of
whose means forbids their operating on an extensive scale, may gratify
their tastes by risking (and losing) the few dollars which they can ill
afford to spare. The epithet “bucket” is a term of derision, having been
originally applied to such an institution to imply that a customer might
buy or sell a “bucketful” of any commodity which he might select.
These concerns differ only in respect of size and appointment. They are
all conducted on one and the same principle. The visitor, on entering,
finds himself within a large room, sometimes handsomely, sometimes
meanly furnished. Rows of chairs are arranged for the convenience of
customers and chance-comers, facing a blackboard. The latter is the
indispensible requisite, the _sine qua non_, without which the
transaction of business would be practically impossible. In these chairs
are seated men of every age and of nearly all grades of social
distinction. Clerks, artisans, merchants and men about town mingle in a
sort of temporary companionship, truly democratic. Beardless youths sit
side by side with men whose heads have grown bald and whose step has
become feeble in a vain chase after a phantom, a chimera, a will-of-the-
wisp, always just within the grasp, yet ever eluding the clutch. Here
may be met the confidential clerk, who sees nothing wrong in following,
at a respectable distance, the example of his employer, who ventures his
thousands upon the floor of ’Change. Here one jostles against the
decrepit old man, once a millionaire, but who having sunk his fortune in
the maelstrom of some great Board of Trade, now passes his waking hours
before these blackboards, reckoning that a red-letter day upon which he
wins five dollars. And here, too, may be encountered the successful
business man, keen of eye, quick of step, alert of perception, who has
been drawn hither partly through a desire for speedy wealth, partly
through an inordinate craving for the excitement which is not to be
found in the legitimate walks of trade. The eyes of all are turned
toward the immense board on which, chalk in hand, some attache of the
establishment momentarily records some change in quotations of stocks or
grain, and which seems to have for them all the fascination of the
candle for the moth.
Far different is the scene here presented from that witnessed on the
floor of the great Exchange. There all was clamor and apparent
confusion; here quiet and decorum reign supreme. The silence is
unbroken, save by the sharp tick of the telegraphic instrument and the
droning monotone of the blackboard marker. Yet there is one point of
resemblance between the habitues of the “bucket shop,” the dealers upon
’Change and the patrons of the gaming hell; one and all, they win
without displaying exultation and lose without manifesting regret. In
the “bucket shops,” however, the attentive observer may sometimes hear
the heavy sigh of dispair from the young man who has been tempted to
risk his employer’s money, as he perceives the last dollar of his margin
swept away by an unlucky turn of prices; or witness a senile smile of
satisfaction momentarily gleam upon the face of the feeble old man who
sees himself about to be provided with the means of keeping soul and
body together for another day. O, wretched picture of sordid greed, of
fallacious hopes, of blank despair! O, sad illustration of the sadder
truth that in the contact for the mastery of the heart of man, the evil
too often outstrips the good!
But let us examine into the business methods of the proprietors of these
resorts where gambling is made easy, and ruin is placed within reach of
the humblest. As an illustration, let us suppose that the customer
wishes to speculate in some stock, say Missouri, Kansas and Texas. The
blackboard shows the fluctuations in quotations as they occur on the New
York Stock Exchange. The margin which he is called upon to advance, is
one dollar per share, and he may limit his transactions to five shares,
if he sees fit. It is a matter of indifference to the proprietor whether
he elects to buy or sell; that obliging individual will accommodate
himself to his wishes, whatever they may be. Suppose that he buys five
shares of the stock in question, at a moment when it is quoted at 16¼.
If it rises to 17¼, he may, if he chooses, close his deal, receiving
back the five dollars which he advanced as margin, together with another
five dollars, the latter representing his profit. If, on the other hand,
it drops to 15¼, he loses his margin. It is easy to see that such a
transaction as this is nothing but a bet, pure and simple.
The illustration given above is drawn from the smallest description of
business done. Yet, as has been said, these dens of iniquity are
patronized by the wealthy merchant, as well as by the poor mechanic and
clerk. It is on the poorer class of customers that the proprietors
depend for their steady income; it is from the wealthier customers that
they obtain sums of money which they denominate “plums.”
The manner in which such traders are fleeced by the unscrupulous
scoundrels who conduct these institutions may be illustrated as follows:
One of them will inform a confiding patron that he has received
information from a source which he regards as trustworthy, that some
inactive stock—perhaps Denver & Rio Grande—then selling at 9, is about
to rise. At his suggestion his customer purchases, let us say, 15,000
shares on a margin of one dollar per share. This done, the proprietor of
the “bucket shop” telegraphs to a broker to “sell 3,000 D. & R.
G.—quick, quick,” in blocks from 8¾ to 8. The broker who receives the
dispatch, either alone or with assistance, offers the stock; the offer
is promptly accepted by another broker, to whom the wily manager has
telegraphed instructions to buy the stock at the price named. The final
quotation, 8, fixes the price, and the sale is promptly reported to the
bucket shop by telegraph. The result is that the too trustful customer’s
$15,000 advanced as margin, is swept into the coffers of the daring
rascal who has perpetrated the fraud, and whose only outlay is the
payment of one-fourth of a cent commission on the fictitious sale and
purchase.
Let us take another illustration, drawn from a suppositious transaction
in wheat. The speculator perceives from the quotations on the blackboard
that some future delivery of wheat opened at 86⅛. Every minute or two
new quotations are shown on the board, the apparent tendency of the
market being upward. He also sees that during the preceding hour the
price has been as high as 86⅝, and as low as 86. When it touches 86
again he concludes to buy, guessing that it is likely to rise.
Accordingly he purchases 1,000 bushels at that price, advancing ten
dollars as a margin. Perhaps the next change is an advance to 86⅛. He
might now sell out without loss, as the ⅛ in his favor amounts to
exactly the commission charged by the shop. The next quotation is, say
86, and the following one 85⅞. If it should continue to fall until 85⅛
is touched, he is said to be “frozen out,” inasmuch as the decline of ⅞
added to the ⅛ brokerage charged by the proprietor, equals the ten
dollars which he has advanced. Perhaps he concludes to “re-margin,” in
which case he will put up ten dollars more. Possibly the market may now
take an upward turn and rise until 86⅛ is again reached. It is now
within his power to close the transaction without loss other than that
involved in the payment of the commissions. Let us suppose that he does
so. It is quite probable that it will now occur to him that the market
is likely again to recede, and he accordingly sells 1,000 bushels at
86⅛, once more advancing ten dollars as a margin. If the price continues
to rise until 87 is reached, our venturesome speculator is again frozen
out, and is ten dollars lighter in pocket.
The above supposed cases are fair illustrations of the average bucket
shop trading. A majority of the patrons of these establishments are
“scalpers,” satisfied if they can win five, ten, or twenty dollars, and
close observers say that fully seven out of ten guess the market wrong.
The shop always makes its regular commission, no matter what may be the
result of the transaction. “Puts,” “calls” and “straddles” are also sold
at these places, although, of course on a far smaller scale than by
members of the regular exchanges.
But bucket shops have other and darker sides. It is by no means uncommon
for a manager so to manipulate quotations as to wipe out speculators
margins at his own pleasure. Thus, if it is for his interest that a
certain stock or commodity should decline, the quotations which he posts
upon his blackboard show a fall, without reference to the actual course
of the market at the regular exchanges.
Another, and favorite, device of the gentry, by which large sums are
often realized, is to “fail.” A considerable amount of money—say $50,000
or $60,000—having been received as margins, and being carried by the
house, a plan is formed by which it may be absorbed by the proprietor
with but little chance of detection. In order to accomplish this he has
resort to the aid of some reputable (?) firm of brokers, who are members
in good standing, of some regular exchange. He arranges with them to
enter in their books, records of fictitious transactions with him of
such a character and to such an amount that he may appear to have lost
the money in speculating, for the benefit of his customers, upon
’Change. The obliging firm of brokers receive, for rendering this
valuable service, the regular commission of one-eighth of one cent per
bushel upon the transactions thus fraudulently entered. It is, in
itself, a striking commentary upon the methods and morals of the average
commercial exchange of the last quarter of the nineteenth century, that
brokers can be found, who, while claiming to be upright, honorable
business men, are willing, for so paltry a consideration to outrage
integrity, and drag honor in the dust.
Apropos of bucket shops, however, it may be cited as a singular
commentary on the sincerity of the _instituted_ condemnation heaped upon
them by the Western exchange which resolved to cease its dissemination
of “valuable commercial and economic information,” that the same
organization has recently adopted a rule reducing the limit of bushels
of grain which may be bought and sold upon the floor to one thousand
bushels. It would be uncharitable to suppose that the institution in
question intended to enter into rivalry with the bucket shops; yet had
that been its intention it could scarcely have devised a scheme better
calculated to bring about such a result. Men, the scantiness of whose
means had forbidden their speculating on the regular exchange, may now
gratify their inclinations upon the “floor” with almost the same ease as
before the huge blackboard in the bucket shop.
Nor should it be forgotten that there is an aspect in which the great
commercial exchanges work more harm to the community at large than do
the less reputable concerns which follow at a respectable distance in
their wake. A sale or purchase of a large “block” of grain or provisions
upon the floor of a regular exchange affects the price of the commodity
in every retail market throughout the country, thus working a direct
injury to the consumer, who finds himself unable to judge, from one day
to another, what will be the cost on the morrow, of the necessaries of
life. A transaction involving precisely the same quantity of the same
commodity in a bucket shop works no such result. It is the “operators,”
whose selfish greed brings about the fluctuations which work such
hardships to the poor.
Such is the commercial exchange of to-day, and such the fungus-like
excrescence which is its off-shoot. Call these practices which have been
here described by what name you will, plain, unvarnished truth stamps
them as gambling on a gigantic scale and in one of its deadliest forms.
And yet the State holds over them the protecting ægis of the law, and
the community at large gives them the moral support of its approving
smile. For the avowed professional gambler there is no place in the
political edifice. In the eye of society he is a pariah; in that of the
law a culprit; in that of the church a moral leper. Yet the heartless
operator who deliberates long and earnestly how he may most speedily and
surely accomplish the ruin of the man for whom he professes the
sincerest friendship; for the selfish speculator who passes toilsome
days and sleepless nights in devising schemes for forcing up the price
of the necessaries of life; for the far-seeing scoundrel who concocts a
cunningly devised scheme for wrecking a railroad in whose stock, it may
be, are invested the funds on which the widow and the orphan depend for
subsistence—for these men, society has no condemnation, the law no
terrors, and the pulpit no denunciation. They build churches and found
colleges; they preside at public gatherings and occupy posts of honor
upon public committees. It is a trite aphorism that “nothing succeeds
like success,” and no more apt illustration of its truth could be given
than the adulation bestowed upon men whose fortunes have been cemented
by the groans of the unfortunate, and the tears of the widow. Of a truth
it is time that society placed the seal of its disapproval upon gambling
openly conducted in marble palaces as emphatically as upon the same vice
carried on behind darkened windows and barred doors. In this, as in
every other great moral reform, much depends upon the attitude and
influence of the clergy, who, as a body, have hitherto kept silent as to
the crying evil spread out before them.
The idea of the inception of the exchange was grand in its scope. Such
organizations have a lofty mission, and it is within their power to
encourage commerce, to promote honesty in trade, and to advance the best
interests of the State. When an enlightened public sentiment shall
compel the elimination from them of those baleful features which have
been here portrayed, when the pure gold of legitimate traffic shall have
been separated from the dross of illegitimate speculation, when the
revival of a healthful moral tone shall have averted the danger which
now menaces us, that through the influence and example of the exchange
we shall become a nation of gamblers, then no longer shall phantoms
haunt the imagination and fallacies pervert the judgment of men; but
there shall rise upon the eye of the world the lineaments of a republic
far transcending the loftiest conceptions of Plato; a republic of which
poets have dreamed and which prophets have foreshadowed; the flowerage
of centuries; the bloom and perfume of a Christian civilization.
[Illustration: BUYERS SAMPLING GRAIN.]
THE CLOCK.
An offshoot of the mania for gambling in stocks—yet one which is
chargeable rather to the bucket shop than to the regular exchange—is
known as the “clock.” Of all the multitudinous devices by which
swindlers deceive dupes, this is, perhaps the most inherently and
transparently absurd. I have fastened its parentage upon the bucket shop
for the reason that it is undoubtedly the offspring of the fertile brain
of some proprietor of one of these establishments, where rascals grow
rich on the gullibility of fools.
The “clock” is a gambling device which can be likened to nothing so
aptly as to a “brace” faro box. Both contain cards; in both these, cards
are arranged according to the will of the manipulator; in both, the
proprietor, or dealer, or other person operating the implement, can
determine with tolerable accuracy, whether it is wisest to permit the
victim to win or lose.
Yet there are minor points of difference. In the faro box the cards are
drawn out through a slit; in the clock they are exposed to view by
pulling a string which allows them to fall at the operator’s will. At
faro, ordinary playing cards are used; in the case of the clock the
cards employed contain the names of stocks—sometimes actual and
sometimes fictitious—together with figures which purport to represent
values of the stocks named, but which, as a matter of fact, sustain no
more intimate relations to actual market quotations than would a map of
China to the topography of the moon. The reader who will peruse the
description given below will, if he has already had the patience to
familiarize himself with the explanation of frauds at faro, recognize
the fairness of the comparison above drawn.
The gambling “clock” consists of two parts: a contrivance in which the
cards are kept and from which they are dropped, and a sort of dial in
which they are exhibited to the interested gaze of the players. Its
mechanism appears to be a triumph of the simplicity of invention. The
operator sits either directly in front or at some convenient point where
he may see the inscriptions on the cards as they fall. From time to time
he pulls a string; the card exposed disappears from sight and is
replaced by another.
The method of “speculating” (or, as it might more properly be called,
betting) is as follows: The player notes the course of some
stock—perhaps one called “Jem Dandy”—observing its “rise” or “fall,” as
shown by the figures on the cards, and possibly keeping a record of its
ostensible “fluctuations,” very much as a faro player records the
issuance of cards from the dealing box. Perhaps one of them concludes
that some particular “stock” having fallen, as shown by the cards during
three or four consecutive exposures, he imagines that the chances are in
favor of the next card of the same stock showing an “advance.”
