CHAPTER VIII
Crockford’s Club – His Life – His new Club-house – Epigrams thereon – Ude and the Magistrate – Description of Club-house – Anecdotes of Crockford’s.
À propos of Crockford, or Crockey, as he was familiarly called, his was perhaps the most celebrated gambling house in London, and deserves especial mention. It was on the site now occupied by the Devonshire Club, No. 50 St James’s Street.
William Crockford was born in 1775, his father being a fishmonger in a small way of business, having a shop adjoining Temple Bar, which was pulled down in 1846. His father dying when he was young, the business was carried on, first by his mother, and afterwards by himself, but he soon took to betting and gambling, became a proficient at cards, and was more particularly skilled in the games of whist, piquet and cribbage; he frequented the better kind of sporting houses in the neighbourhood of St James’s market, where the latter game, more especially, was much played, and for large sums, by opulent tradesmen and others. He made some money at gambling, became connected with a gaming house in King Street, St James’s, and then he turned his attention to horse racing; frequenting Tattersalls as a bookmaker, and becoming the owner of race horses. He had a splendid mansion and grounds at Newmarket, where he trained his stud, and at one time owned the celebrated horse Sultan, the sire of Bay Middleton, who won the Derby in 1836. But the roguery at Newmarket was too much even for him, and he sold his racing stud, and confined himself to his London businesses. About this time he is metrically described in a little pamphlet called “Leggiana,” which described the Legs who used to frequent The Sun tavern in Jermyn Street.
“Seated within the box, to window nearest,
See Crocky, richest, cunningest, and queerest
Of all the motley group that here assemble
To sport their blunt, chaff, blackguard and dissemble;
Who live (as slang has termed it) on the mace,
Tho’ Crocky’s heavy pull is, now, deuce ace.
His wine, or grog, as may be, placed before him,
And looking stupid as his mother bore him,
For Crock, tho’ skilful in his betting duty,
Is not, ‘twill be allowed, the greatest beauty;
Nor does his mug (we mean no disrespect)
Exhibit outward sign of intellect;
In other words, old Crocky’s chubby face
Bespeaks not inward store of mental grace;
Besides, each night, he’s drunk as any lord,
And clips his mother English every word.
His head, howe’er, tho’ thick to chance beholders,
Is screw’d right well upon his brawny shoulders;
He’s quick as thought, and ripe at calculation,
Malgrè the drink’s most potent visitation.
His pencil, list, and betting book on table,
His wits at work, as hard as he is able,
His odds matur’d, at scarce a moment’s pains,
Out pops the offspring of his ready brains,
In some enormous, captivating wager,
‘Gainst one horse winning Derby, Oaks and Leger.
The bait is tak’n by some astonished wight,
Who chuckles, thinking it a glorious bite,
Nor takes the pains the figures o’er to run,
And see, by calculation, that he’s done;
While Crocky books it, cash, for certain, won.
And why, forsooth, is Crocky to be blamed
More than those legs who’re honourable named,
Whose inclination is plain sense to jockey,
But who lack brains to work the pull like Crocky?
Who, by the way, gives vast accommodation,
Nor bothers any one by litigation.
And, if a bet you’d have, you’ve nought to do,
But give it Crock, and, with it, sovereigns two;
You’ll quickly, if you win it, touch the treasure,
For Crock (unlike some legs) dubs up with pleasure.”
Crockford was indicted on several occasions, and by different persons, for his share in the nuisance of the public gaming-house in King Street; but his policy always led him to a settlement of the matter with the prosecutor, in preference to the risk of imprisonment and the treadmill.
On one occasion an indictment was preferred, and a true bill found against him and others, for keeping the before-mentioned house; and it was not without difficulty and delay, creative of direful alarm, that the matter could be arranged so as to prevent the parties being brought to trial.
