Chapter Fifty Five
On Games and Gambling
The passion of gaming is universal amongst men. Every nation indulges in it to a greater or less extent. Every nation, civilised or savage, has its game, from whist and cribbage at Almacks to “chuck-a-luck” and “poke-stick” upon the prairies.
Moral England fancies herself clear of the stain. Her gossiping traveller rarely fails to fling a stone at the foreigner on this head. French, German, Spaniard, and Mexican, are in turn accused of an undue propensity for this vice. Cant – all cant! There is more gambling in moral England than in any country of my knowing. I do not speak of card-playing about the purlieus of Piccadilly. Go to Epsom races on a “Derby day,” and there you may form an idea of the scale upon which English gaming is carried on – for gaming it is in the very lowest sense of the word. Talk of “noble sport,” – of an admiration for that fine animal – the horse. Bah! Noble, indeed! Fancy those seedy scamps, who in thousands and tens of thousands flock upon every race-course, – fancy them and their harlotic companions possessed with the idea of anything fine or noble! Of all who crowd there the horse alone is noble – naught could be more ignoble than his entourage.
No, moral England! You are no pattern for the nations in this respect. You are not free from the stain, as you imagine yourself. You have a larger population of gamblers, —horse-gamblers if you will, than any other people; and, however noble be your game, I make bold to affirm that your gamesters are the seediest, snobbiest, and most revolting of the tribe. There is something indescribably mean in the life and habits of those hungry-looking vultures who hang about the corners of Coventry Street and the Haymarket, out at elbows, out at heels, sneaking from tavern to betting-house, and from betting-house to tavern. There is a meanness, a positive cowardice in the very nature of their game, – their small ventures and timid “hedging” of bets. In comparison, the bold ringer of dice has something almost noble in him. Your apathetic Don, who stakes his gold onzas on a single throw of the ivory – your Mexican monte-player, who risks his doubloons on each turn of the cards, – are, to some extent, dignified by the very boldness of their venture. With them gambling is a passion – its excitement their lure; but Brown, and Smith, and Jones, cannot even plead the passion. Even that would exalt them.
Of all gamblers by profession the “sportsman” of the Mississippi Valley is perhaps the most picturesque. I have already alluded to their elegant style of attire, but, independent of that, there is a dash of the gentleman – a certain chivalresqueness of character which distinguishes them from all others of their calling. During the wilder episodes of my life I have been honoured with the acquaintance of more than one of these gentlemen, and I cannot help bearing a somewhat high testimony in their favour. Several have I met of excellent moral character, – though, perhaps, not quite up to the standard of Exeter Hall. Some I have known of noble and generous hearts – doers of noble actions – who, though outcasts in society, were not outcasts to their own natures; men who would bravely resent the slightest insult that might be put upon them. Of course there were others, as the Chorleys and Hatchers, who would scarce answer to this description of Western “sportsmen” – but I really believe that such are rather the exception than the rule. A word about the “games of America.” The true national game of the United States is the “election.” The local or state elections afford so many opportunities of betting, just as the minor horse-races do in England; while the great quadrennial, the Presidential election, is the “Derby day” of America. The enormous sums that change hands upon such occasions, and the enormous number of them, would be incredible. A statistic of these bets, could such be given, and their amount, would surprise even the most “enlightened citizen” of the States themselves. Foreigners cannot understand the intense excitement which is felt during an election time throughout the United States. It would be difficult to explain it, in a country where men generally know that the fate of the particular candidate has, after all, but a slight influence on their material interests. True, party spirit and the great stake of all – the “spoils” of office – will account for some of the interest taken in the result, but not for all. I am of opinion that the “balance” of the excitement may be set down to the credit of the gaming passion. Nearly every second man you meet has a bet, or rather a “book,” upon the Presidential election!
Election, therefore, is the true national game, indulged in by high, low, rich, and poor.
To bet upon an election, however, is not considered infra dig. It is not professional gambling.