Accordingly, he concludes to back his judgment with his money. He does
not bet directly, as a faro gamester, for instance, might place a stack
of chips upon a queen. He “purchases” a certain number of “shares” of
the “stock” in question, advancing the amount which he is willing to
risk as a “margin,” precisely as he would were he buying stocks or grain
in a bucket shop. His fate is sealed by the appearance of the next card
inscribed with the same suit. If “Jem Dandy,” or whatever other stock he
may have bought, “goes up” he wins; if it “falls” he loses.
The reader will have no difficulty in perceiving that, as has been
intimated, the pretended “sale” was in reality no sale at all, the
entire transaction being a wager, pure and simple, on the turn of a
particular card. Nor is it difficult to comprehend that a professional
gambler can manipulate pre-arranged cards by pulling a string as easily
as by using his thumb and forefinger.
The rooms where the “clock” is used are not infrequently infested by
confidence men of a peculiar sort. The verdant visitor who appears to be
a “soft mark” is often approached by men who tell him that their “wives”
are clairvoyants, or trance mediums, who can predict with infallible
accuracy, the order in which these cards will leave the receptacle on
the ensuing day. For a small consideration—_e. g._, five dollars—they
will impart to him information through the possession of which he may
certainly win hundreds, if not thousands. These persons, however, never
explain why they should prefer to sacrifice, for such a paltry sum, the
knowledge which would enable themselves to accumulate fortunes with a
celerity which would cast completely into the shade the rapid
mathematical computations of the “lightning calculator.”
It occasionally happens, however, that the proprietor of one of these
“clocks” comes to grief through the wiles of a more adroit scoundrel
than himself. Within a comparatively short period a manipulator of a
machine of this kind in a great western metropolis found his attention
diverted from his “clock,” with its attached string, by the progress of
a fight in one corner of his room. There appeared to be no doubt as to
the genuineness of the combatants’ hostility, the blows were heavy and
blood flowed freely. The available force of the place was called into
requisition to separate the combatants and restore order. Peace having
once more settled down upon the establishment and the brawlers having
been ejected, business was resumed. A quiet-looking gentleman, who had
recently entered, became deeply interested in the market for “Jem
Dandy;” he bought and sold with apparent recklessness, yet—_mirabile
dictu_—he invariably won. He bet largely and won enormously. In
consequence the proprietor concluded to abjure “speculation” for the
day. In other words, he posted a placard to the effect that holders of
contracts might cash their winnings at once, but that the house proposed
to suspend further business until the next morning.
Of course the fight was what gamblers term a “stall,” _i. e._, a trick
by which another gang of sharpers might have an opportunity of resorting
to the same tactics employed by professionals who travel about the
country “snaking” cards. In other words, and plainer English, the
“fight,” however seemingly earnest, was in reality a sham. Five sharpers
were confederated in the perpetration of the scheme. Three of them
engaged in the scrimmage, one of them took advantage of the melee to
“ring in a cold deck,” and the other, handsomely dressed and
imperturbable of demeanor, quietly saw his confederates “pound” one
another, and then quietly bet upon the descent of the cards from a pre-
arranged pack which had been substituted in the receptacle for those
placed there by the proprietor’s employes.
I hardly know how I could more fittingly close my exposition of gambling
than by a description such as that given above. Nothing could more aptly
illustrate the remorseless tactics of the professional scoundrel;
nothing could better show the gullibility of the dupe; nothing could
better exemplify the hollowness of the adage that there is “honor among
thieves.”
O, young men of the only republic which has demonstrated its past
vitality by the average virtue of its citizens; O, parents, to whose
tender care has been committed a charge which God Himself has
denominated a sacred trust; O, law-makers, to whose wisdom is entrusted
the framing of statutes for the repression of vice and the propagation
and perpetuation of public morals—listen to the voice of a penitent who
has sounded the utmost depths of degradation. The enlightenment of the
intellect, the awakening of the conscience, the conversion of the
will—these are the agencies which Divine Providence may employ to avert
from the American people the wrath of Him who has said that the casting
of the lot is in the hands of the Lord.
“OLD HUTCH.”
[Illustration]
No description of the Chicago Board of Trade would be complete which
failed to bring out, in bold relief, the figure of the daring speculator
whose mysterious movements have long proved an enigma to his fellow
members, the sphinx of the chamber, the “king of the wheat pit,” Mr.
Benjamin Peters Hutchinson, better known to his friends and to the
country at large as “Old Hutch.” The accompanying cut is a good likeness
of this remarkable man. Born in New England, he emigrated to the West
while a mere youth, and has “grown up” with Chicago. Endowed by nature
with indomitable pluck and marvelous energy, he has carved out his own
success. He is beyond question the largest operator on the floor of
’Change in the city of his choice, and his ventures are as bold as they
are gigantic. In a business enterprise he fears no foe, as he recognizes
no friend, and his tall, spare form looms up as a tower of granite in
the midst of the turbulent waves of speculation which surge around him.
CHAPTER III.
NATURE AND EFFECTS OF GAMING.
Gambling holds a high place among the vices of society. It proposes to
the young that they secure money without earning it honestly. It thus
asks thousands of persons to disregard the noble pursuits and to become
gamblers. True manhood is made by the following of an honorable
industry. If we contrast Watt, who made the engine, with some gambler,
the difference at once appears between the noble callings and the games
of chance. The lawyer, the physician, the mechanic, the inventor, the
writer can show a reason of existence. With the gambler this is
impossible. He has no reason for being in life.
The first evil of gambling is this intellectual loss, incurred by being
turned away from all those honorable pursuits which create mental power.
Astronomy helped make Newton, art made Angelo, the law helped make Burke
and Webster, traffic made Peabody and Peter Cooper, the press made
Greeley and Raymond, but gambling will take the best mind the age can
produce and degrade it to the level of the brain of a trickster or a
thief. There is nothing in gambling except a kind of sneaking hope of a
shameful success. It is a contest in which victory is as shameful as
defeat.
The professional gambler does not glory in his calling. He does not call
a convention for the purpose of conferring with the scientific men of
the age; nor does he demand a corner in the world’s “fairs” that he may
exhibit his implements and methods. His occupation asks concealment, and
thus makes the features of the face carry at last the strange evidences
of the hidden art.
The many fashionable people who play cards for a little money extract
from the game a little amusement, but a certain per centum of those who
thus begin so modestly move on to a financial and mental ruin. The taste
for games of chance grows as days pass, and the one who played a little
passes on until he plays much. Soon the heart, mind and face are those
of the gambler.
The gambling room is based upon fraud. The philosophy is simply that of
craft against innocence. It is a well known fact that a large part of
the human race is simple-minded. These can be preyed upon by those who
have made craft a study. Many persons are weak and innocent enough to be
caught in a trap. The professional gambler belongs to a form of humanity
which will spend life in betraying persons younger and less suspicious
than itself. A large part of the human race possesses innocence enough
to enable them to be betrayed. The gambler thus makes his fortune by
wrecking the trust men have in each other. He picks the pockets of the
simple of heart.
The game of the professional gambler is not one of chance. They cannot
afford to use a fair game of chance, because nature would be against
them half the time and loss and gain would be equal. All those games
played on the railway and in the “den” are the gambler’s own games. They
are doctored so as to fall, like loaded dice, in his favor. For the
young man to play with a gambler is to be beaten. Fairness is a virtue
for which the gambler has no use. If he loved fairness he would work at
some trade or turn farmer. Luck may help a man for a day, but it will go
over to the other man to-morrow, for it is no respecter of persons. The
only help that will stand by a gambler all the year through is fraud.
It is difficult to measure this vice, but it is so great as to merit
from all civilized States immediate destruction. Like the opium habit,
it must be checked by law. When the police will not enforce an existing
law, they cease to be police, because the word “police” implies the care
of a city, the study of its welfare. It is a bad condition of wool-
growing when wolves are employed to guard sheep.
[Illustration: David Swing]
[Illustration: David Swing]
[Illustration: M^cIntyre]
CHAPTER IV.
ARRAIGNMENT OF GAMBLING IN ITS MORAL ASPECTS.
“Did you ever see the autograph of the President?” said Warden B., of
the I. State Penitentiary. He had been a member of my congregation for
years, and at his request I had visited the prison to preach to the
convicts. The wagon which brought me from the station carried the mail
bag, and, while looking over his letters, he held up a large official
envelope with the above question.
“No,” I answered, taking my eyes from the intelligent convict who sat in
striped clothing writing at a desk, and whose shaven and shame-flushed
face was persistently turned from me. “I would like to see his
signature, as my vote helped to put him in the White House.”
“There it is,” said the warden, handing me the document, which I soon
discovered to be a pardon for a certain youth, who had served three
years of a six years sentence for theft from the Post Office Department.
“Why is this pardon given, warden?” “Well,” said he, “this young man is
of good family, and has dependent on him a widowed mother, a wife and
child. He became the dupe of gamblers who fleeced him, and then the
Devil, I reckon, suggested that he might recoup his loss by stealing
from the Government, and in an evil hour he fell, was detected,
convicted, and with other United States men sent here. I remember the
day he came; how heart-broken he stood in the corridor till the sheriff
gave me the papers, unloosed his shackles, and turned the gang over to
me. They were coupled in irons on the cars, and John was paired with a
hardened felon who had done time before, as had most of the lot. They
glanced defiantly around at the officers with a braggart insolence as
the iron gates clanged on them, but he paled and trembled, tears
silently flowing down his face to the stone floor. I followed to the
bath-house, where they are washed, shaved, cropped and dressed in
stripes. At the registry, when asked his age, name, etc., with great
effort he managed to answer, but when asked his father’s name, a vision
of the dead seemed to rise before him. Overwhelmed with shame he tried
thrice with choking utterance to tell the name, and then faltered it
with such a moan of agony that even the clerk, used to such scenes, felt
his hand tremble as he wrote it down. You know our rules require the
reading of all letters before they reach the prisoners. The chaplain, at
my request, read those sent to him. We found such woe, such evidence of
his former honor, such testimony to his previous good character, that
friends became interested in him. I helped them, thinking it a case for
Executive clemency. The President, who is a merciful man, looked into
the case, pondered it a month, and sends this pardon.”
“Now,” I said when the sad story was ended, “warden, I want to ask a
favor. Let me present this pardon to him in person. I understand that it
makes him free from this hour; I wish to study the human face in the
moment when the revelation that he is free dawns on his mind. May I do
this?”
“Certainly,” was the answer, and striking a silver bell, a “trusty”
appeared. He said, “Tom, bring John R. to my office at once.”
While waiting, I said, “Does he expect a pardon?”
“No,” was the answer, “he knows nothing of the efforts to set him free.
It will be a total surprise to him.”
In a few moments the trusty returned with the man he was sent to summon.
The jail garb did not wholly hide his handsome form, nor the cropped
hair entirely vulgarize the intellectual countenance which fell as he
saw strangers looking at him. He seemed to wonder why he was ordered up
before the warden; there was shame, sorrow, helplessness in his face as
I rose, with the paper in my hand and walked toward him.
“John,” said the warden, “this gentleman has a few words to say to you.”
The convict braced himself for the interview, and I said, “Your name is
John R., I believe.” “Yes,” he replied steadily.
“I have here,” I went on, “a paper addressed to you, signed by the
President of the United States. It is a pardon. You are a free man,
John.”
The look of assumed courage in his eyes changed to one of infinite
pathos, then softened piteously as his soul swooned with joy that was
almost too much. I saw him sway as if to fall, but caught him, and
leaning on my shoulder, he said, “Free! free! O God, is it true? When
can I go home?” “This very moment,” said I. He looked wistfully out the
great door where the sentry stood, and asked, “Can I go out there now.”
“Yes,” I said, “come, I will go with you,” and arm in arm we walked down
the great stone stair, passed the guards into the street and across to a
fence beyond. He stopped a pace or two away, looked at the emerald
hills, the river flowing by, the children passing, the firmament above,
and as the happy tears drenched his face, said: “O, sir, I am the
happiest man alive. When does the train start East?” “At three,” I said,
“I will see you safely started.”
“Wont my wife and baby Jess be glad to-morrow, and mother, how she will
smile; I am eager to be off.” I took him in and soon saw him fitted with
the civilian’s clothes and provided with the railway ticket to his
destination, and with the $10 the State gives every released convict.
How proudly he walked by my side to the station, and as the bell
clanged, he held my hand and said, “You talk to hundreds of young men.
Sir, tell them this, tell it with burning eloquence, tell it with
pleading tears, beware of gaming, shun gamblers as lepers. Cards are
accursed of God, and pass-ports to perdition. Will you tell them this?”
And as the train moved off I said, “I will.”
To this end I write a chapter in this book, that by earnest warning or
brotherly appeal, I may help to pluck young men out of the hands of this
giant enemy of our race, and perhaps halt some who are already hurrying
down this highway to dishonor. Standing here at the very gates of these
polluted temples, where many have been cruelly “done to death,” I raise
the cry “beware of gaming. It dishonors God, degrades man, wrecks honor,
ruins business, destroys homes, breaks wifely hearts, steals babes’
bread, brings mothers sorrowing to the grave, and at last, with reckless
bravado, launches the sinful soul into the path of God’s descending
wrath, to be overwhelmed forever.”
The only argument offered by gamblers is that their business keeps money
in circulation. It does, indeed, transferring it from the pocket of the
fool to that of the knave, and thence to the pockets of the harlot or
rum-seller, but there is no gain in this transaction. Better the money
had remained where it was, or been put to other uses.
Young men will read these words who know not one card from another; who
have no personal knowledge of lotteries, raffles, dice or betting. Yours
is blissful ignorance, honorable innocence.
How I love the youth who can say, when cards are brought out for play in
a private house, “I do not know one card from another. I have no desire
to learn their use.” Young heart of oak, give me thy hand. Some will
sneer, I charge you to keep your honor bright.