The prosecutor was a person known as Baron d’A – , who formerly held a commission in the German Legion. This gentleman had been desperate, and, of course, unfortunate in his speculation at rouge et noir; and, at last, lost not only his pay, but the proceeds of the sale of his commission. Thus reduced, he became equally desperate in determination, and occasionally made demands and levied contributions from the parties who had won from him, but, compliance with such demands becoming less frequent and less willing, he resorted to the process of indictment, and made Crockford one of the objects of his attack. On the true bill being found, Crockford put in the necessary bail; between the period of which and the day appointed for trial, communication was opened with the baron, with a view to amicable settlement and non-appearance of the prosecutor on the day of trial; but in the negotiation Crockford’s party relied too much on the poverty and distress of the baron, believing that the griping hand of necessity would oblige him to accept any offered sum to relieve his wants. Under such belief an inconsiderable amount was tendered, but refused. The baron had, fortunately for him, met with a shrewd adviser, who persuaded him to hold out against any overtures short of a handsome consideration; and he did so, notwithstanding the fact that a considerable advance had been made on the original sum offered to him.
The eve of trial approached, and Crockford’s alarm was great. At length came the eventful day of his appearance at Clerkenwell Sessions. What was to be done? Incarceration and hard labour stared him in the face, and with them all the evil consequences connected with his absence from his newly established club.
In this dilemma he sought the advice and active service of Guy, his principal acting man in St James’s Street. This man accompanied Crockford to the scene of trial, and, discovering the baron in the precinct of the Court, contrived to get into friendly conversation with him, a scheme which led to some judicious hints on the impolicy of his longer holding out against the liberal offer which he (Guy) had now the authority to make from Crockford. Fortunately for the latter the indictment was low down in the list of the day’s business, and this gave opportunity to Guy to proceed more leisurely in his designs. He prevailed on the baron to accompany him to a tavern in the neighbourhood, and there, under the influence of copious draughts of wine, an arrangement was ultimately effected. The proposal, once entertained by the baron, was not left to the chance of change, nor was the baron permitted to consult with his adviser in the matter; time was precious, the cause was approaching its hearing, and at this crisis Guy called a coach, took from his pocket a tempting sum, hurried the baron into the vehicle, gave him the money, and never left him until he had seen him on board a vessel bound for a foreign country.
At the commencement of the season 1821-22, luck went against Crockford’s gaming establishment, and night after night their capital decreased, so that, at last, it was with difficulty they could supply the funds requisite for the night’s bank. One night, their last £5000 was scraped together, and they were all on wires; for an hour after play had commenced £3000 had flown away. Crockford could stand it no longer; he left the house, meditating whether he should hang or drown himself: but scarcely was his back turned than the run of luck changed, and, within two hours, the bank had not only recovered their night’s loss, but a good round sum besides. For the remainder of the season Fortune was in their favour, and, at its close, the proprietors had netted over £200,000.
Crockford began building his new club house in St James’s Street in 1827, and workmen were engaged on it day and night. A huge ice house was dug which so affected the Guard’s club house, which adjoined the northern end of Crockford’s premises, that one entire side of it fell with a crash, leaving the entire interior completely exposed to the public gaze. There are two bon mots on the subject, preserved.
“‘What can the workmen be about?
Do, Crockford, let the secret out,
Why thus our houses fall.
Quoth he, ‘Since folks are out of town,
I find it better to pull down,
Than have no pull at all.’”
“See, passenger, at Crockford’s high behest,
Red coats by black legs ousted from their nest;
The arts of peace o’ermatching reckless war,
And gallant rouge outdone by wily noir.”
The Club was opened in the latter part of 1827 with a great flourish of trumpets, and cards to view, which were eagerly sought after by the élite. The Times of 1st Jan. 1828 gives an account of the royal displeasure at this Club, which comes extremely à propos from the unsullied lips of George IV. “Crockford’s Hell. The establishment of the Pandemonium in St James’s, under the entire superintendence of the fishmonger and his unblushing patronizers, lately called forth the opinion of the highest personage in the kingdom, who expressed himself in a manner which reflected the utmost credit on his head and heart. A Nobleman of some standing at Court, in answer to a question from his royal master, denied, in the most unequivocal way, having become a subscriber to this splendid temple of vice. The monarch evinced his satisfaction at the intelligence, and, in his usual nervous style, denounced such infamous receptacles for plunder, as not only a disgrace to the country at large, but the age in which we live.”
