oyster houses, about 1840, was of the same character as that which
had at the same time flourished in the vicinity of St James's. For
this reason the blackguards frequenting the former attained the most
profound knowledge of the art of robbing at the West-End Hells. They
visited the saloons every night, in order to pick up new acquaintances
amongst inexperienced youth. Well-dressed and polite, they carefully
scanned every visitor on the look-out for pigeons to pluck, and having
found one went soon to work to establish an acquaintance. Cards being
proposed, the leader of the band provided a room, play ensuing,
accompanied by the certainty of loss to the unfortunate guest. If the
invitation was rejected, the pigeon was attacked through a passion
of a different kind. The word being given to one of their female
friends, she threw herself in the quarry's way, and prevailed upon
him to accompany her to her house. In the morning the "gentleman,"
who in vain had solicited him to play at the saloon the night before,
would call--as if to pay "a friendly visit." Cards would be again
proposed, the "lady" offering to be the partner of her friend in the
game. Numbers of young men were plundered by such schemes of thousands
of pounds; and a good deal of demoralisation prevailed amongst small
tradesmen and gentlemen's servants, numbers of whom frequented the low
gambling-houses. If one of these could scrape together two or three
hundred pounds he was able, with the assistance of the keeper of the
Hell, to lend it to needy losers at sixty per cent.
A careful inspection was made of the visitor's appearance by a
gaming-house keeper's spies, his dress being strictly scrutinised. He
was obliged, before entering the saloon, to deposit his great-coat
and cane, or anything else which might facilitate the introduction of
some weapon; the value or elegance of these did not save him from the
humiliation of having it taken from him at the door. The assaults which
were sometimes made on the bankers led to such precautions.
The blame for the great increase of gambling in the West End was
mostly attributed to Crockford, who presided over the most palatial
gaming-house ever run in England.
William Crockford was the son of a small fishmonger who lived next door
to Temple Bar. After his father's death the young man soon abandoned
fish-selling for more exciting pursuits. He became a frequenter of the
sporting-houses then abundant in the neighbourhood of St. James's, went
racing, and, after setting up a successful hazard bank in Wattier's
old Club-house,[4] became connected with a gaming-house in King Street,
which, though it frequently got him into trouble with the authorities,
put a very large sum of money into his pocket. At King Street,
Crockford, together with his partner Gye, is said to have once won the
very large sum of £100,000 from five well-known men-about-town, amongst
whom were Lords Thanet and Granville and Mr. Ball Hughes.
With the capital amassed in the manner described Crockford founded
the celebrated institution in St. James's Street which was sometimes
jokingly called "Fishmonger's Hall."
It was opened at the end of the year 1827. There were about 1200
members, exclusive of ambassadors and foreigners of distinction; the
annual subscription was £25. The Club-house was luxurious beyond
anything which had been known up to that time. The decorations alone,
it is said, cost £94,000, and a salary of £1200 a year was paid by
Crockford to his cook, M. Eustache Ude.
The Club-house, which still exists in an altered form as the Devonshire
Club, was decorated and upholstered in the somewhat gaudy style popular
during the reign of George IV., the apartment known as the State
Drawing-room being particularly gorgeous and florid in its general
effect.
The gaming-room was comparatively small. Here were card-tables at
which whist was occasionally played, whilst in the centre stood the
hazard-table, the real _raison d'être_ of the whole establishment.
The expenses of running this gambling-club were large, the dice alone
costing some two thousand a year! Three new pairs at about a guinea
each pair were provided at the commencement of every evening's play,
and very often as many more were called for either by players or by
Crockford himself in order to change the luck.
By the terms of his agreement Crockford was bound to put £5000 into
a bank every night whilst Parliament was sitting; as long as any of
this capital remained he was not allowed to end the play until an hour
previously appointed.
During his first two seasons Crockford is said to have made about
£300,000; he may, indeed, be said to have extracted nearly all the
ready money from the pockets of the men of fashion of the day. So much
so was this the case, that when Crockford retired in 1840 it was said
that he resembled an Indian chief who retires from a hunting country
when there is not game enough left for his tribe.
Mr. Crockford's private views as to the likelihood of any player at
hazard increasing his fortune were certainly interesting. Being one day
asked by a young man of his acquaintance what was the best main to call
at the game, he solemnly replied: "I'll tell you what it is, young man.