Though people of good character persuade and gloss this evil, stand firm
as the hills. Should professing Christians (God pity them) make of the
painted paste-boards a social snare, be the company never so charming,
the stakes never so trifling, beware. Once you play the first game, you
are on the slant; the descent is smooth and swift, and the end is
terrible.
You will hear sophistries about the difference between playing and
gambling, and the harmlessness of cards and other Devil’s toggery.
Playing is the egg out of which the cockatrice is hatched. Handle it
not.
Climbing a slippery pass in the Alps, one comes to a narrow icy path
with a great rock on the one hand, and a deep gorge on the other. It is
called by the guides the “Hell Place,” and you are asked to creep
cautiously there, a slip is destruction. The green cloth of the gaming
table is the moral hell place to many souls; to this, sorrowing
relatives, weeping wives, heart-broken mothers can point and say, “There
my boy slipped, there my husband fell, lost property, position, honor,
all.” At the foot of this slant is the prisoner’s cell, the maniac’s
cage, the suicide’s grave; at the top the smiling decoy, shod with adder
skin, or the smooth tongued gamester, waiting to lure men to the fatal
hazard.
Some will read these words who are already acquainted with the
beginnings of this honeyed vice. They have shuffled the satanic pack,
booked the bet, and perhaps pinched themselves in purse to pay the lost
wager, or have now in pocket the coins won at gambling. Take these coins
out and look at them; they are unclean, polluted.
Once, when the plague ravished an English village, the wretched people
resorted to the bank of the stream near by, to get bread left there for
them. They tossed the coins for payment into the brook where they were
found hours afterwards by those who sold the food. They thought the
water had cleansed the pestilent contagion from the coins. Perhaps it
had, but no brook, river or sea hath tide medicinal enough to cleanse
the curse from money won at gaming. It is cankered. It is blood-stained
and tear-rusted. It will curse him that wins and him that loses.
My friend, you are yet only a novice in this black art. Let me, by all
rational appeal, abjure you to abstain. It is the father of falsehood,
forgery and fraud, and the covetous human heart is the mother of this
ill-gotten brood.
Can you specify _one_ instance where the gains of gambling have brought
comfort or contentment? What would your father think, your employer say,
if they knew that you were a gamester, spending your evenings where
these human swine whet their tusks? Who sinks so low in the mire of
infamy as the man who is kicked out of business or society with the
millstone of gambling hung to his neck? Bitter is the ban and black is
the brand put on the wretch whose hardened forehead is set against the
hissing of that word “gambler.”
Who are the associates a man finds at races and the card table? Are they
not the Pariahs, social lepers whose touch is pollution? Would a man
take his sisters or his children among these white-fanged wolves; are
they not nameless at the hearth, unknown where high-toned and virtuous
people meet? Think of the vile talk, the impure jest, the unclean
associations. You cannot stoop to this. What can money buy, though you
won every wager, that will repay you for the loss of wifely love,
childhood’s trust, the father’s proud faith in his boy.
Consider the malign vicissitudes of this sport, see the ruined,
forsaken, nerveless gambler, wrecked and wretched at last; abandoned to
the gibes of men, and the anger of God; crawling into a lazaretto to
die. Mother, with dimpled hands upheld to you at evening, and fair head
pillowed on your bosom, think not, “My bonnie boy is safe.” This fiend
spares none. He will seek this braw lad to destroy him. With devilish
cunning he will even persuade you to aid in your son’s downfall; to
teach him in the social game, to use the leprous papers of the pit, on
which is inscribed the voiceless litany of woe.
Hell’s utmost anguish surely has no deeper depth than that of the mother
who sees her son a degraded, sodden gamester, and remembers that she
taught him to handle the implements of his ruin. If a mother can front
the judgment and say, “I never countenanced the evil, I bitterly opposed
it always, to the utmost of my power,” she may feel when her dear son is
lost, the most unspeakable regret, but she escapes the remorse which
eats the heart of her who unwittingly fostered the serpent which
compassed her child’s destruction. Let us ring our children round with
circles of flame across which none of these man hawks can come. Let us
make home the happiest place on earth. With mirth, laughter, music,
books, friends; a safe refuge, a snug harbor, a shadow of a great rock,
and a citadel for defence of our dear ones from this pitiless foe.
Let me sketch the career of an upright, kindly village youth who longs
for a wider field of action. He has mastered the elements of business as
practiced in the rural community; he desires to try his talents in the
busy world, and chooses a mighty city as the field of his endeavor. A
roaring center of commercial activity; its streets a throbbing ganglion
of business nerves; its mart the engorged plexus of traffic, where the
best and the worst have habitation.
As I see this young fellow, with face like an open book, standing for
the first time in the city’s streets, I am reminded of a scene I once
witnessed in the country. I stood on the edge of a wood looking across a
beautiful meadow. It was a perfect day in June, and all the world seemed
at peace. Crickets were chirping in the grass, the yellow-hammer was
tapping on a tree above, the cattle were grazing brisket-deep in the
lush grass, the birds were singing as if to breathe were music. All
nature looked lovely. Far away across the brook, on a dead tree, I
noticed a number of buzzards, waiting for the sight of something on
which they might gorge their unclean appetites.
I think of this as I watch him alone on the city’s street at evening,
gazing into a window where the light falls on diamonds, opals, rubies;
amid the din of the city, near the theaters and saloons, where music
throbs, lamps flare, cabs rattle, and through these noises comes a voice
in modulated semi-tones from one standing at his side, who asks: “Did
you hear of the big winning last night.” “No, sir, where was it?” “Up
the street, at old Brad’s place, No. 197. A fellow won $6,000 in two
hours. I am going up to try my luck. Come along, just for the fun of the
thing.” He goes. The front of the house is dark; a red light burns over
the stairway door—danger signal over a bottomless abyss. He is void of
understanding; a private key, pass word, or patron of the game is needed
to secure entrance. The panel of the door slips aside, a whisper, then a
reply. The door opens, upstairs they go. Men seated and standing
scarcely look up—wheels click—dice rattle—cards shuffle—glasses
clink—sooty servants glide with trays, and bottles—cheap stucco statuary
appear through the smoke—muttered curses tell of losses. He is led to
the faro table, where a mastiff-faced man deals cards, and after he has
sipped a little liquor, which is freely offered, he tells his guide that
he has never played. He is informed that a man always wins his first
bet—fortune favors first play. Men put chips in his hands, saying, “Play
this bet for me.” “But I don’t know the cards,” he replies. “Put the bet
down on any card, it will surely win.” Down it goes—it wins—and as they
rake in the gains, he thinks, “I might have won a month’s salary in a
moment.” Lightly as snowflakes fall the cards; deft the touch; swift the
shuffle. It seems so simple. He carries money saved from a father’s
toil, a sister’s earnings offered to help him secure his stock of goods
to start business. Mother has helped him, saying, “David will help me
when I need his help. I will have a strong son to lean on when my old
feet dip down falteringly to the cold river of death.”
As he hesitates there on the porch of Perdition, he is about to bid
farewell to peace, farewell to prospects of success, farewell to the
promise of his young manhood, farewell to the prayers of his parents.
Pray, mother! with clasped hands kneeling at this very hour under the
pictures in your boy’s room. Pray, “God be gracious to my boy. Gird him
round with mercy.” Sing, sister, sing! Sitting alone where the moon-
light falls on thy fingers as they wander over the keys, sing soft and
low the very hymn you sang at parting, “God be with you till we meet
again.” Sing! maiden, till the tears falling fast tell the fears
uprising in thy heart.
Look, old father, down the road where the peaceful world lies
transfigured in the mellow beams of the moon; down the road where he
went away so cheery, brave, tender, looking backwards from the coach
with many a wave of the hand and fond goodbye. Listen, father to the
whip-poor-will in the copse answering the katydid in the hedge, frogs
shrilling from the swamp, an owl hooting from the woods; the air grows
cold, a chilling sense of discomfort shakes thy frame.
Ah, if thou couldst see thy son now, thy hope, thy pride—among knaves.
He stakes his means—he wins—he has doubled his fund. Good, good—his face
glows, his pulses are rhythmic to the music of success. Excited,
confident, reckless, he loses—doubles his loss—forgets all prudence,
unrolls the savings of years on the little farm—mother’s needle,
father’s plow, sister’s music lessons, earned that hoard. He piles it on
the board with burning eyes set on the cards, watches them coming one by
one. Oh, unpicturable horror! Money, honor, parental hopes—all earthly
and eternal weal staked on that hazard. The Sphinx-faced scoundrel slips
the card—the young man hears the word “Lost!”—sees the sharpers laugh as
the dealer draws in his all. The room swims before his sight; madness
seizes him as the sneering taunt, “Another sucker done up,” smites him
like a lash across the face.
Frenzied, he clears the table at a bound, his brown fingers close around
the white throat of the lean-faced hellion who has robbed him. Like a
tiger uncaged he hurls him to the floor, and fronts the crowd of
desperadoes with blazing face. In vain are all his struggles; many leap
on him, he is beaten, kicked, hustled down stairs, where, hatless and
bruised, he madly pounds the heavy door till his hand is a mass of
bleeding pain. All in vain. He turns helplessly at last to the street,
and through the gray light of dawn finds his room. For hours he hangs on
misery’s brink; haggard remorse sits opposite and suggests suicide.
Swift as a homing dove his thoughts fly to the farm.
He sees his father in the furrow, his mother in the doorway, her face as
radiant as the morning. She gathers a few honeysuckles for his empty
room, to her it is a sanctuary now, and he liked them so, and ’twill
seem as though he was coming home soon.
An organ beneath his room strikes up an air heavy with old memories; the
tune of “The Old Folks at Home,” quavers through his window. With a
shuddering cry—“A gambler! a gambler! Oh, God, be merciful; let me die,”
he falls by the bedside and burning tears are vain to staunch the hurt
in his heart.
He is now in a whirlpool; return seems impossible. You have seen an
apple tree in May, rosy in pink and white blossoms, murmurous with bees,
glad with birds and glorious with sunshine. In one night the frost kills
the bloom; next day the tree hangs with damp, blighted blossoms and
blackened buds, an unlovely spectacle.
Few escape the bitter end who begin a gamester’s career.
Next we find him in snuggeries, curtained from basement bar-rooms,
studying the cards at midnight, robbing unwary verdants. Conscience is
seared as with a hot iron. His heart is flint. He strives with drink to
banish thoughts of home, heaven and God; grows morose, cunning,
merciless; works a little, hurries again to the feverish excitement of
the game, herds with greasy disreputables in foul dens, amid the reek of
pipes and hideous blasphemy. Soiled, ill-kempt, rag-clad, he nears the
bottom of the slant. One night, crazed with vile rum, he mingles in a
fight with fellow outcasts; blood is shed; the alarm brings the
clattering patrol wagon, and through the red of early dawn he rides to a
cell in murderer’s row. Convicted, condemned, he goes to prison for
life—years pass—his sorrowing parents think him dead. He _is_ dead. He
died that night when he climbed the stairs to “Old Brad’s den.”
His post is to open and close a gate in the prison yard. Seven years in
stripes, taciturn, sullen, he stands there. His soul starves, his heart
stagnates, his face becomes stupidly half-human, despair feeds on his
mind.
One day two visiting gentlemen see him, they recognize him and speak,
holding out a hand which he will not take, trying to stir hope within
him. They talk to him of freedom and home. He makes no sign of pleasure;
hopeless vacuity rests on his imbruted face. He stares at his gate,
shuts it, and says, “Seven years dead, seven years dead.” There he
stands, and will stand, till carried to the little graveyard of the
prison, touching at last the lowest level of the slant on which the
gambler stands.
I charge you with a jealous affection, born of an unfeigned brotherhood,
and based on many years study of the effects of this vice. Beware of the
beginning of gambling. Have no commerce with the monster iniquity.
First of all, because it _dethrones God_. Seek its victims in the ranks
of bankrupt merchants, in the cells of criminals, in the cellars of
shame, or garrets of poverty; talk with them, or with those who have
suffered through them, and you will find that the sad sequence of misery
began with this heinous affront to God, viz: a practical denial of His
very existence and a setting up in His place a blind deity called
Chance, before whom they bowed, and on whose favor they risked their
all. Even if in their darkened minds the votaries of gaming allow God to
exist, they deny His government of the affairs of men. They flee away
from all works that can win the help of Jehovah, and ask only the help
of fortune. This is heathenry of the worst sort. The farmer plows,
plants, cultivates, and hopes that the God of nature will help him by
sending sun, rain and dew, that together they may produce the harvest.
The sailor, by the march of the constellations and the veracity of the
magnetic needle which God offers for his guidance, comes at last to
port. The mason builds his wall by the laws of God, and his plumb line
and level bear eloquent witness that he wishes to base his work on the
certain laws which steadfastly bind the worlds together. These men,
however much they ignore God in their speech, keep faith with Him in
their work, knowing full well that they can only succeed in any task by
keeping in line with His laws. Thus they have yoked the elements to the
car of progress. The gambler, however, mocks at God’s laws and
insolently banishes Him. He asks no help from fixed laws ordained by the
Father to bless his children; he scorns the co-operation of Nature, sets
up a fetish called Fortune, and grovelling, courts its smiles. I know of
no form of paganism more base than this, and it is not surprising that
in the worship of this block-eyed god, the most obscene rites and
debasing superstitions are practiced. Dreams, charms, spells,
incantations, black art, even the help of the powers of darkness have
been used in wooing his favor. The most frightful depths of moral and
mental depravity are touched in this shameful business. The negro who
sells stolen articles to buy lottery tickets has some gruesome
cabalistic secret which he fondly hopes will bring the favor of fortune;
the lady who cons the dream-book in her room to learn which number to
buy, and fancies her night vision of a gallows tree or a burning Bible
will bring propitious fate, are alike far from reason and from God.
