CHAPTER IX
Hells in the Quadrant, 1833 – Smith v. Bond – Police powers – “Confessions of a Croupier.”
The West End of London literally swarmed with gambling houses, for the most part of a very different description from Crockford’s, as may be seen by the two following quotations from The Times, Jan. 24, 1833: —
“The Hells in the Quadrant
“Those seats of vice (the gaming-houses) which for some time past have existed in the Quadrant, appear to be done up, as, since Saturday, not one of them has been opened. Since the five persons have been apprehended, the visitors have been extremely scarce; nor was their confidence restored, even by the proprietors having the chain up at the street door, coupled with a fellow’s being employed at each of the hells, to patrol before the different establishments, for the purpose of giving the requisite information as to who sought admission into those dens of destruction. Although a very active search has been made for the purpose of ascertaining what has become of Daly, the clerk of the Athenæum Club-house, who left that establishment on the 8th instant, no trace had been found of him – one of the many lamentable cases of loss of character and ruin which overtake those who suffer themselves to be lured into those houses. Daly, who enjoyed the confidence of the whole of the members, was suddenly missed on the above day. On looking over his papers, a diary was found, from which it appeared that he had lost large sums of money at No. 60, and, as it has since been ascertained he was there on the previous day, it is supposed that he lost twenty-four £5 notes, at play, which belonged to his employers. Upon this discovery being made, some gentlemen of the Athenæum waited on the parish officers, to ascertain whether they could not put a stop to the gaming-houses. It was, however, found that it could not be done unless some person would come forward and identify those at play; a relation of Daly accordingly went to the house and supplied the necessary proof. It was at this establishment, a few months since, the foreigners who had been fleeced made an attempt to rob the bank; and, shortly after that, placards were posted on the walls in the neighbourhood of the Quadrant, cautioning persons from going into any of the hells, as drugged wine was invariably given to those who were going to play.”
May 9th: “Three prisoners, out of six, answered to the indictment of keeping and maintaining a common gaming-house, and pleaded guilty. The prosecuting counsel, Mr Clarkson, said that the house in question was situate No. 4 Regent’s Circus, six doors from the house which was lately prosecuted. He should have been able to prove that on February the 7th, 9th, 12th, and 14th last, the games of rouge et noir and roulette were played for sums varying from one sovereign to one shilling. He should also have proved that on some one, or on all those occasions, the defendants acted in the capacities of doorkeeper, banker, and waiter. He (Mr Clarkson) was informed by the officers of St James’s parish, that, at the last Sessions there were twenty-seven houses of this description situate therein, and out of that number only two had been closed in the interval, but three new ones had been opened, so that the number had been increased rather than otherwise.
“Mr Phillips, for the defence, said that those houses had nothing to do with the present case. He would advise the parish officers to go to Crockford’s, not far distant from the house in question, where they would find lords and peers of the realm at play.
“The bench sentenced two of the prisoners to three months’, and one to fourteen days’ imprisonment, in the House of Correction, whilst the bail of one who did not appear was estreated.”
Of the hells in London in 1833, we get a very fair notion in a long article in Fraser’s Magazine for August of that year, from which I take the following small portion: —
“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 speedily possessed of all the money on the table: no man who plays hazard ever despairs of 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 ride in a newly-purchased Stanhope of their own, having several thousand pounds in their possession. The few instances of such successes 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 (if it only be a few shillings) their all, 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 maddening infatuation, whilst 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 procured 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, immoveable to any power of pressure against it by the company who go to play; a circle of inlaid white holly wood 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 to 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 a shilling to half-a-crown, according to the terms on which the house is known to have been 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 higher ones, there is always a set of men who are dependent on the keepers of the house, 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 and 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 number called 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 called; the throwing then continues, during which bets are made by others on the event until it is decided. If the caster throws deuce ace, 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 it. Also, if he should call six or eight, and throws the double sixes 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 equalisation of all the chances of this game when calling a main. The odds against any number being thrown against another 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 stakes, ready to snatch it if successful. To prevent the noise being heard in the streets, shutters, closely fitted to the window frames, are affixed, which are padded and covered with green baize: there is, 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 noisy voices at the table and prevents surprise by the officers of justice.
“The generality of the minor gambling 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, strip themselves, on the spot, of their clothes, either to stake against money or to pledge to the table keeper for a trifle to renew their play: and many instances occur of men going home half naked, having lost their all.