You may call mains at hazard till your hair grows out of your hat
and your toes grow out of your boots. My advice to you is not to call
any mains at all."
[Illustration: COUNT D'ORSAY CALLING A MAIN AT CROCKFORD'S.]
This, though undoubtedly sound, was a curious speech from a man who had
laid the foundation of a large fortune at the gaming-table, and had
himself successfully called all the mains under the sun.
Whilst many were ruined at Crockford's, nobody appears to have made
much by the place except the proprietor, who, though latterly rather
unsuccessful in speculation, died a very rich man at the age of
sixty-nine in May 1844.
In 1844 a Select Committee on gaming took a great deal of evidence,
Crockford himself being examined, though nothing was got out of him.
The result of all this was that on the 8th of August 1845 was passed an
Act to amend the law against games and wagers. The Act in question was
particularly aimed against hazard, which had undoubtedly done a good
deal of harm, lending itself as it did to much trickery and foul play.
Gaming-houses were now rigorously repressed, but it was not long before
gambling began to rage in another form, many betting-houses being
started.
The first institution of this kind appears to have opened its doors
in 1847, the proprietors being Messrs. Drummond and Greville. About
1850, about four hundred of these houses (the vast majority not very
solvent), where regular lists of the prices were openly exhibited,
flourished, and an epidemic of gambling was declared to have attacked
even the poorest class, who were being offered facilities for risking
their hard-earned sixpences and shillings. The rise and fall of the
odds before any great race was eagerly watched by the keepers of the
betting-houses, and scenes of wild excitement occasionally occurred.
Many of the smaller betting-shops were simply traps for the unwary.
The stock-in-trade needed was merely a few flyblown racing prints
and some old ledgers. A room was soon hired, often in some derelict
tobacconist's shop, and business then commenced. Most of these places
existed in obscure and dirty thoroughfares; the neighbourhood of Drury
Lane being especially affected by those indulging in this nefarious
industry. Just before a big race meeting, such as the Derby or Ascot,
numbers of these betting shops would burst into bloom for a short
space of time. When the meetings ended, the crowd coming to get paid
would find the proprietor gone and the place in charge of a boy, who,
generally not at all disconcerted, would announce that his master
had gone out on "'tickler bizness," and would not be back till late
at night. His wife also had gone out of town for her health till the
winter. "Will he be back to-morrow?" would cry the crowd. "No, he won't
be here to-morrow 'cos it's Sunday, and he always goes to church on
Sunday," a favourite reply which made even the losers laugh. "Will he
be back on Monday, then?" "Monday," would say the boy, reflecting, "No,
I don't think he'll be here on Monday--he's going to a sale on Monday."
After further inquiries and replies of this sort the crowd would,
for the time being, reluctantly disperse, murmuring something about a
"sell" instead of a "sale," to return again time after time with the
same ill-success, till eventually, realising that they had been duped,
the bell-pull was torn out and the windows broken, the proprietor
meanwhile doing a flourishing business in some other locality. Various
subterfuges were employed by betting-shopkeepers to attract clients.
One of these places grandiloquently styled itself "The Tradesmen's
Moral Associative Betting Club." The circular issued by this beneficent
organisation set forth that a number of persons in business, realising
the robberies hourly inflicted upon the humbler portion of the sporting
public by persons bankrupt alike in character and property, had banded
themselves together to establish a club wherein their fellow tradesmen
and the speculator of a few shillings might invest their money with the
assured consciousness of meeting with fair and honourable treatment. In
all probability the clients of the Moral Associative Club found that,
like other institutions of the same sort, its idea was to receive the
money of all and close its career by paying none.
A man named Dwyer, who kept a cigar shop and betting-house in St.
Martin's Lane in 1851, was in the habit of laying a point or two more
than the regular odds, and in consequence did the largest business of
any list man in London. He was considered to be absolutely safe. It
was his custom to pay the day following a big race, but when Miss
Nancy won the Chester Cup, his doors were found to be closed; and the
house being broken into by an enormous crowd of infuriated creditors,
everything valuable was discovered to have been removed. Dwyer, as a
matter of fact, had bolted with about £25,000 of the public's money.