Frogs, spiders, beetles, graveyard grass, rabbits killed in burial
places, pieces cut from a shroud or slivers from a coffin will insure
winnings. Some put the ticket in the cold hand of a corpse, and the
lowest level of blasphemous sacrilege is touched when the bread of the
sacrament is carried secretly home to be used as a sort of magic aid to
conjure the desired gain. Can anything more awful be conceived by the
human mind—nay, could the most malignant devil desire a more direct
insult to God than this? First the Creator is asked to abdicate His
throne to this monstrous usurper, then the sacred symbols of His Son’s
sacrificial death are offered to propitiate the unclean and unholy thing
set up in His place. This is the iniquity of Balshazar’s feast repeated
in our time. The sacred vessels of His holy worship are employed in the
service of sensual lust or abandoned carnality. What shall be the
outcome of all this depravity? If these souls seeking the brief success
of the gamester deliberately turn away from God and practice harlotry
with the princes of hell, wantoning with the powers of the pit in
unblushing shame, who will paint their last estate when his vengeance
finds them out?
The traveller in Egypt who explores with Arab guides the dismal mummy
pits by the Nile finds some startling experiences in these caverns of
the dead. More fearsome than the dark labyrinths where the bodies lie
wrapped in linen and smeared with ghastly hideousness, more terrible
than the gloomy grottos where cadavorous mortality swathed in silence
waits the resurrection trump, is that grisly cave where the bats, the
unclean birds, make their home. Into this the hardiest guides dare not
go. The uncanny creatures invade it in myriads, and with their
fluttering, furry vans, would quench the light and drive out the bravest
intruder. If one desires a sight of these birds, he stands in the
sunlight at noon close to the rocky ledge which walls the gardens of the
Pharoahs. A shiek, musket in hand, steps a few paces into the vault. His
gun is fired directly into the Plutonian chamber with a roar as if an
earthquake was shaking the knees of the eternal hills. Then a dark
torrent of winged things, with a sound as of a mighty wind, sweeps out
into the light, fluttering the sweet air into horror with leathern
wings. They fly about in circles and dart back, pained and dazzled by
the light, into their obscene home. Some in blindness, eager to escape
the sun, dash themselves against the rocky lintel and posts of the
entrance, and fall broken and mangled at your feet, as tremblingly you
shrink from the bruised clots fluttering in dying spasms about you.
Such shall be the condition of these poor blinded souls who choose
darkness rather than day, leaving the light of the smile of heaven to
dwell in the gloomy precincts where the gamester’s deity sits in grim
mockery and receives the worship of his clans. Suddenly, with a mighty
shout, shall their leaden souls be wakened to their shame. The shining
Angel, with one sandal on the heaving earth, and the other in the
swelling sea, shall cry in trumpet tones that split the silence of
earthly crypts and sea deep caves, “Awake, ye dead, and come to
judgment!” Then, impelled by a resistless force, shall all souls sweep
into the bright light of the great white throne.
Some who have looked at the cross on that lone Syrian hill, shall see
one beloved seated thereon, and shall sing for very joy as they press
nearer for his greeting. Others who come from the confines of Godless
unbelief will be dazzled into blindness by the glory of his presence.
Then shall they call upon the rocks to fall upon them, and say to the
hills, “Hide us from the face of the Lamb.” Frenzied, they will essay to
flee back into their former holes, dashing their souls, bruised and
ruined, against the adamantine front of God’s eternal laws, and drop
shrieking into Perdition, where the Prince of gamesters, catching them
to himself, will say, “Souls are stakes. The game is done. All these I
have won.”
Not only does gambling dethrone God, but it _degrades man_. In this evil
work it is the most certain and effectual of all vices. It commonly
works in iniquitous league with other sins, but alone it eats out
honesty, affection and virtue from the heart, and leaves it as empty as
a dead man’s hand.
When this vice has had free course through the moral nature for a few
years, the man is a mere shell, a human husk, within all is punk and
hollowness.
The law by which the force of gravitation acts is not more resistless or
irrevocable than this law of gaming. Other vices give their devotees
intervals of rest, intermissions growing briefer until the last stages
bring woe upon the heels of woe to drive the victim to his doom. The
gambling demon, once admitted to the mind, never leaves. He haunts his
slaves every waking hour, and flits on filthy wings athwart his dreams,
spectre-like he walks at his side, keeping pace for pace with his prey.
The swift result of his influence is complete moral atrophy.
Ask yourself this question: Where is the dearest spot to man in all the
wide creation’s bound? Search all the stars that God has spilled like
jewels through the blue abyss. Roam from bloom to bloom of that tree
once enrapt in primeval night, which, at his word, burst into blossoms
of worlds like this. Yea, visit heaven itself, explore the city which
has foundations whose builder and maker is God; the city of the jewelled
walls and gates of pearl. Stand where the healing trees trail their
branches in the crystal river of life; or walk amidst the asphodel and
amaranth that deck the fadeless green of the Paradise of the Saints, and
you will not find one spot so dear, so precious to our race, as that
Judean hill whereon hangs one whose holy hands were nailed for our
salvation on the cross. There, where wondering heaven bends to look
pityingly on the exalted one, where dumb nature strives with darkened
skies to hide the shame, where man, mad with rage, curses the Christ,
and woman, bowed with sorrow, bewails her lord. There, on that most
sacred spot in all the universe, in the holiest hour ever marked on the
dial of time, when heaven, earth and hell are quick with interest, who
is it sits unmoved, unobservant, unstirred, concerned only with the
game? Ruthless gamblers sit beneath the lowering skies, and on the
palsied earth they shake the dice to win the garments of the man of
sorrows.
This infamy was needed to make Christ’s death as ignominious as a demon
could desire. Only Apollyon could suggest the shameful scene on which
the dying eyes of the Son of man rested, as the crowning demonism of it
all. A group of gamblers bending over the few robes which were all his
possessions. O, Satan, that was a monster stroke to embitter his last
hour! No other being but a gambler could have put a fit climax to that
day’s iniquity.
As I think on the merciless nature of the abandoned gamester, I am
reminded of the story told of a petrified forest in Idaho. “Yes,” said
the yarn spinner, “you can see trees standing there petrified, bushes
and vines, leaves and buds and all, petrified, and there stands a hunter
with his gun up. He has just shot a hawk in the air, and the hawk hangs
dead in the air, petrified.” “O, that’s too much,” remarked a bystander,
“the law of gravitation would bring the hawk down.” “Not at all,” said
the other, “the law of gravitation is petrified too.”
In the gambler’s nature all natural feelings seem petrified. He never
relents or pities. His drink is fen-water, his meat is adder’s flesh.
Innocent men are the victims of his callous covetousness. Women and
children are deprived of the money needed for the comforts and even the
necessities of life. Trust funds and moneys belonging to others swell
his ill-gotten gains, and as revealed in the pathetic history of the
author of this volume, he is such a thrall to sin that a father’s
pleading, a mother’s prayers, even that best blessing which God can give
a man, a true, chaste woman’s wifely love, are forgotten to follow this
evil passion that rages like a fire in his bosom. He is like a strong
swimmer enmeshed in treacherous seaweeds which seem so easily broken,
but cling to hands and feet more strongly than chains, and at last wrap
him in death as he goes with a despairing cry down to lie in the ooze at
the bottom.
If all who have been ruined in temporal and eternal things by it could
rise and walk in sad procession through the land, the spectacle would
appal the stoutest heart. If all the names of the men undone by this art
could be written on the cards used to-day in gaming, every one would be
signed across with the blood-red autograph of a doomed soul.
The fountains of Monaco seem to drip tears, and in the odorous shrubbery
the wind sighs like the echo of the last cry of the bond slave led
captive from its sinks of sin. Were it not for the stupifying spell
gambling throws on all its thralls, the licentious associations and
scrofulous surroundings of the play might stir the soul to escape from
its condemnation. Fathers have wept over lost sons; tender children over
disgraced fathers, downcast sisters have beseechingly invoked vengeance
on a brother’s destroyers, and wives with little ones clinging to their
skirts have implored with tearful eloquence the gamester to break the
bonds that held him. All in vain. He mingles with the moral refuse of
the land, plunges deeper in degradation, becomes an inmate in these
habitations of cruelty, and with all the pith and marrow of mankind
sucked out, with blood poisoned and bone rotted, he consorts with
drunken sailors, filthy women and skulking vagrants, playing with
unsteady hand for the few coins he can gather, till death with the besom
of a nameless disease sweeps his foul carcass into the pauper’s grave.
Of all men, he seems to me the most spectral and bloodless, the most
effectually blighted and paralyzed. How the virtuous person shrinks from
one who is pointed out as a gambler. If you wish to see what nature
thinks of this vice, look into his face. Women of fair fame shun him.
Children avoid him on the street, and men pass him with averted faces.
Burns, in his strange poem of “Tam O’Shanter,” tells how the tipsy hero
peers into “Alloways auld haunted kirk,” and watches the witches’
unearthly dance, taking note of what lay upon the holy table. Surely
’tis a chilling catalogue as he writes it:
“A murderer’s bones in gibbet irons,
Two span-long wee unchristened bairns
A garter which a babe had strangled,
A knife a father’s throat had mangled
Whose own son had him of life bereft,
The gray hair yet stuck to the heft.”
Now fancy another son of this murdered father using this bloody knife as
a plaything. Such the cards used in gaming seem to me—hideously stained
with the blood of loved ones, and I would as soon think of rattling the
handles of my baby’s coffin for music, as shuffling the cards for
pleasure. I can appreciate the feeling of that man who was one of a
shipload of passengers wrecked on the Atlantic coast some five years
ago. In the bitter freezing night they clung to the rigging, and when
about to let go and die, one put his hand in his pocket and took out the
cards they had been playing with and tossed them into the angry sea,
saying, “Boys, I don’t want to go into the presence of God with a deck
of cards in my pocket.” More than one “happy couple” have I married only
to see the wife deserted that the husband might throw their all into the
whirlpool of chance. More than one little home have I seen engulfed in
this maelstrom. Many a servant cheats his master, many an employe robs
his employer; many a wife abstracts part of her husband’s earnings, thus
breeding domestic strife, to cast it all into the coffers of the lottery
or the policy shop.
I personally know a man once bright, respected and promising, who takes
some of the money his wife earns teaching music, to play faro. Not long
ago a man supposed to have a competence died. His heirs found his estate
had been squandered, nothing was left save several hundred lottery
tickets, which told the story of his folly and his children’s beggary.
What merchant wants a gambler for a clerk? What boss wants a gambler for
a workman? What foreman wants a gambler for an apprentice? What family
wants a gambler for a doctor? What firm wants a gambler for a salesman?
What railway wants a gambler for a conductor? What boy would wish to
learn so disgraceful a trade? At the time that I was apprenticed to the
bricklaying trade, I knew a lad who began to herd with gamesters. He
learned that trade, I learned mine. He earned money; so did I. I was
proud of mine, and now I hold up my hands and say, “If my voice should
fail, I have an honest trade in my fingers by which I can win my bread.”
I take my little ones in this very city to the walls where I worked. I
show them the courses of brick their father laid, and proudly tell the
story of my toil. Can this other man do likewise? Can he hold up his
hands before men and say, “I have an honest trade in my fingers”? Can he
take his children and show them his work, and tell them with glad face
the story of his apprenticeship? No, no; his face crimsons when his
trade is mentioned, and though he spent more years at it than I did at
mine, he is ashamed of his work to-day.
Young men, learn an honest trade which tends toward manliness. Be
content with simple life and frugal means until you can rise honorably
to luxuries. Acquire no money by sinful methods. Do not begin gaming as
a relaxation, for it will soon become a business. Avoid pool-rooms,
race-courses, faro banks, cockfights, policy shops, lotteries, raffles,
betting of every form. All such things are perilous. Where one grows
rich, one hundred grow poor, and the one who wins is poorest of all. No
man is as pitiably poor as the man who has money won by gambling. This
form of evil doing will tempt you everywhere, on rail train and
steamboat, in hotels, clubs and barber shops; in the loft of the barn,
or the carpeted parlor. On the race-track and fair grounds, week days
and Sundays, day and night, winter and summer, at home or abroad, in
public and private, it will meet you. The suave snob, the seedy
scoundrel, will inveigle you, try to win your confidence, borrow or
lend, lead or drive; coax or threaten, sometimes with words smooth as
butter, then with words that smite like hail. Stand fast, my son. “When
sinners entice thee, consent thou not.” Money unearned is blessingless.
God’s law is this: If man gets anything from nature he must give labor.
If he gets anything from his neighbor he must give a fair equivalent.
Only money gotten in this way can bring a blessing.
What does the gambler give his victim in return for his money? Nothing.
One of these gold pieces would make the weary wife smile, but the
impassive harpy with the cold face and the fire of Gehenna in his heart
cuts and deals, shuffles and sorts, then takes all, giving no return but
a sneer.
If you think to beat him at his own game, you will know your folly when
over your head the waves of misery have met. His motto is: “There is a
fool born every minute.” His place is called a “Hell,” and the name fits
it like a kid glove. His victim is called a “lamb,” he is led to be
fleeced, and driven forth to shiver. The thorough-bred gambler suckled
snow for mother’s milk, and all the blood in his frozen heart could be
carried in a bottomless cup. There is consolation for other woes, but
for losses in gambling there is none. No man will pity you. None will
sympathize with you, the very best you can hope for is that they will
not laugh as they pass you by.
Do you say that you must have excitement, something to break the dull
monotony of existence? Well, if you wish to break the monotony of food,
you need not take arsenic, nor break the monotony of drink by prussic
acid. Guard yourself just here; the love of excitement ruins thousands.
The jaded mind needs a fillip. One tries the play; the death scene in
the fourth act excites him. Another tries rum or brandy, another the
impure novel; another opium or morphine; another travels to far lands;
another lechery; another gambling, and the last is the worst of all.
There are wholesome excitements which never enslave and have no bad
reaction; which develop, broaden and brace the whole being, but keep
clear of gamblers, they are a pack of scullions, experts at thievery,
masterhands at cheating. Gyved diabolists who would rape your soul of
all that makes life blessed.