The number of members belonging to the Club was from 1000 to 1200, exclusive of the privilege, or right of entrée permitted to ambassadors and foreigners of distinction during their diplomatic sojourn, or temporary visit, to this country, and the Duke of Wellington, although he did not gamble, was one of the earliest members. The annual subscription was twenty-five pounds, and, for this, the members had the most luxurious club of its time, with wines and viands at a very low rate, although the latter were presided over by the celebrated chef, Ude, to whom Crockford paid a salary of £1200! The Annual Register, for 1834, tells a very amusing story of Ude in connection with Crockford’s Club.
“On July 25 M. Eustache Ude, the celebrated French cook, appeared at Bow Street on a summons at the suit of the Marquess of Queensberry, for unlawfully disposing of certain birds called ‘red game,’ between the 19th of March and the 1st of August, contrary to the provisions of the Game Laws.
“Sir Roger Griesley deposed that he was a member of Crockford’s Club House, and one of the managing committee of that establishment. The defendant was cook there, and, on the 19th of June, witness dined at the Club house, and saw grouse served in the room, but did not partake of it.
“M. Ude: Vell, my dear Sare Rojer, vat is all dis to me? Certainement you must know dat I don’t know vat de devil goes up into de dining room. How de devil can I tell veder black game, or vite game, or red game go up to de dining room? Dere is plenty of game always go on in de house, but dat is nothing to me. My only business is to cook for de palates of dose who like de game.
Sir Roger Griesley: I really don’t know what, in common justice, M. Ude can have to do in this matter. He is the cook of the establishment, certainly, but he only prepares what is ordered. The Committee order the things, and he provides according to that order.
“M. Ude: Tank you, my dear Sare Rojer. I knew you vould get me out of de scrape vot de noble marquis has got me into dis time.
“Charles, Marquess of Queensberry, sworn: I was a member of the Committee at Crockford’s, but am not now. I was at Crockford’s on the 19th, and dined, and grouse was served at the table.
“M. Ude: But, my noble friend (great laughter), as I said to my friend Sare Rojer, I know noting at all about vot vent into de room. I never sawed it at all. De orders are given to me. I send my people to de butcher, and to de poulterer, and to de fishmonger, and de tings are brought, and I command dem to be cooked, and dey are cooked, and dat is all I know about it.
“Sir F. Roe: Whether you know it, or not, the Act of Parliament makes you liable.
“M. Ude: Upon my honour dat is very hard. Ven I got de summons I remonstrated vid my Lord Alvanley, and he say, ‘Oh, never mind, Ude, say dey vere pigeons, instead of grouse.’ ‘Ah, my lord,’ say I, ‘I can not do better dan dem pigeons, because dat bird is so common in dis house.’ (Loud Laughter).
“Sir F. Roe, who appeared greatly to enjoy the scene, said he must, upon the oaths of the noble marquess and Sir Roger Griesley, convict the defendant; but he should, certainly, put the lowest penalty, namely 5s.
“M. Ude: Vel, I shall pay de money, but it is dam hard. Ve have always game in our house, and de poor devil of a cook have to pay de penalty for it. (Great laughter).”
The following is a contemporary description of this palatial establishment.
“On entering from the street, a magnificent vestibule and staircase break upon the view; to the right and left of the hall are reading and dining rooms. The staircase is of a sinuous form, sustained in its landing by four columns of the Doric order, above which are a series of examples of the Ionic order, forming a quadrangle with apertures to the chief apartments. Above the pillars is a covered ceiling, perforated with luminous panels of stained glass, from which springs a dome of surpassing beauty: from the dome depends a lantern containing a magnificent chandelier.