The occurrence of scandals such as this naturally caused a considerable
outcry for the suppression of the betting-houses, which, it was
declared, were demoralising the public, who, even when they were not
swindled, were led into risking sums which they could not afford. A
Bill for checking the evil was eventually drafted, and in July 1853 was
passed an Act entitled "An Act for the Suppression of Betting-Houses,"
which inflicted on any one keeping or assisting to keep any house,
office, room, or place for the purpose of betting, a penalty not
exceeding one hundred pounds, or imprisonment with or without hard
labour for any time not exceeding six calendar months.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 4: No. 81 Piccadilly.]
IV
Craze for eccentric wagers at end of eighteenth century--Lord
Cobham's insulting freak and its results--Betting and gaming
at White's--The Arms of the Club--The old betting-book and its
quaint wagers--Tragedies of play--White's to-day--£180,000 lost
at hazard at the Cocoa Tree--Brummell as a gambler--Gaming at
Brooks's--Anecdotes--General Scott--Whist--Mr. Pratt--Wattier's
Club--Scandal at Graham's--Modern gambling clubs--The Park Club case
in 1884--Dangers of private play.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century a curious mania for making
eccentric wagers seized hold of the bucks of the day. Unlike many
another craze this was not imported from France, but had its rise
and progress entirely in England. During the last illness of Louis
XIV., Lord Stair laid a wager on his death, which rather astonished
the French, who did not approve of such a form of speculation. At a
subsequent period bets about the most trivial incidents became quite
common in the West End of London. Not infrequently some thoughtless
wager would lead to considerable trouble.
Lord Cobham, for instance, once foolishly bet Mr. Nugent a guinea
that he would spit in Lord Bristol's hat without the latter, who
had a reputation for effeminacy, resenting it. The wager itself was
singularly lacking in refinement, and the moment chosen for carrying it
out was quite in keeping.
Lord Bristol being one day at Lady Cobham's talking to some ladies, he
chanced to lean over a chair holding his hat behind him, into which
Lord Cobham deliberately spat, at the same time asking Mr. Nugent,
who was present, for his guinea; after which he began to make the
most profuse apologies to the victim of the outrage, who, remaining
apparently quite unmoved, merely asked if his host had any further
use for his hat, and then resumed his conversation, and every one
considered the incident at an end. Lord Bristol being to all outward
appearance absolutely unruffled.
The next morning, however, both Lord Cobham and Mr. Nugent received
messages demanding satisfaction, to which they returned the most humble
answers. The incident, they declared, was all merely a foolish joke,
and they were quite ready to make all sorts of submissive apologies.
Lord Bristol, however, would only assent to condone the insult if the
aggressors were ready to make a public apology in the Club-room at
White's, where he was prepared to receive it, and here, amidst a crowd
of members, Lord Cobham and Mr. Nugent publicly expressed their regret.
As the eighteenth century waned. White's Club developed into a great
gambling centre; its members indeed professed a universal scepticism
and decided everything by a wager. There was nothing, however trivial
or ridiculous, which was not capable of producing a bet. Many pounds
were lost upon the colour of a coach-horse, the birth of a child, the
breaking off of a marriage, and even a change in the weather.
A favourite mode of speculation was backing one man against another,
that is, betting that he would live the longest. People of all classes
were made the subjects of such bets. An actor was pitted against a
duke, an alderman against a bishop, a pimp against some member of
the privy council. Scarcely a remarkable person existed upon whose
life many thousand pounds did not depend. The various changes in the
health of any one who was the subject of heavy betting naturally gave
rise to many serious reflections in the minds of the people who had
wagered large sums on his life or death. Some would closely watch all
the stages of a total stranger's illness, more impatient for his death
than the undertaker who expected to have the care of his funeral;
others would be very solicitous about his recovery, and send every
hour to know how his health progressed, taking as great care of him
as any clergyman's wife who has no other fortune than the living of
her husband. Great consternation was caused by an unexpected demise.
Considerable odds were laid upon a man with the constitution of a
porter, who was pitted against an individual expected to die every
week. The porter, however, unexpectedly shot himself through the head,
and the knowing ones were taken in.
The main supporters of gaming at White's at this time were George
Selwyn, Lord March, Fox, and Lord Carlisle.
The latter was of a rather more serious disposition than the others,
and had a wife and children to whom he was devoted. Though at times a
high gambler himself, he wrote several letters to Selwyn, warning him
of the dangers of hazard.