I stood in this city beside the coffin of a lovely babe; sweeter child
the sunshine never kissed. The mother sat dissolved in tears, with a
bright boy holding to her gown. Women tried to comfort her; then I
tried. I spoke of the little spirit safe in the arms of Jesus, but
lifting her streaming eyes, she said sadly, “It is not the baby’s death,
sir, I can endure that. I would not have her back in this cold world. It
is my husband’s absence. Oh, that he did not come at this hour to help
me.” I questioned the neighbors in the room, and they said, “Her husband
is a gambler, does not come home for weeks. She sent him word of the
child’s death, but he came not.” Standing there by that lily bud broken
from the stem, I thought, “How can a man be so heartless as to stain the
forehead of his child with such a wrong” Heartless? A gambler carries a
cinder where the heart should be.
A wife, almost demented with grief, about to be cast out of her house
for unpaid rent, went to the mousing scamps who had filched her
husband’s money for years, and in broken accents asked for help. With
ribaldry, the underlings scoffed her out of their room, while the
metallic faced dealer sat with the veto of silence on his mouth, till
she staggered to the street _mad_, and is to-day a maniac.
An old father receives a letter telling of his son’s downfall, and his
aged form falls prone upon the floor of the village post office where he
reads the letter. When gentle hands restored him to consciousness he
opened his eyes, and when they said, “We thought you were dead.” “Would
God I had died,” he replied. “Life is naught to me now.” For years
afterward that old man, with mind dethroned, went about the village,
writing in the snow or the sand, on the walls and fences, the name of
his lost son.
I would like to open the seven vials of the wrath of the Most High and
spill them on this nefarious industry. Every day the press tells of some
official, treasurer, agent or partner who has fallen or fled, a ruined
man, and uncounted thousands suffer their shame unknown.
It is on record that one lottery drawing in London was followed by the
suicide of fifty persons who held blank tickets. What rapacious
miscreants they must be who ply this trade of spoilation.
As I study the character of this obdurate and unprincipled human wolf, I
see only one trait that is worthy of praise; the zeal and strategy
displayed in his gross rascality.
As I contrast this with the apathy of many of the virtuous men who seek
to lead the people in ways of rectitude, I recall the reply of the
Scottish fisherman to the listless angler who caught nothing, while the
old hand was steadily filling the creel. “What is the difference,
Sandy?” asked the dawdler, “between your fishing and mine?” “Dinna ye
ken the difference, mon? You are fishin’ for fun and I’m fishin’ for
fish.” Would that we who work in the laudable employment of saving and
reforming men, were as busy and as full of resources as these
reprehensible foes of society!
Perhaps the young man who reads these words will ask, “How can I keep my
mind from defilement and escape the lure of these soul destroyers?”
There is only one sure way, and then there is one not so sure. By the
simple moral integrity of your soul and a happy bias of natural
temperament you may stand firm amid all temptations and come through
unscathed. Some have been able to come forth conquerors with these
weapons, but many have failed.
The better way, the surer way, is to make a friend and associate early
in life of Him who is mighty to save; to cling close to Him with
tremorless trust, and take from Him such blameless pleasures as shall
make this and all other vicious indulgences seem mean. Remember the
mythical story of the sirens who decoyed men to death. When the wise
Ulysses had to sail hard by the enchanted isle, he bound the sailors
fast to the mast with knotted ropes, and when the ravishing strains of
their music floated over the waves they could only tug at their cords,
they could not go to their death. The sweet singer Orpheus had to steer
his boat over the same dangerous course, but he tied no man. He left
them bodily free to leap into the sea and swim to their destruction, but
he bound their souls with chords of such heavenly harmonies struck from
his lute, that they sailed heedless under the lee of the fateful island,
steeped in such ecstacy of melody that they heard not one note of the
siren’s song.
It is well to bind the passions and lusts with strong vows and good
resolutions. It is best of all to have the soul bound by the heaven-born
spell which fills the whole being with delight. This bliss ineffable
makes earthly and carnal joys seem contemptible, and drowns every evil
desire in the great cry from the heart’s depths:
“Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.”
The third count in this black indictment is that gaming not only
dethrones God and degrades man, but destroys the most blessed of all
human institutions, the home.
Gamblers flock together as naturally as lean-necked vultures; they hunt
in packs like coyotes, and intermingle like a knot of clammy vipers that
crawl in the dank gloom of a sunless canyon. They have no share in the
sweet sanctities of the fireside, and desire vehemently to be elsewhere.
Even when the gamester sits at his own table, or embraces his own
children, his heart is in another place. Physical contact is not
intimacy. He may kiss the wife of his bosom and be as far from her as
the east is from the west. Judas kissed Christ, yet at that moment one
was in heaven and the other in hell. He hurries away to boon companions,
and to the familiar scenes his soul covets. In vain the little ones
beseech him to abide at home, in vain the wife entreats him to continue
at work, in vain the mother asks the comfort of his presence, the help
of his strong arm. He hopes to make a great winning some day, to buy a
fine house for his family, then to make amends, turn over a new leaf,
and soberly take up the duties of manhood. Some lucky hazard, some
windfall, wager or lot will lift him to the level of his dreams.
Meanwhile he sinks deeper, debauches himself more and more, till home
becomes a hateful place; he deserts his family, or in self-defense is
forbidden to cross the sill of the house he has desecrated.
I have gone on missions of comfort to the homes of the drunkard, the
bankrupt, the convict, the dying, but never have I seen on woman’s face
such unutterable grief and pitiable misery as in the home of the
gambler. A cyclone cannot level, nor a fire consume a home so surely as
gambling. The infatuated bondman to this vice will let the fire go out
on the hearth where his helpless brood crouches in the cold. He will let
them ask mother in the lampless twilight with tear-stained faces, why
papa does not come. How can the wife tell the weans, what delays his
steps?
Was ever woman’s love insulted as he insults it? If some pure passion
for art or high scientific research detained him, she would smile, and
explain it to the little ones. If profound books or merciful work of
benevolence kept him late; if some grave problem of social welfare held
him from her arms for awhile, she could bide the time, but the indignity
put on her is this, that a loving, virtuous wife with all womanly charms
and gentle ministries, waits unheeded while he consorts with
disreputable dicers, and the clinging kisses of sweet-lipped babes are
forgotten that he may enjoy the company of a lot of heartless card
mongers hanging on the frayed edges of society.
When a man will toss away the priceless jewel of wifely love to clutch a
bubble like this, turn from a warm, throbbing, palpitant, gentle help-
meet to herd with jackals, he puts a shameful affront on her, one that
he will have to answer for at the bar of God.
The deluded man is chasing a phantom and hoping to find a happiness that
ever eludes him. He could find happiness at home in domestic helpfulness
and fatherly endearments. He is like the Scandinavian lover who coveted
a kiss from his sweetheart, and said, “I wish I could, some day, find
the lost whistle of the Fairy Queen. She has promised to grant one wish
to the man who finds it.” “Well,” said the maiden, “if you did find it,
what would your wish be?” “It would be this,” said the timid youth,
“that I might have one kiss from your red lips.”
“Then the maiden laughed out in her innocent glee,
What a fool of yourself, with that whistle you’d make,
For only consider how silly ’twould be
To sit there and whistle for what you might take.”
The autobiography of the author of this book shows plainly that he had
true happiness within his reach. He had wealth, talents, friends, good
personal presence, and best of all, a beautiful and gracious wife who
truly loved him. Here are all the elements of happiness, yet he went
longing for something else, blind to the joys he might have had.
If I should ever write a book on “How to be miserable,” (though married)
I would put down as the first condition, let the husband take to
gambling. It will assuredly overturn the home, and without a home, man
can have but little bliss in this world.
On the terraced lawn of one of the great English schools there are these
Latin words, cut in the turf, visible from afar, “Dulce Domum”—“Sweet
Home.” There they tell this sad story: A cruel head master, who had in
those days almost unlimited power, kept a bright boy, a widow’s only
son, at the school during the long summer vacation as punishment for
some shortcoming. The lad saw all the others go away to their homes, saw
the gates fastened, and he was forced to remain with his keepers. He
knew his mother waited his coming; he asked the master with tears, the
other boys all joining in the petition, that he might go home. “No, no,”
was the stern reply, “you must remain.” No one was permitted to visit
from the outside during vacation, and all the weary weeks the lad walked
alone on the lawn or wept beneath the trees. His feet wore in the grass
the rude outlines of the words “Sweet Home” as he paced in sorrow all
the summer days. When school opened, the boy was dying of a broken
heart, the mother was allowed to enter, she saw but the pale wreck of
her noble son, sinking into death. He knew her not, but as she bent
above his white face, she heard the words “Sweet Home, Sweet Home.” He
was going home indeed, and no heartless master could hinder him now.
When all was over, the boys marched with spades to the lawn and cut the
letters he had traced with his feet, and they abide there to this day,
eloquently telling of the love the human heart has for home. This refuge
and strong tower, gaming would utterly destroy.
Beginning with the specious plea of amusement, the player soon finds the
game grows tasteless as an egg without salt unless there is a stake—at
first a small stake, a few dimes or a dollar. Then comes the race track,
the raffle, the lottery. Life’s duties seem dull, hilarious comradeship
cheers him on, the perverted mind loathes clean food.
Sunday is the chosen day for this transgression. If the man works at all
he slights his job, longs for a rainy day or break-down in the machinery
to let him off; quarrels with his overseer, hastens to the card table to
sit till late at night; looks on the foxiest tricksters around him with
deference, thinks it a fine thing to be called a “sport,” smells of
tobacco and brandy, is put by society in moral quarantine, barred out of
desirable and helpful company, grows more reckless and with all his
honor raveled to dirty shreds, becomes a hanger on, a roper, steerer, or
double-faced decoy to lure others to the sacrifice.
These are the usual gradations. Now, he is an Ishmael, with only two
motives of action, hatred of society, and fierce lust for gain. These
burn in his breast till the suicide’s draught, or the crack of some
outraged victim’s pistol puts an end to the man who could date his
downfall to the day he took up cards for amusement.
He who might have been the head of a happy household goes down to death,
his highest hopes being that he may be permitted to creep back
“To the vile dust from which he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored and unsung.”
His brother gamesters buy a wreath of flowers for his cheap coffin, and
the blossoms wither as the baleful breath of these men falls on them
when they file by for a farewell look. Poor lilies, you are out of
place. A bunch of nightshade twisted with thorns were fitter for that
casket. The preacher tries hard to say something consolatory, gives it
up and dismisses the group, his soul sick within him as he thinks on the
outcast’s doom and the fate of his fellows, already hurrying away to
their den for another game. Such is the end of a sinful life wasted in
gambling and associate vices.
What has become of the woman he married? He took her from a loving home,
out of the shelter of a mother’s love. Well do we remember the night of
the wedding feast. There are weddings as sad as funerals. This was one.
We saw the traces of dissipation on him then. We, who were older and
wiser, trembled for her. She was so young, so beauteous, so full of
love’s content. They stood there radiant beneath the bridal arch, while
a sister’s fingers woke from the piano the wedding march. The eager
witnesses looked on, the elders moist eyed and prayerful, the younger
folks with quickened pulses studied her face. Nothing of fear was there;
only affection, truth and purity. Solemnly the responses were given—just
a tremor in her low-spoken but firm “I will.” Then the wedding circlet
on her finger gleamed, the binding words, “Till death do us part.” The
burst of gratulation, hands outheld, kisses, laughter, smiles and tears,
some quiet talk, friendly admonition, and “good night.”
Away to the great city, where he is tempted in the store, tempted on the
street, tempted in the park, tempted on every hand. Now, he is away all
night. She with her child, suffers on in silence; only her babe and her
God see her nightly tears. Poverty’s bread is bitter, and love spurned
makes the heart bleed. From cosy home to narrow flat, from flat to
noisome tenement, from tenement to damp cellar, driven, forsaken at
last, two rooms over an alley stable her only shelter. See her come home
from her fruitless endeavor to find him in his haunts, chilled, weak,
fainting, she comes to the stable door. With a burst of anguish beyond
control she lifts her babe, lays the child in an empty manger, falls
upon the straw kneeling and with lifted hands, her wan face white as a
winter moon, implores her God to help her utter need. “Come to me,
Lord,” she cries, “I am desolate, forsaken, ready to perish: only a
stable for a dwelling, Lord. Only a manger wherein to lay my babe. Thou,
O Christ, knowest my distress. Thy mother in a stable clasped thee, and
Thou, like my helpless little one, wert laid here. Let me reach Thee,
let my failing hands find Thy garment’s hem. Thou art good, O God, good
beyond all telling. Have I not suffered? See how weak, helpless,
deserted I am! Help me, I cry!”
To this, and far worse than this, come those whom this fell plague has
bereft of the strong staff and support of home.
Look on another picture of the home where gambling and kindred evils
have never entered. This couple started with little and have had a full
share of adversity, but hand in hand, with steady effort, unflagging,
unflinching, they have climbed to midlife, to business success, to easy
circumstances, to honor, respect, influence, and troops of friends.
’Tis a winter evening; the wind howls in the lonely streets and bites to
the bone. Belated people steady themselves in the gale, hurrying
homeward. Within this home a glowing fire, with tropic heat and rosy
light, paves a plaza of gold across the parlor floor. An astral lamp
sheds soft brilliance on the heaped books and on the pictured walls. A
lad romps in the firelight, another cons a magazine, a maid of twelve
plays while her elder sister sings. The father, looking into the fire,
ponders on the past. A chord of music wakes him from his reverie; they
are singing “The Palace of the King;” he glances at the wife and says
softly, “Alice, sit here a while.” Together they sit and talk of God’s
goodness and love till the room broadens into the very vestibule of
heaven, and they, through the door ajar, can almost look into the palace
of the King. For fifteen years, true to the vows made to each other,
true to the vows made to God, they have kept clear of vice and walked
humbly, and as the happy wife leads in prayer amid the household, round
the family altar, she thanks God that these agencies of the great hater
of the soul have no power over Him who is the head of her happy
household.