“The State Drawing Room next attracts attention, a most noble apartment, baffling perfect description of its beauty, but decorated in the most florid style of Louis Quatorze. The room presents a series of panels containing subjects, in the style of Watteau, from the pencil of Mr Martin, a relative of the celebrated historical painter of that name: these panels are alternated with splendid mirrors. A chandelier of exquisite workmanship hangs from the centre of the ceiling, and three large tables, beautifully carved and gilded, and covered with rich blue and crimson velvet, are placed in different parts of the room. The upholstery and decorative adjuncts are imitative of the gorgeous taste of George the Fourth. Royalty can scarcely be conceived to vie with the style and consummate splendour of this magnificent chamber.
“The lofty and capacious Dining Room, supported by marble pillars, and furnished in the most substantial and aristocratic style of comfort, is equal to any arrangement of the kind in the most lordly mansions.
“The Drawing Room is allowed to be one of the most elegant apartments in the kingdom.
“The Sanctum Sanctorum, or Play Room, is comparatively small, but handsomely furnished. In the centre of the apartment stands the all attractive Hazard Table, innocent and unpretending enough in its form and appearance, but fatally mischievous and destructive in its conjunctive influence with box and dice. On this table, it may, with truth, be asserted that the greater portion, if not the whole of Crockford’s immense wealth was achieved; and for this piece of plain, unassuming mahogany, he had, doubtless, a more profound veneration than for the most costly piece of furniture that ever graced a palace. This bench of business is large, and of oval shape, well stuffed, and covered with fine green cloth, marked with yellow lines, denoting the different departments of speculation. Round these compartments are double lines, similarly marked, for the odds, or proportions, between what is technically known as the main and chance. In the centre, on each side, are indented positions for the croupiers, or persons engaged at the table in calling the main and chance, regulating the stakes, and paying and receiving money, as the events decisive of gain and loss occur. Over the table is suspended a three light lamp, conveniently shaded, so as to show its full luminous power on the cloth, and, at the same time, to protect the eyes of the croupiers from the light’s too strong effect. At another part of the room is fixed a writing table, or desk, where the Pluto of the place was wont to preside, to mete out loans on draft or other security, and to answer all demands by successful players. Chairs of easy make, dice boxes, bowls for holding counters representing sums from £1 to £200, with small hand rakes used by players to draw their counters from any inconvenient distance on the table, may be said to complete the furniture, machinery, and implements of this great workshop.”
It is said that during the first two seasons Crockford must have netted about £300,000, but his expenses were heavy, the item of dice alone (at about a guinea a pair) was £2000 per annum; three new pairs being provided for the opening play each night, and very often as many more called for by players, or put down by Crockford himself with a view to change a player’s luck.
Crockford was bound by his agreement with his committee to put down a bank, or capital, of £5000, nightly, during the sitting of Parliament, and he was not permitted to terminate the play until a stated hour, as long as any of that £5000 remained.
He died at his mansion in Carlton House Terrace, on 25 May 1844, aged 69. He died a very wealthy man, although he experienced very heavy losses in sundry speculations. A contemporary says of him:
“The entire property amassed by Mr Crockford must have been immense, regard being had to the fact that, exclusively of a sum of money, amounting to nearly half a million sterling, bequeathed to his widow, he is confidently reported to have distributed amongst his children, about two years ago, a sum nearly equalling, if not exceeding that amount: a circumstance not at all improbable in a man of foresight, like Mr Crockford, and one which will fully account, as well for the bequest of the whole bulk of his remaining fortune to his widow, as for such bequest being absolute, and free from all condition. In estimating the wealth acquired by Mr Crockford through the medium and success of his French hazard bank (for this was the never-failing source of gain), there must be taken into account the heavy and extravagant expenditure of the establishment in St James’s Street; his own expensive, though by no means foolishly extravagant, mode of living; the maintenance and education of a very numerous family, the advances of money from time to time, made to fit them out and further their prospects in life; the expense of a racing stud; a considerable outlay in suppressing various indictments preferred against him for his former proprietorship in King Street, and the heavy losses more recently sustained by other venture and speculation. It may be fairly calculated that the certain profits of the hazard table must have embraced millions! and some idea may be formed of the extent of evil to others consequent on such an accumulation of capital extracted from their means.”