On one occasion Lord Carlisle won £13,000 from a peer, which he never
seems to have got, and again indulged in some disastrous play in 1776,
after which he wrote to George Selwyn to say that he had never lost
so much at five different sittings as on this occasion in one night.
A note by Selwyn in the letter puts the sum at £10,000. In after-life
Lord Carlisle entirely abandoned gaming, and settled down into an
exemplary country gentleman.
Another constant player for high stakes at White's was Sir Everard
Fawkener, the writer's great-grandfather, who held an important office
in connection with the Post Office. He played cards very badly, and
George Selwyn used to say that playing with him was as bad as "robbing
the mail."
In the hall of White's Club hangs a carved wooden copy of the whimsical
old coat of arms of the Club--the original painting of which is at
Arthur's. This was painted by Dick Edgecumbe after the design had been
concocted one wet day at Strawberry Hill by the painter, George Selwyn,
George (known as Gilly) Williams, and their host Horace Walpole, who
had the arms engraved.
The original arms were as follows:--
"Vert (for a card-table); between three parolis, proper, on a chevron
sable, two rouleaux in saltire between two dice, proper. In a canton
sable, a ball (for election), argent. Supporters, an old knave of clubs
on the dexter, a young knave on the sinister side; both accoutred
proper. Crest, issuing out of an earl's coronet (Lord Darlington's) an
arm shaking a dice-box, all proper. Motto alluding to the crest '_Cogit
amor nummi_'.[5] The arms encircled with a claret bottle ticket by way
of order."
[Illustration]
The old betting-book at White's contains many curious entries, the
first of which dates from 1743. A number of the earliest wagers
are concerned with the probabilities of the birth of children to
well-known ladies of the day, the duration of life to be enjoyed by
certain individuals, and the like.
On 21st March 1746, Mr. John Jeffries bets Mr. Dayrolle five guineas
that Lady Kildare has a child born alive before Lady Catherine
Petersham. A note is appended "miscarriages go for nothing."
On the 8th of October in the same year Lord Montfort bets Mr. Greville
one hundred guineas that Mr. Nash is alive on the same day four years
to come.
The Lord Montfort in question was a typical gamester of the time. In
the betting-book at White's no less than sixty wagers, amounting to
£5500, are recorded against his name. Most of these were about births,
marriages, and deaths. On sporting wagers, the nobleman in question
seems to have been content to risk only small sums. A true gambler, he
preferred to hazard his fortune, and, as it turned out, his life, on
the unforeseen.
On the 4th of November 1754, is entered the following: "Lord Montfort
wagers Sir John Bland one hundred guineas that Mr. Nash outlives Mr.
Cibber." This refers to two very old men, Colley Cibber, the actor, and
Beau Nash, the "King of Bath." Below the entry in the betting-book,
written in another handwriting, is the significant note: "Both Lord M.
and Sir John Bland put an end to their own lives before the bet was
decided."
The first of these tragedies took place on New Year's Day of 1755.
Lord Montfort's death and the circumstances of it attracted great
attention. He was considered one of the shrewdest men of his time, and,
as Walpole said, "would have betted any man in England against himself
for self-murder." Lord Montfort was of course eventually ruined--at
White's alone he lost a fortune at hazard. As a last resource, he
then eagerly applied (much to the surprise of the dilatory Duke of
Newcastle) for the Governorship of Virginia or the Royal hounds. He
got neither, and after spending the last evening of the year 1754 at
White's, where he sat up at whist till one o'clock, went home in a
strange mood, and shot himself next morning.
A tragic fate likewise befell Sir John Bland, who dissipated his entire
fortune at hazard. At a single sitting he at one time lost as much as
£32,000, though he recovered a portion of it before play was ended. Sir
John shot himself on the road from Calais to Paris.
Some of the wagers chronicled in the betting-book are decidedly vague,
the following for instance: "Mr. Talbot bets a certain gentleman a
certain sum that a certain event does not take place within a certain
time."
During the Napoleonic era several bets were made as to the chances of
the Emperor getting back to Paris at the close of the Russian campaign,
about ten to one being wagered on such an event happening.