The fourth and last charge I bring against gambling is as heavy as any
yet stated, and is the direct and final result of the other three.
_It damns the victim’s soul._
Can the transient delights of a few years of idleness and sensual
gratification atone for an eternity of banishment from hope and heaven?
Will the poor pleasures of the voluptuary, the theater and wine cup, the
fast pace, the boughten smiles of wantons, the flashing pin, the showy
clothes, the jingling fob, the curled mustache, and the whole empty
round which the successful gamester treads, solace him for the loss of
his immortal soul? Will the fleeting hours spent with unscrupulous men,
adepts in trickery and confidence games, touts and tipsters, skilled in
marked cards, bogus boxes, wheels of (mis)fortune and loaded dice,
adroit in fascinating the unwary with hollow smiles and lying speeches,
like honey mingled in the hemlock’s poisoned draught—will these repay
the willing serf of Satan for a life wasted and a soul passed into hell?
Surely not all the pleasures of this high domed, blossoming world heaped
in the balance can outweigh the loss of heaven.
Is there anything in fallacious hopes, unstable judgment, despairing
ventures or desperate ruin, attended by parental grief, rejected love,
and never dying remorse, to make men seek the blandishments of iniquity?
Let not this seducer of youth corrupt your morals, pull down your
fortune and cloud your future by his false promises. Let the downward
career of others prove effectual warning. Rouse not this ungovernable
lust for gain by hazard in your breast. Let the lottery, faro bank, pool
room, race course, all such places be as pest houses to you, unless you
are prepared to brave God’s intolerable scorn.
Remember that the man who, through any device of chance or knavery,
takes money without giving anything in return, belongs in the class with
the swindler and the thief. Remember that on the track of this evil
follow defalcations, embezzlements, breaches of trust, false entries,
forgeries, misappropriation of trust funds and crimes innumerable.
Rebuke its insidious flattery with stern face, and do not tamper with
the lightest fringe of it.
What palpable political offence is perpetrated on common morality, and
what a tension is put up on the minds of the toiling poor, when such
corporations as the Louisiana lottery are licensed by the state to
torture the people with glittering visions of wealth easily obtainable,
and thus induce them to undergo more grinding poverty that every
possible pittance may be laid on the altar of this fat idol to be swept
into the wallets of the managers.
The burglar and pirate are respectable citizens compared to these
vampires. Even the bookmaker, who controls not only the horse, but the
jockey on whose skill you fondly hope to get a fair chance to win, is
honorable by comparison. I had despaired of finding a match for the
lottery shark, until I saw the man who would juggle with corn and wheat,
cornering the necessities of life, using the increase on the price of
the poor man’s loaf to line his pocket, and by combination of capital
and shrewd manipulations of contingencies, making the sewing woman’s oil
a little dearer that he might pile his own full board, and indulge in
more luxurious or wasteful excess.
I fear these men are nursing a Carracas earthquake under the social
system of this fair land.
Let every man to whom my words come, touch not the unclean thing, for,
“Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,
That to be hated needs but to be seen.
But seen too oft, familiar with his face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”
This embrace means death for two worlds. Not even the strongest can get
free once the shackles are locked on the limbs.
See Manoah’s boy, the brown babe who played beneath the mulberry trees
of Judea while his parents reaped the barley and the durrha. Favorite of
Jehovah, he grew in stature and strength, till he was the dread of
Israel’s foes. When proud Philistia lifted its insolent mouth with
curses to God, no angel legion hung pendulous like a white avalanche of
wrath above them. No militant host from the blue sky burst to avenge the
affront. God summoned this youth, whose neck was like a stag’s for
brawn, and o’er whose massive shoulders swept the black terror of his
hair, and bade him smite them. How they fled like sheep before him. How
he rent the tawny lion jaw from jaw in mid air, as it leaped on the
lover faring down to Timnath. Yet, this hero was led decked to the
slaughter, blinded and undone by wicked associates; haltered like a
beast, he trudged the weary round in the prison house of his foes,
because he had not the wisdom to shun evil company.
As I meditate on the ruin of the fine young fellows who come up every
year to this city and to all cities, knowing that these words will be
tossed by the press into hundreds of quiet rural communities, I am
resolved now to put my best energies and most earnest entreaties into
this last appeal to young men. You are thinking of coming up to the
city. You are set on this purpose; you will not be gainsayed or denied.
I do not wish to hinder you if you come, seeking a broader field of
usefulness and better opportunities for true success. If you come for
pleasure, for mere money getting, or seeking entertainment of the baser
sort, stay! We have too many now of that kind. Better your native hills
encircled you, and all your days were spent where you were born, than
come to the city on such an errand. But if you come to do rightly, live
honestly, act manfully and fear God, all will be well. There is need of
such men everywhere.
When you are ready to bid farewell to the old place, when you have taken
a last look at the old bridge and the stream, the orchard and the lower
meadow, when you have seen the swallows in the dusk of the old barn, the
bucket in the old well, the pin in the old gate post and the bee hive in
the old garden for the last time, when you have plucked a cluster of
bloom from the honey locust and a few sweet pinks from the side of the
path, and have kissed your sisters and cheered your father with the
promise, “I will be home for Christmas,” while the stage is coming up
the hill and your best boy friend holds your satchel at the roadside,
dear boy, turn for a moment, climb up the stairs where mother is—you
know the room, the room which is the holy of holies in any house,
“Mother’s room”—kneel with her by the bed, and let that last tender
prayer sink like a plummet into the crystal depths of your unpolluted
soul. Take the little Bible she gave you out of your pocket, and ask her
to write upon the fly leaf the single word that Duncan Matheson, the
evangelist, wanted engraved upon his tombstone—the one word, “Kept.”
Now, with the chrism of that trusting mother’s kiss upon your forehead,
come on, you are ready for battle—of such stuff are freedom’s young
apostles made. The kings of commerce are always looking for well favored
and spotless young men.
On the cars coming here you may meet the gambler. He will enter into
conversation with you, he is well-informed and companionable. His genial
manner and friendly style will impress you; by and by he will invite you
into the smoking car to take a hand in a game of cards. Resent the
implied indignity. Tell him you would rather get out and ride in a
cattle car the balance of the way than mix fraternally with his breed.
He will not withstand the fire in your eye, and the scorn in your
speech. He will skulk off with a low oath, half hissed between his
teeth. He will, however, have a higher opinion of the intelligence of
the young man he mistook for a greenhorn, and you will be on better
terms with yourself, and feel no accusing pangs of self-reproach from
your conscience.
You will meet him or his mate afterwards on the street, in depots,
restaurants, lobbies and offices. He will be affable and solicitous.
Never exchange civilities with him, let your indignation burn at his
approach, use the scourge of righteous wrath on him, and he will flee
from your presence.
You will soon learn that while the gambler works hand in glove with
every evil doer, his favorite co-worker and sharer in his unholy
earnings is the scarlet woman. It would be safe to say that one-third of
all the lost women of our cities are affiliated with men who live by
schemes of chance and by the knavery which accompanies such trades. And
thus, hand in hand, the sharper and the soiled dove, the sediment of
society, the dregs of moral abomination, go down the broad road
together. Keep far from this pair.
“Do good, my friend, and let who will be clever,
Do noble things, not dream them all day long.
And so make life and death and that vast forever,
One grand sweet song.”
Think not that there are no high-toned and godly young men in these
great cities. Here are many of heroic mould, born and bred in the din of
the town. They have kept their hands as stainless, their speech as pure,
their hearts as gentle, as any reared in the quiet hamlets of the
country. They are men of mettle, grounded in good principles,
established and fixed, not fluctuating and unreliable.
A wise writer says when a young man has learned that he can be depended
on, he is already of some account in the world. These young men have
learned that. They have many pleasures and choice delights, but they
reject the gamblers’ villainous bribes and flee his contaminating
society, well aware, by the testimony of many unimpeachable witnesses,
that his primrose path, which seemed so pleasant to the eye, ends in a
labyrinth of remorse, whence the reprobate can no more return to
fellowship with men.
There is in some parts of the West a periodical disease called the ague.
It passes through phases of chills, sweats, nausea, discoloration and
fever. When the fever seems to be grilling the sufferer, he sometimes
has a slight delirium and vividly imagines that he is two persons—two
separate and distinct personalities of the Jekyll and Hyde type—one is a
kindly, courteous, clean man, ready to help anyone, quick to befriend
and forward all who need his aid. The other is a cringing, envious,
scowling loafer. The sick man sees these two sitting, one on each side
of the bed, and each of them is he. A strange delusion, is it not? Yet,
not so visionary as you might suppose. It is strictly scriptural and
squares with experience.
The evil nature and the good are present in every man. His breast is the
arena of a gladitorial combat between these two. St. Paul says, “I keep
my body under.” That is, he held his carnal nature down under the feet
of his spiritual nature.
In this fight the devil squires the evil, low-browed, lustful half of
you. It is possible with help from on high, to beat these allies. St.
John says, “I write unto you, young men, because you are strong, and
have overcome the wicked one.”
What young men did then they can do to-day—master Satan and control the
lower part of their natures, letting the higher and better part
predominate, thus securely laying hold on eternal life.
The so-called pleasure of a life of sin is but a cup of cordial offered
a condemned man on the way to execution; a feast of Damocles with the
naked sword, thread-hung above the head; a dipping the hand in
Belshazzar’s dainty dish, while the Divine finger writes the soul’s woe
upon the wall.
In all this article I have been like one who anchors buoys above sunken
rocks in the channel where many have gone down. I have been hanging red
lamps above the slime pits of the city’s streets.
As the Alpine dwellers set a cross on the brink of a torrent or the
verge of an abyss, to mark the spot where men have met death, so I have
tried to lift up the symbol of salvation and keep the wayfarer from
destruction.
If a man loses one fortune, he may accumulate another; if he lose a
hand, he has another; if an eye, he can still make his way, but if his
soul is lost, all is lost.
How can a sane man risk this soul and gamble with Belial, knowing the
total renunciation of all joy that must follow its loss—to trudge
forever the vassal of the slave of slaves through a sunless, starless
eternity.
A spot is shown at Niagara where a child was dashed to death. A father,
intending to give his child a slight fright, lifted her over the flood.
A paroxysm of fear twisted the little one in his hands. She
slipped—fell, her death shriek filling him with anguish as the seething
flood swept the babe from his sight forever. Fool! fool! you say. Right;
he was a fool, but what accusation will be brought against the man who
stands at last, abashed and guilty, charged with flinging his soul into
insatiable hell. Even when the gambler’s soul is saved, much that makes
this life good is lost forever. The author of this volume has to drink
this cup of bitterness to the dregs. His wicked life made a false charge
seem plausible. A crime was fathered on him of which he was innocent. No
virtues rose to plead trumpet tongued in his behalf; he had been a
wrong-doer from early youth, so he was made to suffer. O, if he could
live life over; the door is shut. O, if he could go among men, where
talents and present longings fit him to go; the door is shut. O, if the
one fair babe who once climbed to his knee could but smile up to him now
and bruise his name to sweetness on his baby lips in the fashion of the
old times. If that white hand could lay its benediction on his brow,
with the silk soft touch of long ago. Alas, the door is shut. If that
wife, so dear to him through all the dishonored years, could be
restored, could walk with him hand in hand through the evening shadows
across the home-leading fields where their babe waits their coming at
the gate. O, that it could be. How immeasurable the loss entailed by him
who is taken in the gamblers’ toils.
Perchance, these words may come under the eye of one whose brow bears
already the stigma of this craft.
Brother, there must be hidden somewhere in your heart a remnant of your
early purity. Drop the implements of your calling; let my hand slip into
yours; come apart where we can sit and talk together. Pardon me if I
press the question home to your conscience. What is to be the outcome of
all this? Shake off the palsy of years, I pray you, and essay an answer.
I wait to hear your own verdict on your case. You cannot always be blind
to the havoc you are making; you cannot always be deaf to the piteous
cries that go up to heaven’s chancery from women and children, kenneled
in extreme want by reason of your profession. You blandly ask me Cain’s
question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Listen to Tennyson’s answer, adapted to your sneering philosophy, that
each must look out for himself:
“Mark thou the bound, define it well,
For fear that this philosophy
May push beyond the mark and be
Procuress to the lords of hell.”
Of all arts there is but one more hated of men than yours, that of the
procuress, who flings shrinking innocence into the arms of lust. You may
only mean to strip away from man his temporal possessions. This is
atrocious. But, my friend, do you not see that the secondary result is
to put the souls of men and women into the grip of the demon, whose
unsated lust ever asks for more? Above the brand of gambler must be
stamped “Procurer for Perdition,” a soul-hunting hound, who, with the
filthy pack, runs helpless ones into the dungeon of the lords of hell.
Rise up, shake off this dark enchantment—dash down the dice, shred the
cards into the flames—pass out into the pure air, and while there yet is
hope ask heavenly help to break your heavy chains.
Yours is the very insanity of crime; like the imprisoned eagle who might
swim the blue sky and bathe in the sun, you are caged in a dungeon’s
walls. Nature cannot furnish nor the imagination create a figure of
speech to parallel your unfortunate condition.
Let us go back to first principles and ask, “What is a man? What was the
Maker’s design when he fashioned man?” After creation was completed from
chaos to order, from darkness to light, from the lowest polyp, through
crinoid batrachian, reptile, fish, bird, to the highest mammals, God
paused to consider what likeness the Prince of this earthly creation
should wear. He was to be the link binding heaven and earth, animal and
angel, material and spiritual, so that an unbroken chain of life might
exist from the loftiest archangel to the lowest monad, related to both
spheres and completing all; his body from one world, his soul from the
other.
“What fashion shall he be formed in?” Was the question which seemed to
give the Creator pause. None of the lower creatures would do for a
model, as he must govern them and be superior to them. Surely some of
the angelic or seraphic ones will be chosen as the pattern! They were
mighty, beatific and holy; in favor with God and obedient to his
behests.