The games for that purpose are of various kinds – in most of which cards are relied upon to furnish the chances. Dice and billiards are also in vogue – billiards to a considerable extent. It is a very mean village in the United States – particularly in the South and West – that does not furnish one or more public billiard-tables; and among Americans may be found some of the most expert (crack) players in the world. The “Creoles” of Louisiana are distinguished at this game.
“Ten-pins” is also a very general game, and every town has its “ten-pin alley.” But “billiards” and “ten-pins” are not true “gambling games.” The first is patronised rather as an elegant amusement, and the latter as an excellent exercise. Cards and dice are the real weapons of the “sportsman,” but particularly the former. Besides the English games of whist and cribbage, and the French games of “vingt-un,” “rouge-et-noir,” etcetera, the American gambler plays “poker,” “euchre,” “seven-up,” and a variety of others. In New Orleans there is a favourite of the Creoles called “craps,” a dice game, and “keno,” and “loto,” and “roulette,” played with balls and a revolving wheel. Farther to the South, among the Spano-Mexicans, you meet the game of “monte,” – a card game, distinct from all the others. Monte is the national game of Mexico.
To all other modes of getting at your money, the South-Western sportsman prefers “faro.” It is a game of Spanish origin, as its name imports; indeed, it differs but little from monte, and was no doubt obtained from the Spaniards of New Orleans. Whether native or exotic to the towns of the Mississippi Valley, in all of them it has become perfectly naturalised; and there is no sportsman of the West who does not understand and practise it.
The game of faro is simple enough. The following are its leading features: —
A green cloth or baize covers the table. Upon this the thirteen cards of a suite are laid out in two rows, with their faces turned up. They are usually attached to the cloth by gum, to prevent them from getting out of place.
A square box, like an overgrown snuff-box, is next produced. It is of the exact size and shape to hold two packs of cards. It is of solid silver. Any other metal would serve as well; but a professed “faro dealer” would scorn to carry a mean implement of his calling. The object of this box is to hold the cards to be dealt, and to assist in dealing them. I cannot explain the internal mechanism of this mysterious box; but I can say that it is without a lid, open at one edge – where the cards are pressed in – and contains an interior spring, which, touched by the finger of the dealer, pushes out the cards one by one as they lie in the pack. This contrivance is not at all essential to the game, which may be played without the box. Its object is to insure a fair deal, as no card can be recognised by any mark on its back, since up to the moment of drawing they are all invisible within the box. A stylish “faro box” is the ambition of every “faro dealer” – the specific title of all “sportsmen” whose game is faro.
Two packs of cards, well shuffled, are first put into the box; and the dealer, resting the left hand upon it, and holding the right in readiness, with the thumb extended, pauses a moment until some bets are made. The “dealer” is in reality your antagonist in the game; he is the “banker” who pays all your gains, and pockets all your losses. As many may bet as can sit or stand around the table; but all are betting against the dealer himself. Of course, in this case, the faro dealer must be something of a proprietor to play the game at all; and the “faro bank” has usually a capital of several thousands of dollars – often hundreds of thousands to back it! Not unfrequently, after an unlucky run, the bank gets “broke;” and the proprietor of it may be years before he can establish another. An assistant or “croupier” usually sits beside the dealer. His business is to exchange the “cheques” for money, to pay the bets lost, and gather in those which the bank has won.
The cheques used in the game are pieces of ivory of circular form, of the diameter of dollars: they are white, red, or blue, with the value engraved upon them, and they are used as being more convenient than the money itself. When any one wishes to leave off playing, he can demand from the bank to the amount specified on the cheques he may then hold.