“They assemble in parties of from forty to fifty persons, who probably bring, on an average, each night, from one to twenty shillings to play with. As the money is lost the players depart, if they cannot borrow or beg more; and this goes on sometimes in the winter season, for fourteen to sixteen hours in succession; so that from 100 to 140 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 shillings may be procured 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 admission into houses of higher play, where 2s. 6d. or 3s. 4d. is demanded for the 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 Crown houses, and associate with gamblers of respectable exterior; where, if they show talents, 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.”
And so things went on for ten years longer, until the scandal was too grievous to be borne, and a Select Committee sat in Parliament, in 1844, on the subject of gaming. This was principally brought about by the revelations in the case of Smith v. Bond, which was tried before Lord Abinger and a special jury at the Middlesex Sittings after Michaelmas Term, 1842. It was a common gaming-house case brought under the statute of Anne (9th, c. 14), which was enacted to repress excessive gaming.
The parish of St George’s, Hanover Square, swarmed with hells, and the efforts of the parish officers had hitherto been unable to put them down. The play at such houses was notoriously unfair, and the keepers had thriven in proportion to the number and wealth of the victims they had been able to fleece. It was therefore resolved to bring an action under this statute, which not only prohibits excessive gaming, but enables the loser of above £10 at a sitting, to recover treble the amount of his losses; or, if he does not choose to take this course himself, any informer is enabled to sue for and obtain the penalty, one half of which is to benefit the poor of the parish in which the offence was committed, and the other half is to go to the person bringing the action.
In the case tried before Lord Abinger, the gaming-house went by the name of the Minor St James’s Club-house; but there was not the least pretence for calling it a club; anybody went there to play with hardly the formality of a first introduction. The keepers did a thriving trade, at French Hazard chiefly, and it was proved by the plaintiff, who had been one of the coterie who kept the table, that Mr Bredell had lost £200, Mr Fitzroy Stanhope £50, the Marquis of Conyngham £500 on each of two separate occasions, Lord Cantalupe £400, and other noblemen and gentlemen various sums.
An ingenious plea was put in by counsel on behalf of Bond, the keeper of the so-called club, that the sums in question were paid by cheques, and as a cheque is not held to be a payment in law until cashed, and as the banks at which the cheques were payable were not in the parish of St George’s, Hanover Square, the offence was not completed in that parish, and the plaintiff could not recover. The Chief Baron overruled the objection, and under his direction the jury returned a verdict for the plaintiff for £3508, being treble the amount actually proved to have been lost, thus teaching a very useful lesson to the keepers of gaming-houses generally. Had Lords Conyngham and Cantalupe and Mr Stanhope come forward as witnesses, and certified to their losses on the two occasions mentioned, additional penalties would have accrued to the amount of £5820.
The Act of 1822 (3 Geo. IV., c. 114) was still in force, by which a gaming-house keeper might be imprisoned with hard labour, and the Police Act of 1839 (2 and 3 Vic., c. 47, § 48) provided that “it shall be lawful for the Commissioners, by Order in Writing, to authorize the Superintendent to enter any such House, or Room, with such Constables as shall be directed by the Commissioners to accompany him, and, if necessary, to use Force for the Purpose of effecting such Entry, whether by breaking open Doors, or otherwise, and to take into Custody all Persons who shall be found therein, and to seize and destroy all Tables and Instruments of gaming found in such House, or Premises; and, also, to seize all Monies and Securities for Money found therein, and the Owner, or Keeper of the said Gaming-House, or other person having the Care and Management thereof; and, also, every Banker, Croupier, and other Person who shall act in any manner in conducting the said Gaming-House, shall be liable to a Penalty of not more than One Hundred Pounds; or, in the discretion of the Magistrate before whom he shall be convicted of the Offence, may be committed to the House of Correction, with or without hard Labour, for a Time not more than Six Calendar Months; and, upon Conviction of any such Offender, all the Monies and Securities for Monies, which shall have been seized, as aforesaid, shall be paid to the said Receiver, to be, by him, applied towards defraying the Charge of the Police of the Metropolis; and every Person found in such Premises, without lawful Excuse, shall be liable to a Penalty of not more than Five Pounds.”
But all this legislation was of no use; the gaming-tables continued to flourish until after the Report of the Select Committee. What they were like at that time may best be learnt by the following extract from an article in Bentley’s Magazine for June 1844, entitled “A Fashionable Gaming-house, Confessions of a Croupier.”