If some shining one from beside the throne, who had been wrapt in the
serene presence of the Uncreate, had been chosen, what an honor to be
like him! But such a one is not selected. As our Father in Heaven thinks
of his Child that is to be, we hear the mysterious declaration, “Let us
make man in _our_ image, after _our_ likeness.” And so it was.
Consider the supreme honor done us in this act. God could find no being
but himself fit to be thy pattern, and wilt thou for whom he passed the
hierarchs of glory by, stoop to such groveling ingratitude as to ignore
him and humiliate thy brother man?
Oh, that I could inspire you to cast these cords far from you, and rise
toward that mark set for you by our kind and ever present Lord. Come out
from among these Philistines.
I would as soon expect to grow a plant under the dripping of vitrol or
in the fumes of sulphur as in such a place, and if you willfully persist
in impiety, you must expect retribution to overtake your impenitence and
the last door of hope will be shut.
Remember:
“There is woe whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath.
Oh, what eternal horrors hang
Around the second death.”
Perhaps you came out of a religious home and had a legacy of faithful
prayers; a pious parent dedicated you to God in infancy, and as the
baptisimal drops fell on your baby brow, they fervently hoped that your
nature might know the inward cleansing of which that rite was the
outward sign.
All the riches of Midas would not give you such pleasure as the memories
of that dear old couple, if you were in the way they trod so long. Oft
in the village church, or at the cottage altar, your father, bowed with
white hair and dim eye, lifted his voice in supplication for you. Oft he
led you o’er the hill on Sabbath Day, pensive, rejoicing, giving you
good counsel in quiet tones, or telling at dusk with open Bible, and the
family in a circle about him, some rich story of Holy Writ, which now
comes back at times in the quaint old-fashioned words to your
remembrance as you trample daily on the truth he taught you. A verse of
some melodious hymn sung by your mother floats up out of the past,
sweeter than opera strains to you.
Can the driveling ditties and sentimental songs affected by your
associates drown the cadence of that tender old voice crooning the songs
of Zion? Often she looked in your eyes. They were not bloodshot then,
not dim with vigils at the iniquitous game, but pure and deep as the
wells of Gaza; your face was as the dawn to her, your forehead candid
and fair.
What dreams she had of your useful and exalted career. Has it all come
to this? Are you not glad the saintly old couple are asleep on the
hillside under the yew trees, with eyes closed and hands folded in the
long rest! Could you revisit that place you would not care to meet old
friends, they might ask annoying questions and start vain regrets. You
would just slip out half a mile to that burial ground, every step
seeming to make your burden heavier, every moment to aggravate your
unbearable guilt. Once there, by those two graves, alone, unseen of man,
you would bow and put your face in the grass, weeping that you could get
no nearer to the beloved ones. This you would do, and it would be the
manliest thing you have done for many a miserable month.
There is a manlier yet. That old couple is not there; they are nearer to
you than that in spirit, they are not far from you now. Better than
tears to them would be the solemn resolution to leave this moment and
for aye the guilty men and evil trade which have brought you low.
Give me thy hand, man! Look level in my eyes! Gird up thy loins, there
is help nigh.
Break away! Break away! All may yet be forgiven and atoned for. Pluck up
heart. You shall yet praise God with all your ransomed powers. Your
heart shall cast forth its idols, and shall let all its tendrils of
affection curl and twine about the Cross. Your soul shall adore Him and
have one object of worship. He shall have full dominion over you. Your
mind with all its renewed faculties shall exult in liberty. Even your
body shall share in the general joy and fulfill all its functions with a
glad obedience unknown before.
A traveler who had put a girdle round the earth and studied many
nations, was asked to relate the most thrilling incident of his long and
eventful life. He hesitated long, hushed in thought, and said: “It
occurred just before the civil war. I was crossing from this country to
Canada in a ferry boat. The captain knew me, as I had often crossed with
him. Midstream he touched my arm and said, ‘Come with me, I will show
you something worth seeing.’ I followed him to the dark coal hole of the
craft, and when my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw crouching
in a corner a black man, an escaped slave. Helped through the North by
friends, he was nearing liberty; for no shackles could come, no slave
hunter tread the soil where floated the flag of England. As the boat
neared the shore the captain beckoned to him, and while we all gazed on
him he crept to the bow, impatient to gain the shore. Never on any face
have I seen such burning eagerness. As the keel touched the gravel, with
a mighty shout he bounded into the water, waded ashore, all dripping,
and turning his great eyes to the heavens, his chest heaving with
emotion, he cried, ‘O God! O God! At last! At last! I’se free! I’se
free!’
“There,” said the traveler, “I saw the greatest spectacle of my life, a
soul springing full statured from slave to man in an hour.”
Surely ’twas a stirring sight, but there is an escape more moving yet—to
see the slave of evil habits long driven by his task master, cross the
line to moral manhood and break into the larger liberty of the gospel.
I have seen it done—seen the drunkard snap his shackles—the bondman of
habit leap out of his old sins with a mighty effort, and begin a new
life.
The truth is seeking an entrance into your heart, even as the sunbeams
seek entrance into a long disused and darkened room. How patiently they
play about the door, peeping into every crevice, slipping wedges of gold
through the shutters and laying bars of bullion on the dusty floor. “Let
us in,” they cry, “we will cast out the devils of gloom, disease, dirt,
dampness. Let us in.”
Every dawn they come again to plead, every sundown they go reluctantly
away. At last, the master from within flings open the door, pushes wide
the shutters, lifts the windows, and in they rush to rinse every nook,
cleanse every corner, reveal every stain, and they will not be satisfied
till all is renewed, swept and garnished within.
You wonder, like the prodigal, sometimes, if you would be received if
you returned. Listen to that broken column of marble, lying there among
the rubbish. I thought I heard it laugh. There it is again. Listen! Hear
it saying, “Oh, happy stone that I am.” Others sneer and say, “What is
there to give you happiness, lying there forsaken, among the debris of
this old temple?” “I rejoice,” replies the blackened pillar, “not for
what I am, but for what I am to be. The great sculptor, Angelo, was here
to-day. He measured me, he made a mark on me. I heard him say as he
looked at me, ‘This will do.’”
“A block of marble caught the beam of Bunarrotti’s eyes,
Which lighted in their darkling depths like meteor lighted skies,
And one who stood beside him listened, smiling as he heard,
‘For I will make an angel of it,’ was the sculptor’s word.
Then chisel sharp, and mallet strong, that stubborn block assailed,
And blow by blow, and pang by pang, the prisoner unveiled;
A brow was lifted, pure and high, a waking eye outshone
And as the master swiftly wrought, a smile broke through the stone.
Beneath that chisel’s edge, the hair escaped in flowing rings,
And plume by plume were slowly freed, the sweep of half furled wings,
The stately bust, the shapely limbs their stony fetters shed,
And where the shapeless block had been, an angel stood instead.
Oh, blows that smite, oh, pangs that pierce this shrinking heart of
mine,
What are ye but the Master’s tools, forming a work divine?
Oh, hope that crumbles at my feet, oh, joy that mocks and flies,
What are ye but the bond that keeps my spirit from the skies?
Sculptor of souls, I lift to Thee my cumbered heart and hands,
Spare not the chisel, set me free, however dear the bands;
How blest if all these seeming ills which turn my heart to Thee,
Shall only prove that Thou wilt make an angel out of me.”
Even within the vilest sinner, there is a glorious possibility. Once in
the hands of Christ, hidden beauty will shine forth and deformity will
disappear. So beautiful will he make the soul that it will be fit for
the inheritance of the saints in light.
Weep not over misspent youth, much may yet be done, even now. Crippled
as you are, you may have a little work to show in return for His love.
You may never have as much as others, but there is this consolation, you
may love Him as dearly, obey Him as implicitly, follow Him as closely,
and suffer for Him as gladly, as any of His church.
Sometimes I think you can know Him better for your very misery. Hear the
ninety and nine telling the praises of the Good Shepherd; how he has led
them, folded them, defended them. When all have spoken in concurrent
testimony, the lost sheep, crippled, scarred, torn, speaks in tones low
and full of pathos: “All you have said is true, but none of you know the
dear Shepherd as I know him. I am the most unworthy of all, yet into the
hills, among the wolves, in the dark night, through the cold streams, He
came seeking me. I was bleeding, mangled on the rocks, ready to die.
Through the pelting of the pitiless storm I heard Him call my name,
saying, ‘Come home, come home.’ Tenderly he lifted me, gently bound up
my wounds, patiently he carried me all the way. Ah, you know something
of His love, _but I know nothing else.”_
So it is. There is room in His mercy for all, and if there is no other
gate into the city of refuge that you dare to enter, hold my hand and
together we will go into this one, which he opened for us.
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for
they shall be filled.”
[Illustration: Robt McIntyre]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
This text, frankly, is rife with errors. It is often not possible to
attribute the errors of spelling and punctuation to the author or the
printer. Generally, obvious punctuation errors (missing periods,
unbalanced quotation marks, etc.) have been corrected, and noted in the
table below.
Typographical mistakes (e.g. inverted or transposed letters, doubled
syllables on line breaks, ‘halt’ for ‘half’, etc.) are also corrected
and noted.
Spelling errors are more problematic. Where other instances of a word
are spelled correctly (by our standards),they are noted and corrected.
The Single instances are noted, but remain uncorrected. Many very
obvious mistakes (e.g., conspicious, sufficent, countenaces) have been
corrected. The goal was to render the text readable while preserving as
accurately as possible the author’s intent.
In passages of extended quotation, the author (or printer) regularly
fails to be consistent in the use of quotations marks, either failing to
include the opening mark on continuing paragraphs, or neglecting to nest
them properly using single marks.
In the section of Part I, Chapter II on “Hindoos”, a quoted narrative
beginning on the bottom of p. 75 abandons the use of enclosing double
quotation marks for each paragraph by the top of p. 77.
A quote purportedly from the _Eclectic Magazine_ of May, 1885, beginning
on p. 148, fails to clearly finish, with a confusion of quotation marks
making that a matter of speculation. That volume of the magazine has no
article regarding gambling (which might have allowed a correct scope for
the passage).
On pp. 431-437, a letter and an extended description of various gambling
devices uses only a single opening quotation, and is distinguished from
the main text only by the use of a smaller font.
Beginning on p. 178, a passage from the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ of 1796
is quoted, but the quotation marks are inconsistently applied. These
have been corrected for clarity. There are several points, where the
author lapses into paraphrase, that are left intact here.
Rather than attempting to regularize the punctuation of these passages,
the text is given as printed.
The author employs borrowed French words usually without providing
accents.
The name ‘Petitt’ is also found as ‘Pettit’ and since the former was
more frequently the case, the several instances of the latter were
corrected.
On p. 474, there are several paragraphs which repeat verbatim a passage
appearing on p. 472, beginning with ‘Lottery playing has always...’ and
ending three paragraphs later with ‘...so popular among the people at
large as was the Havana Lottery.’ This is without doubt a typesetting
error, and the redundant passage has been removed. The removed
paragraphs occurred here.
In discussing the South Sea Bubble, the author repeatedly refers to
Tobias Smollet as ‘Smallet’ or ‘Smallett’. Each variant has been
retained and noted.
Hyphenation of compound words follows the text. Where the hyphen appears
on a line or page break, it is kept or discarded in keeping with other
instances.
Inconsistencies in the punctuation of the Index are corrected without
further mention here.
The references in this table are to the page and line in the original.
8.11 “knowledge of good and evil.[’/”] Replaced.
10.35 “Striking the White Dove[”] Added.
14.48 “Ropers” and [“]Steerers” Added.
18.25 “Straddles”[—]Fictitious Added.
24.34 his policy [to-]toward gambling, 404. Removed.
37.4 it may serve to illus[s]trate Removed.
40.42 failed to d[e/i]scover the right one. Replaced.
50.25 as thereupon made again[s]t me Added.
51.32 cared little[.] Added.
54.8 The latter was cor[r]oborated by his wife Inserted.
55.28 They had kind[s] words for us Removed.
55.29 in that hour of our humil[i]ation Inserted.
55.32 by that ma[t]chless orator Inserted.
56.22 he proceeded to Indian[o/a]polis Replaced.
97.33 gamble for ‘Loukouni,’ _sic_ Loukoumi?
60.8 a Young Men’s Christian Association[”] Removed.
63.7 [“/‘]God bless mamma and papa ... Replaced.
63.8 ... and everybody. Amen.[’]” Inserted.
58.43 such a [grievious] wrong, _sic_ grievous
75.43 more a matter of chance[.] Added.
79.16 [“]What waste of words Added.
84.38 who were conspic[i/u]ous for Replaced.
85.5 Two Ta[n/ou]ist priests Replaced.
87.36 It consisted of three sixes on the Replaced.
_te[rr/ss]esarae_
89.23 at the battle of [Acton]? _sic_ Actium
94.15 which pierced the mirror behind him.[”] Added.
97.6 advertisements of the [sanitive] properties _sic_ sanative
98.6 they can earn money so easily?[’] Added.
102.23 described them as [“]arrayed _sic_: unclosed
quote.
112.12 is now the only social entertainment[s] of the Removed.
salons
110.22 [“]Her husband, Added.
110.28 [“]There was an expression Added.
110.36 [“]Another figure at the gaming table Added.
111.2 that she was an Englishwoman.[”] Added.
117.12 is the last and sole represen[ta]tive of the Inserted.
class
117.17 a suffic[i]ent guarantee Inserted.
120.3 to violence, drunken[n]ess and gaming Inserted.
122.27 the oldest magistrate in the [parliment] _sic_ parlement
or parliament
122.41 in fullness of their te[r]merity Removed.
123.40 to such a noble position,[”] Added.
127.23 A large propor[tion] of the patrons Missing.
128.19 some sort of lia[i]son Inserted.
128.36 has long been ended.[”] Added.
129.41 of the game on a Mississipp[p]i river boat Removed.
131.4 he said[,] “until one evening in 1872 Added.
135.6 in other European countries[.] Added.