The simplest method of betting “against faro” is by placing the money on the face of any particular one of the cards that lie on the table. You may choose which you will of the thirteen. Say you have selected the ace, and placed your money upon the face of that card. The dealer then commences, and “draws” the cards out of the box one by one. After drawing each two he makes a pause. Until two aces follow each other, with no other card between, there is no decision. When two aces come together the bet is declared. If both appear in the drawing of the two cards, then the dealer takes your money; if only one is pulled out, and the other follows in the next drawing, you have won. You may then renew your bet upon the ace – double it if you will, or remove it to any other card – and these changes you may make at any period of the deal – provided it is not done after the first of the two cards has been drawn.
Of course the game goes on, whether you play or not. The table is surrounded by betters; some on one card, some on another; some by “paralee,” on two or more cards at a time; so that there is a constant “falling due” of bets, a constant rattling of cheques and chinking of dollars.
It is all a game of chance. “Skill” has naught to do with the game of faro; and you might suppose, as many do, that the chances are exactly equal for the dealer and his opponents. Such, however, is not the case; a peculiar arrangement of the cards produces a percentage in favour of the former, else there would be no faro bank; and although a rare run of ill-fortune may go against the dealer for a time, if he can only hold out long enough, he is “bound to beat you” in the end.
A similar percentage will be against you in all games of chance – “faro,” “monte,” or “craps,” wherever you bet against a “banker.” Of course the banker will not deny this, but answers you, that that small percentage is to “pay for the game.” It usually does, and well.
Such is faro – the game at which I had resolved to empty my purse, or win the price of my betrothed.
Chapter Fifty Six
The Faro Bank
We entered the saloon. The game voilà!
At one end was the table – the bank. We could see neither bank nor dealer; both were hidden by the double ring of bettors, who encircled the table – one line seated, the other standing behind. There were women, too, mingled in the crowd – seated and standing in every attitude – gay and beautiful women, decked out in the finery of fashion, but with a certain braverie of manner that betokened their unfortunate character.
D’Hauteville had guessed aright – the game was at its height. The look and attitudes of the betters – their arms constantly in motion, placing their stakes – the incessant rattling of the ivory cheques, and the clinking together of dollars – all told that the game was progressing briskly.
A grand chandelier, suspended above the table, cast its brilliant light over the play and the players.
Near the middle of the saloon stood a large table, amply furnished with “refreshments.” Cold fowls, ham and tongue, chicken salad, and lobsters, cut-glass decanters tilled with wine, brandy, and other liquors, garnished this table. Some of the plates and glasses bore the traces of having been already used, while others were clean and ready for anyone who chose to play knife and fork a while. It was, in fact, a “free lunch,” or rather supper – free to any guest who chose to partake of it. Such is the custom of an American gambling-house.
The rich viands did not tempt either my companion or myself. We passed the table without halting, and walked directly up to the “bank.”
We reached the outer circle, and looked over the shoulders of the players. “Shade of Fortuna! Chorley and Hatcher!”
Yes – there sat the two sharpers, side by side, behind the faro-table – not as mere bettors, but acting respectively as banker and croupier of the game! Chorley held the dealing-box in his fingers, while Hatcher sat upon his right, with cheques, dollars, and bank-notes piled upon the table in front of him! A glance around the ring of faces showed us the pork-merchant as well. There sat he in his loose jeans coat and broad white-hat, talking farmer-like, betting bravely, and altogether a stranger to both banker and croupier!
My companion and I regarded each other with a look of surprise.
After all, there was nothing to surprise us. A faro bank needs no charter, no further preliminaries to its establishment than to light up a table, spread a green baize over it, and commence operations. The sportsmen were no doubt quite at home here. Their up-river excursion was only by way of a little variety – an interlude incidental to the summer. The “season” of New Orleans was now commencing, and they had just returned in time for it. Therefore there was nothing to be surprised at, in our finding them where we did.
At first seeing them, however, I felt astonishment, and my companion seemed to share it. I turned towards him, and was about proposing that we should leave the room again, when the wandering eye of the pseudo pork-merchant fell upon me.
“Hilloa, stranger!” he cried out, with an air of astonishment, “you hyar?”