A curious bet, dated February 14, 1813, is the following: "Lord
Alvanley bets Sir Joseph Copley five guineas that a certain Baronet
understood between them is very much embarrassed in his circumstances
in three years from the date hereof; if one of his bills is
dishonoured, or he is observed to borrow small change of the chairmen
or waiters, Sir Joseph is to be reckoned to lose."
In 1797, hazard seems to have been allowed at White's, but it was
expressly laid down that no member should be permitted to keep a faro
bank. This rule was doubtless made to avoid the state of things which
had lately prevailed across the way at Brooks's.
As time went on gambling became a thing of the past within the walls
of White's, and the survivors of a reckless era in its history
sobered down into grave and somewhat crotchety old men, who, from the
stronghold of an accustomed seat, eyed younger members with a freezing
gaze. When the question of smoking in the morning-room was raised
their indignation knew no bounds, and even infirm old members--fossils
who Alfred Montgomery declared had come from Kensal Green--tottered
into the Club to oppose it. So given were these relics of the past to
wrapping themselves in a cloak of exclusiveness that at one time the
Club came almost to a standstill. Within recent years, however, White's
has taken a new lease of life, and after an existence of one hundred
and seventy-three years is now in as flourishing a state as ever. The
Club-house has been enlarged and various alterations made--always,
let it be said, with due regard for the traditions of the past.
Unfortunately, in the course of time much connected with its former
history has disappeared--it does not, for instance, possess a set of
old gaming counters, which have a certain historic interest in these
more sober days. The Club is particularly anxious to acquire any relics
connected with its past, and also any representations of the Club-house
(at the present time under repair) as it existed before the alterations
of 1853, when a new façade replaced the old front.
Lower down St. James's Street, on the other side of the road, another
Club, in old days notorious for high play, still exists. This is the
Cocoa Tree, where very large sums once changed hands. During the year
1780 no less than £180,000 was lost here in a single week. In the same
year Mr. O'Birne, an Irish gamester, won £100,000 at hazard of a young
Mr. Harvey of Chigwell, a midshipman, who, by his elder brother's
death, had suddenly come into a good estate. "You can never pay me,"
said O'Birne. "I will sell my estate to do so," replied the young
man. "No," was the not ungenerous reply, "I will win ten thousand and
you shall throw for the odd ninety." The dice were cast and Harvey
won--still the evening cost him £10,000.
After Waterloo there appears to have been a revival of gaming in the
West End, many officers returning to England with long arrears of pay
at their command. This wave of gaming ruined Brummell. At first he was
not particularly devoted to play, and had extraordinary luck when he
indulged in it. At one sitting at whist at White's he won £10,000 from
George Harley Drummond, the banker. It is said that this was the first
game Drummond ever played at a Club; it was probably his last, for it
led to his withdrawal from the banking business. But Brummell was not
a man of large property, and when later he began to play habitually, a
few reverses were sufficient to ruin a man of small means who matched
his fortune against the much longer purses of his friends.
Brummell had no illusions as to the ultimate fate of a gambler, and
once tied himself up against play, receiving a ten-pound note from
Pemberton Mills on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he
played again at White's for a month. Nevertheless, a fortnight later
he was playing again. His friend did not claim the thousand but merely
said: "Well, Brummell, you may at least give me back my ten pounds."
Playing at hazard one night with Alderman Combe, whom he playfully
called "Mash-tub" because he was a brewer, the Beau, having won a
considerable sum, said, pocketing the cash: "Thank you, Alderman; in
future I shall never drink any porter but yours." "I wish, sir," was
the reply, "that every blackguard in London would tell me the same."
In the end Brummell went under, owing, he declared, with all the
superstition of a gambler, to the loss of a lucky sixpence with a hole
in it, which he had picked up in the small hours of the morning in
Berkeley Square. He gave it away, by mistake, to a cabman, and used to
say that he supposed "that rascal Rothschild, or some of his set, had
got hold of it."
One of the greatest gamblers in the early part of the nineteenth
century was Lord Rivers, whose dashing play at Parisian tables had
earned for him the name of "Le Wellington des Joueurs."
During a portion of his career this nobleman was said to have won
nearly a hundred thousand pounds by gambling. As a card-player he was
cool and skilful, whilst at the same time quick to seize the moment for
exchanging caution for dash. At times, however, he was careless--he
once lost £3400 at whist by not remembering that the seven of hearts
was still in.