“The – gaming-house, – Street, some years ago, was kept by three well-known individuals. After passing through two lobbies you entered the play-room, which formed a coup d’œil of no ordinary attraction. It was a large room, richly carpeted. Two rich and massive chandeliers, suspended from the ceiling, showed the dazzling gilt and colour of the empanelled walls; from which, at alternate distances, extended elegant mirror branches with lights. The chimney piece was furnished with a plate of glass, which reached the ceiling, the sides were concealed by falling drapery of crimson and gold, and supported by two gilt full-length figures bearing lights. At the opposite end were placed two beaufets, furnished with costly plate, glass, etc. In the middle was fixed the hazard table, of a long oval form, having an adumbrated lamp hanging over the centre. On the right stood the rouge et noir and roulette tables, idly placed, ‘to make up a show.’ Not so that on the left, for, there, stood the supper table. This was laid out with viands worthy the contemplation of an epicure, on whitest damask, in costly china, and in forms delicate and recherché. Everything which might court the most fastidious taste was there spread in luxuriant profusion; game, poultry, ham, tongue, not forgetting the substantial sirloin; lobster salads, oysters, en outre les petites misères; confectionery and preserves; creams, jellies, and pine apples. Silver candelabra lighted each end of this long and well supplied table, while the middle was reserved for the display of one of still greater magnificence, said to have been designed and executed for his Royal Highness, the late Duke of – . It was composed of a large figure of Hercules contending with the Hydra with seven heads. This gorgeous piece of plate supported seven wax lights. Iolaus (who assisted Hercules) was, also, represented, bearing the lighted brand wherewith to staunch the blood, lest another head should spring from the wound.”
This is much; but when to this is added —
‘Something, still, which prompts the eternal sigh!’
One Thousand Sovereigns! a shining golden heap! and Ten Thousand Pounds in notes! the reader may imagine the scene which every evening met the eye. Yes! every evening, into a silver vase, which stood on the hazard table, were emptied ten bags, each containing one hundred sovereigns!
On some evenings, there would, perhaps, be no play, and insufferably tedious would have been the hours from eleven till three but for the relief offered by some tragi-comic incident. The London season was about to open; the Newmarket Spring Meeting had just closed, and Tattersall’s, consequently, exhibited a slight gathering. The members of Crockford’s, as yet, presented a meagre attendance; the Opera Bills announced attractive novelties, and the minor theatres promised their many marvels. In fact, the busy, bustling hive of human interests was on the move. The dormant began to stir, the watchful to speculate; the beauty to take her promenade in the yet pale sunshine; the invalid to snatch his walk at the meridian hour; the gambler to devise his means of expense, and the banker-hell-keeper how to frustrate them.
It was one evening, about this period, that a party entered to try the fortune of an hour. The result of the evening’s play was against the bank. One of the visitors won five hundred pounds, which, for a whim, he took away in gold. He tied the sovereigns up in a white pocket handkerchief, threw them over his shoulder, and, in that manner, walked up St James’s Street. From that night, the same party continued to visit us; and, with occasional droppers in of ex-colonels, majors, captains, etc., we, generally, made up a table. What! enter again, after having won five hundred pounds! ‘Oh! infatuated man,’ I hear the reader exclaim. Yes! for of all things unfathomable and absorbing, there is nothing so unfathomably deep as the desires of the human heart, when stimulated by the excitement of speculation.
For some weeks the play had been constant, and, as the season advanced, the company increased, and the money began to return to the bank. Sometimes play began late, perhaps not till after one.
Among our very constant visitors was a gallant captain. He came early, and was good to lose a hundred pounds, and satisfied to win fifty. His entrance was always met by a ready welcome.
‘Here comes the gallant captain! How are you, captain?’
‘Hearty, thank ye!’ he replied. ‘I say, how was it that my cheque was not paid this morning?’
‘Not paid! you’re joking, captain!’
‘Joking!’ replied the captain. ‘No, I’ll be d – d if it is a joke.’
The captain, on the previous evening, having won, had put up his counters and wished for a fifty pound note.
‘Certainly,’ said one of the triumvirs, looking into the box. ‘A fifty, did you say, captain? I am sorry to say I have not got a fifty. Make it a hundred, captain. You will soon do it if you put it down a little spicy.’
‘No,’ rejoined the captain, ‘I don’t want to play any more, for I must leave town early to-morrow morning.’
‘Well; but what is to be done?’ said the manager. Then, calling to his partner, he inquired if he had a fifty pound note for Captain – .
‘No, I have not; but I will write a cheque for him; that will be all the same.’