“I believe so,” I replied unconcernedly.
“Wal! wal! I tho’t you war lost. Whar did you go, anyhow?” he inquired in a tone of vulgar familiarity, and loud enough to turn the attention of all present upon myself and my companion.
“Ay —whar did I go?” I responded, keeping my temper, and concealing the annoyance I really felt at the fellow’s impudence.
“Yes – that’s jest what I wanted to know.”
“Are you very anxious?” I asked.
“Oh, no – not particklerly so.”
“I am glad of that,” I responded, “as I don’t intend telling you.”
With all his swagger I could see that his crest fell a little at the general burst of laughter that my somewhat bizarre remark had called forth.
“Come, stranger,” he said, in a half-deprecatory, half-spiteful tone, “you needn’t a be so short-horned about it, I guess; I didn’t mean no offence – but you know you left us so suddintly – never mind – ’taint no business o’ mine. You’re going to take a hand at faro, ain’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Wal, then, it appears a nice game. I’m jest trying it for the first time myself. It’s all chance, I believe – jest like odds and evens. I’m a winnin’ anyhow.”
He turned his face to the bank, and appeared to busy himself in arranging his bets.
A fresh deal had commenced, and the players, drawn off for a moment by our conversation, became once more engaged in what was of greater interest to them – the little money-heaps upon the cards.
Of course, both Chorley and Hatcher recognised me; but they had restricted their recognitions to a friendly nod, and a glance that plainly said —
“He’s here! all right! he’ll not go till he has tried to get back his hundred dollars – he’ll have a shy at the bank – no fear but he will.”
If such were their thoughts they were, not far astray. My own reflections were as follows: —
“I may as well risk my money here as elsewhere. A faro bank is a faro bank all the same. There is no opportunity for cheating, where cards are thus dealt. The arrangement of the bets precludes every possibility of such a thing. Where one player loses to the bank, another may win from it by the very same turn, and this of course checks the dealer from drawing the cards falsely, even if it were possible for him to do so. So I may as well play against Messrs Chorley and Hatcher’s bank as any other – better, indeed; for if I am to win I shall have the satisfaction of the revanche, which those gentlemen owe me. I shall play here then. Do you advise me, Monsieur?”
Part of the above reflections, and the interrogatory that wound them up, were addressed in a whisper to the young Creole.
He acknowledged their justice. He advised me to remain. He was of the opinion I might as well tempt fortune there as go farther.
Enough – I took out a five-dollar gold-piece, and placed it upon the ace.
No notice was taken of this – neither banker nor croupier even turning their eyes in the direction, of the bet. Such a sum as five dollars would not decompose the well-practised nerves of these gentlemen – where sums of ten, twenty, or even fifty times the amount, were constantly passing to and from their cash-box.
The deal proceeded, Chorley drawing the cards with that air of imperturbable sang-froid so characteristic of his class.
“Ace wins,” cried a voice, as two aces came forth together.
“Pay you in cheques, sir?” asked the croupier.
I assented, and a flat round piece of ivory, of a red colour, with the figure 5 in its centre, was placed upon my half-eagle. I permitted both to remain upon the ace. The deal went on, and after a while two aces came out together, and two more of the red cheques were mine.
I suffered all four pieces, now worth twenty dollars, to lie. I had not come there to amuse myself. My purpose was very different; and, impelled by that purpose, I was resolved not to waste time. If Fortune was to prove favourable to me, her favours were as likely to be mine soon as late; and when I thought of the real stake for which I was playing, I could not endure the suspense. No more was I satisfied at contact with the coarse and bawd company that surrounded the table.
The deal went on – and after some time aces again came out. This time I lost.
Without a word passing from his lips, the croupier drew in the cheques and gold-piece, depositing them in his japanned cash-box, I took out my purse, and tried ten dollars upon the queen, I won. I doubled the bet, and lost again.