136.9 do not play for gain but for pleasure.[”] Added.
141.1 and his footman told me so,” he replied.[”] Removed.
141.33 the catastrophe of Sir [, ——/ ——,] who has Comma moved.
frittered away
141.39 but there was nothing done.[”] Added.
143.19 are said to be fully £150,000 ($750,000[.)/).] Transposed.
144.7 [‘/“]The ‘hells’ generally Replaced.
145.19 accumulated a col[l]ossal fortune Removed.
148.10 another occas[s]ion he kept the bank Removed.
148.28 succ[c/e]eded in winning back Replaced.
150.38 which the police raid from time to time.[”] Removed.
152.19 “Roulette, £1,000 in the bank[.]” Added.
154.40 If the caster throws d[ue/eu]ces or aces Transposed.
155.23 portrayed on the countena[n]ces of the players Inserted.
156.30 they are at their own homes.[’] Added.
160.23 as [Smallett] has truly called it _sic_ Smollett
162.1 says [Smallet], _sic_ Smollett
162.30 Smallett gives us _sic_ Smollett
163.6 interfered with the usefuln[e]ss of servants Inserted.
163.38 under a pen[alty] of 40s Completed.
163.43 a monthly penalty of 40s. for every default.[”] Added.
166.25 he hastily decamped[.] Added,
170.40 to jeopardize them again[.] Added.
173.3 he soon bec[o/a]me an ensign Replaced.
174.16 [“]When King James ascended Removed.
174.15 was very glad of his absence.” Added.
174.30 by which those famil[i]ar with the tricks Inserted.
178.12 the latter apol[i/o]gized for becoming Replaced.
intoxicated
179.4 where I am to be found.[”/’] Replaced.
179.24 [”]Mr. Justice Rooke summed up the evidence Added.
179.26 [“/‘manslaughter[’/” Replaced.
179.41 was another eminent Englishm[e/a]n Replaced.
179.43 [“/‘]We played a good deal at Replaced/Added.
[“/‘]Goosetree’s[’]”
180.10 [“/‘]What, Wilberfor[c]e is that you?[”/’] Corrected/inserted.
180.16 Miles’ and ‘Evans’[,] Brooks[,] Boodle’s, Added.
White’s and Goosetree’s.
181.10 “Twenty-five guineas,[”] answered the alderman. Added.
182.12 The cases of Lords Halifax, Ang[el/le]sey Transposed.
186.32 and by the [decrepted] old negro _sic_ decrepit
189.14 the will of the people[.] Added.
196.2 (“Make your play, gentlemen!” “Nothing more Added.
goes!”[)]
198.13 to pull from the ends like “rakes[:/.]” Replaced.
200.4 which will be explained[.] Added.
201.21 to the grating of the finger nails[.] Added.
201.40 in advance of the de[s/c]k Replaced.
207.1 Here’s your money old man.[”] Added.
208.17 entered the ap[p]artment Removed.
212.22 Close[,] one of the best known Added.
214.2 one of the “peculiar institutions[”] Added.
216.24 [“]When a player puts in that much Removed.
218.18 instead of saying [‘/“]I bet,” Replaced.
219.31 which may [h/b]e held by players Replaced.
222.33 a moral impossibility for the unsoph[ist]icated Inserted.
226.26 until number 3 has “staked” his [“]pile.” Added.
227.19 the person to who[w/m] he wishes to give Inverted.
230.44 In some of the succe[e]ding paragraphs Inserted.
236.27 he bet wildly on his adve[r]sary’s deal Inserted.
236.39 the foot of the operator accident[al]ly slipped Inserted.
242.4 a liberal supply of worthless checks[.] Added.
244.29 and the [apperture] in the box _sic_ aperture
246.39 While a rouge et no[u/i]r table Replaced.
248.9 marked “[B/R],” is for wagers on the red Replaced.
248.24 the first and last hal[t/f] of the numbers Replaced.
252.15 is thus enabled t[e/o] win through fraud Replaced.
254.7 Two it[e/i]nerant sharpers Replaced.
254.14 and that—to use a colloqu[i]alism— Inserted.
257.10 holding neither face cards no[t/r] tens Replaced.
260.3 it makes not the sligh[t]est difference Inserted.
264.9 I’m your man for twenty or so.[’]” Removed.
266.37 “Briefs” may also be advantageou[s]ly used Inserted.
267.42 “just a little higher.[”] Added.
268.1 [“]When a “gudgeon” displays Removed.
270.4 the kingdom of Great Brit[ia/ai]n Transposed.
271.22 with absolute certain[i]ty Removed.
271.39 that will fill the d[a/e]aler[’]s hand Replaced/Inserted.
272.4 they already hold nineteen or twenty[,/.] Replaced.
273.15 in the land of the Pharoahs _sic_ Pharaohs
273.29 will be treated _seriatum_ _sic_ seriatim
274.10 on the corresponding squares on the cloth[,/.] Replaced.
275.3 has never [occured] to him _sic_ occurred
275.21 “the old army [“]game,” Removed.
277.36 the other dice is in[s]cribed Inserted.
282.29 that his luck may not ap[p]ear Inserted.
284.5 of an immense n[e/u]mber of “fakirs,” Replaced.
287.37 as explained above[.] Added.
288.29 the “book-keeper[”] occasionally brings Added.
290.36 By simply pressing on this [mechanicism] _sic_ mechanism
295.40 (as shown in fig. [1/2]) Corrected. Fig.
2 is unlabelled.
369.37 the hair escaped i[u/n] flowing rings Inverted.
300.12 a “[a ]sure winner” for the manipulator Removed.
301.32 the proprietor knows [t/w]hat number Replaced.
309.31 and will also give him a gratuit[i]ous chance Removed.
312.15 The inherent [villany] of such a transaction _sic_ villainy
312.26 is substantially as describ[e]d below Inserted.
314.35 “Why,[”] man, Mississippi is a big State, Removed.
314.36 What city?[”] Added.
316.2 from the hands of his friend[.] Added.
316.16 with which the sc[r]oundrels have taken Removed.
318.35 [‘/“]Beyond a question.” Replaced.
320.26 He said, ‘An Indian ain’t got any rights Replaced.
anyhow[,/.]
321.19 and sell it outright[./?]” Replaced.
321.33 the height of the ho[n/u]ses Inverted.
331.11 by members of the fraternity as “send”[.] Added.
334.22 as they lie upon the table[.] Added.
336.18 in having a second conf[i]ederate Removed.
338.14 the“agent[”] of the gift distribution scheme Added.
341.4 he (the sharper) ia the[;] agent Removed.
341.30 submits to his loss without a [murmer]. _sic_ murmur
353.18 bet on a certainty.[”] Removed.
353.40 you shentlemen’s want nohow?[”] Added.
355.28 The “soap man” t[u/a]kes his position Replaced.
357.15 with the fleet-f[l]ooted runner. Removed.
357.18 he is glad that his “uncle[”] Added.
361.39 [“]I thought as much,” Added.
366.35 My inborn proclivities were towards physic[i]al Removed.
cowardice
367.30 in a small Missouri village[.] Added.
370.30 without attracting their attention.[tion.] Removed.
371.17 that his [custodion] was a devotee _sic_ custodion
373.39 His next mess[s]age to his father Removed.
374.36 and offer to stake them for $2.00[.] Added.
374.40 as good a “bottom dealer” [w]as there [w]as in Removed/Added.
the country
376.9 give me a nick[le/el]’s worth. Transposed.
377.19 he accosted us[.] Added.
378.17 O[’i/’]ive got the wrong man.[”] Transposed/Added.
382.41 than between two meals[,/.] Replaced.
383.49 She replied, “[‘] might be buried in it.” Removed.
384.1 and then started for home[,/.] Replaced.
384.2 seemed to be “turned around[”] to me Added.
389.24 receiving their stipul[ l/ulat]ed proportion Replaced.
390.31 property of this de[cs/sc/ription Transposed.
395.6 Not[h]withstanding all this lavish outlay Removed.
399.20 [harrassing] them night and day _sic_ harassing
404.6 had the power to enfor[c]e his behest Inserted.
405.7 one outside watchman at $20[:/;] Replaced.
407.37 Keplinger’s patent [00] _sic_
409.28 St[au/ua]rt Eddy Transposed.
411.28a he s[au/ua]vely asked Transposed.
411.28b “how can I accom[m]odate you? Removed.
415.4 He sprang from [s/a] good New England family Replaced.
417.28 power of long-sustain[e]d application Inserted.
418.6 Ex[ -]Governor Jenkins, of Colorado Added.
426.35 “[‘]The players Removed.
427.14 [‘/“]That’s all right,” answered Allriver. Replaced.
427.16 “I’ve inquired into that[,]” Added.
433.13 loaded dice come i[s/n] sets of “9” Replaced.
440.3 “Ed.[’/”] Moses sauntered up Replaced.
440.9 is drinking the mellow[i/e]st “bourbon” Replaced.
440.30 and a few dime[s] Added.
441.41 [being] a favorite resort for stock-brokers _sic_ became?
441.42 overcome their old time sporting proclivities[.] Added.
442.3 chiefl[l]y “brace” Removed.
446.35 A large p[or/ro]portion of these “touts” Transposed.
447.6 to a president[i]al election Inserted.
451.8 sc[h]edule of rates Inserted.
452.18 the fair was for some[ ]time the question Inserted.
452.41 who for some[ ]time tried without success Inserted.
457.39 of the third mun[i]cipality Inserted.
459.11 McGrath, Sherwood and Pet[ti/it]t were the first Transposed.
461.11 Davis, McGrath and Pet[ti/it]t, in particular Transposed.
461.37 (which came in a few weeks[)] Added.
464.30 Mr. Shak[e]speare Removed.
468.33 has not proved more re[num/mun]rative Transposed.
469.30 as affording even greater fluc[ut/tu]ations Transposed.
470.30 the tangible result [that was/was that] in the Words
single year transposed.
471.2 was accustomed, now and then[,] to “take a Added.
little flyer.”
471.6 More[o]ver the business Inserted.
476.17 “Age cannot wither nor custom sta[t/l]e” Replaced.
477.27 The “sports” had become politic[i]ans Inserted.
477.32 the sentiment in the legislature again[s]t Inserted.
gaming
478.8 Temporary [abberation] of mind _sic_ aberration
478.40 unprecedented and unparal[el/le]led in history Transposed.
479.3 they found the [i/I]ndians racing ponies Capitalized.
479.32 until some[ ]time in or about 1872 Inserted.
480.1 in each instance has ignomin[i]ously failed Inserted.
480.25 most of the dealers and [supernumeries] _sic_
supernumeraries
483.7 being permitted to “sit,[’/”] Replaced.
491.8 applicants for admiss[s]ion are subjected Removed.
492.8 There is then another outcry[,] they are ordered Added.
504.19 a very prominent Republican politic[i]an Added.
505.2 a great devotee of the game[.] Added.
507.4 patronized almost exclusively by the _elite[.]_ Added.
509.28 burned out an extensive gam[b]ling establishment Inserted.
511.13 Professional gam[e]sters Inserted.
511.35 a remarkable degree the [effrontry] _sic_ effrontery
511.40 assemble for the same purpose in each other[’]s Added.
rooms[.]
512.23 to lose it again[.] Added.
515.17 and “chuc[h/k]-a-luck,” were not neglected Replaced.
516.14 was immediately resumed[,/.] Replaced.
517.27 at the sailor[’s/s’] boarding houses Transposed.
520.23 the infatuation of the habit s[ie/ei]zed upon Transposed.
him
521.10 is certain that in [t]he history of gambling Added.
522.23 For[r]ester about 20 years ago Inserted.
523.15 a part of his entertainment[.] Added.
526.2 they are fug[u/i]tives and outcasts Replaced.
535.10 were to be calm[l]y and quietly Inserted.
537.31 But, [sa/as] in all other trades Transposed.
537.32 The habitues and[c / c]ustomers Transposed.
538.9 “Steerers[”] were numerous Added.
538.36 corral[l]ing some of the large profits Inserted.
542.13 drawing the capital prize[.] Added.
544.25 to promote and foster gambling[,/.] Replaced.
545.43 “Sock” Ri[el]le]y Transposed.
547.35 whose steps take hold on hell[.] Added.
549.34 and at first with var[r]ying success. Removed.
557.13 [I]t became generally recognized Added.
561.8 that is, the individu[a]l chances Inserted.
565.4 to have been a large field of favorites[.] Added.
573.23 to individual policeme[u/n] Replaced.
577.20 the sale of commodit[i]es Inserted.
579.6 It follows that he is natu[u/r]ally Replaced.
584.20 is incomprehensible to the uni[ni]tiated Inserted.
587.26 was the outgrowth of disappointed[,] self- Removed.
seeking
590.32 jammed with a[u/n] excited throng Inverted.
595.23 the [“]dissemination of valuable commercial Added.
596.4 the self-stultification went even farther[,/.] Replaced.
596.35 spots upon the b[ody] Restored.
596.36 the very heart of so[cial] morals Restored.
601.14 the fungus-like excres[c]ence Inserted.
607.13 Astronomy helped make Newton[;/,] art made Replaced.
Angelo,
613.2 every released convict[,/.] Replaced.
613.5 [s/S]ir, tell them this Capitalized.
615.9 I never cou[n]tenanced the evil Inserted.
615.40 the big winning last night.[”] Added.
620.33 within all is punk and hollowness[.] Added.
623.30 I can win my bread.[”] Added.
625.12 forehead of his child with such a wrong[”] Added.
625.17 while the meta[l]lic Inserted.
625.22 to con[s]ciousness Inserted.
633.43 One grand sweet song.[”] Added.
634.27 [gladitorial] combat _sic_
634.29 his spiritual nature[.] Added.
634.33 the wicked one.[”] Added.
636.6 define it well[./,] Replaced.
636.32 the loftiest archang[le/el] Transposed.
639.23 [“] for what I am not Added.
640.22 _but I know nothing else._[”] Added.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Fools of Fortune - or Gambling and Gamblers" ***
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