Away went the captain, as light hearted as a cricket, to sleep away the few remaining hours that intervened before another day wakes us all to our divers duties. Who has not noticed the punctuality of the banker’s clerks wending their way to their daily toil. Not quite so early as these, yet not much later, did the captain doff his night gear; then made his appearance at the banker’s, nothing doubting. He presents ‘the bit o’ writin’’ ‘Two twenties and ten in gold.’ The clerk puts forward his attenuated fingers, examines it: a pause ensues. How can it be? The date is right, and the autograph is genuine; but there is no order to pay it.
‘No order to pay it?’ echoed the captain, much annoyed.
Between ourselves, the private mark was wanting: which was, perhaps, a pin hole, or not a pin hole.
On the evening I have referred to, he received counters for this cheque, and was, already, deep in the game, when the chef made his appearance. The above ruse was frequently resorted to.
It is customary to lend money to parties on cheque, or otherwise, if the applicants are considered safe. One of the visitors, who was passionately addicted to play and the turf, having lost his ready money, borrowed three hundred pounds in counters, and, having lost these also, gave a cheque for the amount; but with this condition, that it should not be sent in to his banker’s in the country for some few days. No sooner, however, was his back turned than an employé was instructed to start off very early the following morning to get the cheque cashed; the date, which was left open, being first clapped in. The cheque was paid; and two or three nights afterwards the young gentleman came for an explanation of the circumstance, and to remonstrate. The poor employé, as usual, was made the scapegoat, and was roundly abused for his stupidity in not understanding that he was particularly ordered not to present it till further notice.
It was the practice, also, to present post-dated cheques, which had been refused payment, and even to sue on them. Sometimes, after an evening’s play, a gentleman would find himself the winner of a couple of hundred pounds, when, all but folding up the notes, and preparing to go, he would find, to his mortification, a small account against him, of, perhaps, seventy or eighty pounds. ‘Eighty pounds! impossible! there must be some mistake.’ Expostulation was vain. ‘It is down in the book. It is perfectly correct, you may rest assured. I pledge you my honour of this.’
Sometimes it happened that a gentleman would borrow one hundred pounds, of course in counters, on a cheque or a short bill. Perhaps he might win thirty or forty pounds, in which case, the one hundred pounds in counters would be taken from him and his cheque returned, and he would be left to do his best with the small capital remaining to him, with the privilege of renewing the transaction, should he lose it. Counters, so borrowed, were not allowed to be lent to a friend.
Nevertheless, it may seem not a bad ‘hedge,’ technically speaking, to have the opportunity of borrowing hundred after hundred, as some people would do, till a hand came off. I have known persons to come in without a penny, and declare the Caster, in or out, ten pounds, and losing the bet, would ask for a hundred pounds, would receive it and lose it, and receive in the same way to the amount of six or seven hundred pounds, and then would declare that they would not pay one farthing unless accommodated with another hundred. I have known a man of high rank lose to the amount of fourteen hundred pounds, on account, which, under the circumstances, his lordship had more sense than to pay. But, for the bold style, I will quote a city wine merchant. Having lost his cash, he requested a hundred pounds, which he received; he then asked for another, which he also received. He demanded another! After a few words, and a reference to a friend then at the table, this, too, was given to him, and a cheque for £300 was received for the advance made. It so happened that the third hundred was lost also. He, then, peremptorily demanded more, and, upon being refused, he requested to see the cheque, disputing the amount, which being handed to him, he immediately tore it to pieces, and left the room.
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It may be thought that a gentleman who has lost above a thousand pounds in a gaming-house may have the right of entrée by prescription. Nothing is more unlike the fact. From the height of his prosperity to its declension, every occultation in his course is noted with the nicest observation; for instance, playing for lower stakes, a more febrile excitement when losing, occasionally borrowing of a friend, a cheque not punctually paid; and, finally, a small sum borrowed of the bank, to enable him to take up a bill under a very pressing emergency. These are the little circumstances which lead to his ultimate exclusion. On some fine evening during the ensuing season, he calls, thinking to be admitted as heretofore; but he is stopped at the first door with the ready excuse, that ‘there is nothing doing.’ On the next call, he is told ‘there is no play going on.’
‘No play? So you said the last time I called; and I have since understood from a friend that there was play. Let me in; I want to see the manager.’
‘He is not in, sir.’
‘Oh, very well, I shall take some other opportunity of seeing him.’
When he does see the chef, the latter expresses most sincere regret at the occurrence, and makes a most specious promise to have the interdict removed. Thus assured, who is now to oppose his entrance? Not the porter, surely! Yes; the very same person still insists that the great man is not within; that he knows nothing about the explanation given, and, therefore, cannot admit him. Thus repulsed, the applicant murmurs a threat about not paying, and thus ends the matter.”