Captain Gronow43 gives us a very graphic description of this club, drawn from the life, for he was a member thereof.
“I have alluded, in my first volume, to the high play which took place at White’s and Brookes’s in the olden time, and at Wattier’s in the days of Brummel and the dandies. Charles Fox, George Selwyn, Lord Carlisle, Fitzpatrick, Horace Walpole, the Duke of Queensberry, and others, lost whole fortunes at faro, macao and hazard; almost the only winners, indeed, of that generation were General Scott, father-in-law of Canning, the Duke of Portland, and Lord Robert Spencer; Lord Robert, indeed, bought the beautiful estate of Woolbidding, in Sussex, with the proceeds of his gains by keeping the bank at Brookes’s.
“But in the reign of George IV. a new star rose upon the horizon in the person of Mr William Crockford; and the old-fashioned game of faro, macao and lansquenet gave place to the all-devouring thirst for the game of hazard. Crockey, when still a young man, had relinquished the peaceful trade of a fishmonger for a share in a “hell,” where, with his partner Gye, he managed to win, after a sitting of twenty-four hours, the enormous sum of one hundred thousand pounds from Lords Thanet and Granville, Mr Ball Hughes, and two other gentlemen whose names I do not now remember. With this capital added to his former gains, he built the well known palace in St James’s Street, where a club was established, and play organised, on a scale of magnificence and liberality hitherto unknown in Europe.
“One may safely say, without exaggeration, that Crockford won the whole of the ready money of the then existing generation. As is often the case at Lord’s cricket ground, the great match of the gentlemen of England against the professional players was won by the latter. It was a very hollow thing, and in a very few years twelve hundred thousand pounds were swept away by the fortunate fishmonger. He did not, however, die worth more than a sixth part of this vast sum; the difference being swallowed up in various unlucky speculations.
“No one can describe the splendour and excitement of the early days of Crockey. A supper of the most exquisite kind, prepared by the famous Ude, and accompanied by the best wines in the world, together with every luxury of the season, was furnished gratis. The members of the club included all the celebrities of England, from the Duke of Wellington, to the youngest Ensign of the Guards; and, at the gay and festive board, which was constantly replenished from midnight to early dawn, the most brilliant sallies of wit, the most agreeable conversation, the most interesting anecdotes, interspersed with grave political discussions and acute logical reasoning on every conceivable subject, proceeded from the soldiers, scholars, statesmen, poets and men of pleasure, who, when the ‘house was up,’ and balls and parties at an end, delighted to finish their evening with a little supper, and a good deal of hazard at old Crockey’s. The tone of the club was most excellent. A most gentlemanlike feeling prevailed, and none of the rudeness, familiarity and ill breeding which disgrace some of the minor clubs of the present day, would have been tolerated for a moment.
“Though not many years have elapsed since the time of which I write, the supper table had a very different appearance from what it would present, did the club now exist. Beards were completely unknown, and the rare mustachios were only worn by officers of the Household Brigade, or hussar regiments. Stiff white neckcloths, blue coats and brass buttons, rather short waisted white waistcoats, and tremendously embroidered shirt fronts, with gorgeous studs of great value, were considered the right thing. A late deservedly popular Colonel in the Guards used to give Storr & Mortimer £25 a year, to furnish him with a new set of studs every Saturday night during the London season.