Another ten dollars won – another lost – another and another, and so on, now winning, now losing, now betting with cheques, now with gold-pieces – until at length I felt to the bottom of my purse without encountering a coin!
Chapter Fifty Seven
The Watch and Ring
I rose from my seat, and turned towards D’Hauteville with a glance of despair. I needed not to tell him the result. My look would have announced it, but he had been gazing over my shoulder and knew all.
“Shall we go, Monsieur?” I asked.
“Not yet – stay a moment,” replied he, placing his hand upon my arm.
“And why?” I asked; “I have not a dollar. I have lost all. I might have known it would be so. Why stay here, sir?”
I spoke somewhat brusquely. I confess I was at the moment in anything but an amiable mood. In addition to my prospects for the morrow, a suspicion had flashed across my mind that my new friend was not loyal. His knowledge of these men – his having counselled me to play there – the accident, to say the least, a strange one, of our again meeting with the “sportsmen” of the boat, and under such a new phase – the great celerity with which my purse had been “cleared out” – all these circumstances passing rapidly through my mind, led me naturally enough to suspect D’Hauteville of treason. I ran rapidly over our late conversation. I tried to remember whether he had said or done anything to guide me into this particular hell. Certainly he had not proposed my playing, but rather opposed it; and I could not remember that by word or act he had endeavoured to introduce me to the game. Moreover, he seemed as much astonished as myself at seeing these gentlemen behind the table.
What of all that? The surprise might have been well feigned. Possibly enough; and after my late experience of the pork-merchant, probably enough, Monsieur D’Hauteville was also a partner in the firm of Chorley, Hatcher, and Co. I wheeled round with an angry expression on my lips, when the current of my thoughts was suddenly checked, and turned into a new channel. The young Creole stood looking up in my face – he was not so tall as I – gazing upon me out of his beautiful eyes, and waiting until my moment of abstraction should pass. Something glittered in his outstretched hand. It was a purse. I could see the yellow coins shining through the silken network. It was a purse of gold!
“Take it!” he said, in his soft silvery voice.
My heart fell abashed within me. I could scarce stammer forth a reply. Had he but known my latest thoughts, he might have been able to read the flush of shame that so suddenly mantled my cheeks.
“No, Monsieur,” I replied; “this is too generous of you. I cannot accept it.”
“Come – come! Why not? Take it, I pray – try Fortune again. She has frowned on you of late, but remember she is a fickle goddess, and may yet smile on you. Take the purse, man!”
“Indeed, Monsieur, I cannot after what I – pardon me – if you knew – ”
“Then must I play for you – remember the purpose that brought us here! Remember Aurore!”
“Oh!”
This ejaculation, wrung from my heart, was the only answer I could make, before the young Creole had turned to the faro-table, and was placing his gold upon the cards.
I stood watching him with feelings of astonishment and admiration, mingled with anxiety for the result.
What small white hands! What a brilliant jewel, sparkling on his finger – a diamond! It has caught the eyes of the players, who gloat upon it as it passes back and forward to the cards. Chorley and Hatcher have both noticed it. I saw them exchange their peculiar glance as they did so. Both are polite to him. By the large bets he is laying he has won their esteem. Their attention in calling out the card when he wins, and in handing him his cheques, is marked and assiduous. He is the favoured better of the ring; and oh! how the eyes of those fair lemans gleam upon him with their wild and wicked meaning! Not one of them that would not love him for that sparkling gem!
I stood on one side watching with great anxiety – greater than if the stake had been my own. But it was my own. It was for me. The generous youth was playing away his gold for me.
My suspense was not likely to be of long duration. He was losing rapidly – recklessly losing. He had taken my place at the table, and along with it my ill-luck. Almost every bet he made was “raked” into the bank, until his last coin lay upon the cards. Another turn, and that, too, chinked as it fell into the cash-box of the croupier!
“Come now, D’Hauteville! Come away!” I whispered, leaning over, and laying hold of his arm.