“The great foreign diplomatists, Prince Talleyrand, Count Pozzo di Borgo, General Alava, the Duke of Palmella, Prince Esterhazy, the French, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Austrian ambassadors, and all persons of distinction and eminence who arrived in England, belonged to Crockford’s as a matter of course; but many rued the day when they became members of that fascinating but dangerous coterie. The great Duke himself, always rather a friend of the dandies, did not disdain to appear now and then at this charming club; whilst the late Lord Raglan, Lord Anglesey, Sir Hussey Vivian, and many more of our Peninsula and Waterloo heroes, were constant visitors. The two great novelists of the day, who have since become great statesmen, Disraeli and Bulwer Lytton, displayed at that brilliant supper-table, the one his sable, the other his auburn curls; there Horace Twiss made proof of an appetite, and Edward Montague of a thirst, which astonished all beholders; whilst the bitter jests of Sir Joseph Copley, Colonel Armstrong, and John Wilson Croker, and the brilliant wit of Alvanley, were the delight of all present, and their bon mots were the next day retailed all over England.
“In the play-room might be heard the clear ringing voice of that agreeable reprobate, Tom Duncombe, as he cheerfully called ‘Seven,’ and the powerful hand of the vigorous Sefton in throwing for a ten. There might be noted the scientific dribbling of a four by ‘King’ Allen, the tremendous backing of nines and fives by Ball Hughes and Auriol, the enormous stakes played for by Lords Lichfield and Chesterfield, George Payne, Sir St Vincent Cotton, D’Orsay, and George Anson, and, above all, the gentlemanly bearing and calm and unmoved demeanour, under losses or gains, of all the men of that generation.
“The old fishmonger himself, seated snug and sly at his desk in the corner of the room, watchful as the dragon that guarded the golden apples of the Hesperides, would only give credit to good and approved signatures. Who that ever entered that dangerous little room can ever forget the large green table, with the croupiers, Page, Darking, and Bacon, with their suave manners, sleek appearance, stiff white neck cloths, and the almost miraculous quickness and dexterity with which they swept away the money of the unfortunate punters when the fatal cry of ‘Deuce ace,’ ‘Aces,’ or ‘Sixes out,’ was heard in answer to the caster’s bold cry of ‘Seven,’ or ‘Nine,’ or ‘Five’s the main.’
“O noctes cœnæque deûm! but the brightest medal has its reverse, and after all the wit and gaiety and excitement of the night, how disagreeable the waking up, and how very unpleasant the sight of the little card, with its numerous figures marked down on the debtor side in the fine bold hand of Mr Page. Alas, poor Crockey’s! shorn of its former glory, has become a sort of refuge for the destitute, a cheap dining-house.44 How are the mighty fallen! Irish buckeens, spring captains, ‘welchers’ from Newmarket, and suspicious looking foreigners, may be seen swaggering after dinner through the marble halls, and up that gorgeous staircase where once the chivalry of England loved to congregate; and those who remember Crockford’s in all its glory, cast, as they pass, a look of unavailing regret at its dingy walls, with many a sigh to the memory of the pleasant days they passed there, and the gay companions and noble gentlemen who have long since gone to their last home.”
One more story about Crockford’s, told by Sir George Chetwynd,45 and I have done with this subject. Speaking of Mr George Payne, he says: “Many were the stories he told of his early life, of his hunting, of the enormous sum he lost on the Leger before he came of age, of his never seeing daylight for a whole week in one winter, owing to being challenged by a friend to play a certain number of games at écarté, which resulted in their playing every night for six days till seven o’clock in the morning. Of course it was dark then at that season, and he used not to get up till 3.30 to 4 o’clock. He was fond of describing Crockford’s when the conversation turned on hazard or cards, and used to speak of the lavish way in which the old fishmonger supplied his guests (or victims) with the finest hot-house peaches, grapes, and every conceivable delicacy that could be obtained for money, and all this gratis. A number of men who did not care to play at hazard, used purposely to lose a hundred or two a year at the tables, to have the pleasure of dining and supping with their friends, who all flocked to the magnificent rooms, which, at night, presented the appearance of a luxurious club. Mr Payne used to narrate that, after dinner, he would sometimes stroll round there early, and, finding hardly anyone there except Crockford at his desk, used to sit down and play a game of backgammon with him, both being fine players.”