“How much against this?” he asked the banker, without heeding me – “how much, sir?”
As he put the question, he raised the gold guard over his head, at the same time drawing forth his watch.
I suspected this was his intention when I first spoke. I repeated my request in a tone of entreaty – all in vain. He pressed Chorley for a reply.
The latter was not the man to waste words at such a crisis.
“A hundred dollars,” said he, “for the watch – fifty more upon the chain.”
“Beautiful!” exclaimed one of the players.
“They’re worth more,” muttered another.
Even in the blazé hearts around that table there were human feelings. There is always a touch of sympathy for him who loses boldly; and an expression of this in favour of the Creole youth could be heard, from time to time, as his money parted from him.
“Yes, that watch and chain are worth more,” said a tall dark-whiskered man, who sat near the end of the table. This remark was made in a firm confident tone of voice, that seemed to command Chorley’s attention.
“I’ll look at it again, if you please?” said he, stretching across the table to D’Hauteville, who still held the watch in his hand.
The latter surrendered it once more to the gambler, who opened the case, and commenced inspecting the interior. It was an elegant watch, and chain also – of the fashion usually worn by ladies. They were worth more than Chorley had offered, though that did not appear to be the opinion of the pork-merchant.
“It’s a good pile o’ money, is a hundred an’ fifty dollars,” drawled he; “a good biggish pile, I reckon. I don’t know much about such fixins meself, but it’s full valley for that ar watch an’ chain, I shed say.”
“Nonsense!” cried several: “two hundred dollars – it’s worth it all. See the jewels!”
Chorley cut short the discussion.
“Well,” said he, “I don’t think it worth more than what I’ve bid, sir. But since you wish to get back what you’ve already lost, I don’t mind staking two hundred against watch and chain together. Does that satisfy you?”
“Play on!” was the only answer made by the impatient Creole, as he took back his watch, and laid it down upon one of the cards.
It was a cheap watch to Chorley. It cost him but the drawing out of half-a-dozen cards, and it became his!
“How much against this?”
D’Hauteville drew off his ring, and held it before the dazzled eyes of the dealer.
At this crisis I once more interfered, but my remonstrance was unheeded. It was of no use trying to stay the fiery spirit of the Creole.
The ring was a diamond, or rather a collection of diamonds in a gold setting. It, like the watch, was also of the fashion worn by ladies; and I could hear some characteristic remarks muttered around the table, such as, “That young blood’s got a rich girl somewhere,” “There’s more where they come from,” and the like!
The ring was evidently one of much value, as Chorley, after an examination of it, proposed to stake four hundred dollars. The tall man in dark whiskers again interfered, and put it at five hundred. The circle backed him, and the dealer at length agreed to give that sum.
“Will you take cheques, sir?” he inquired, addressing D’Hauteville, “or do you mean to stake it at one bet?”
“At one bet,” was the answer.
“No, no!” cried several voices, inclined to favour D’Hauteville.
“At one bet,” repeated he, in a determined tone. “Place it upon the ace!”
“As you wish, sir,” responded Chorley, with perfect sang-froid, at the same time handing back the ring to its owner.
D’Hauteville took the jewel in his slender white fingers, and laid it on the centre of the card. It was the only bet made. The other players had become so interested in the result, that they withheld their stakes in order to watch it.
Chorley commenced drawing the cards. Each one as it came forth caused a momentary thrill of expectancy; and when aces, deuces, or trés with their broad white margins appeared outside the edge of that mysterious box, the excitement became intense.
It was a long time before two aces came together. It seemed as if the very importance of the stakes called for more than the usual time to decide the bet.
It was decided at length. The ring followed the watch.
I caught D’Hauteville by the arm, and drew him away from the table. This time he followed me unresistingly – as he had nothing more to lay.
“What matters it?” said he, with a gay air as we passed together out of the saloon. “Ah! yes,” he continued, changing his tone, “ah, yes, it does matter! It matters to you, and Aurore!”