A Monte Bank in the city of San Francisco, in the establishment y-cleped
"El Dorado"--partly drinking-house, for the rest devoted to gambling on
the grandest scale. The two are carried on simultaneously, and in a
large oblong saloon. The portion of it devoted to Bacchus is at the end
farthest from the entrance-door; where the shrine of the jolly god is
represented by a liquor-bar extending from side to side, and backed by
an array of shining bottles, glittering glasses, and sparkling
decanters; his "worship" administered by half-a-dozen "bartenders,"
resplendent in white shirts with wrist ruffles, and big diamond
breast-pins--real, not paste!
The altar of Fortuna is altogether of a different shape and pattern,
occupying more space. It is not compact, but extended over the floor,
in the form of five tables, large as if for billiards; though not one of
them is of this kind. Billiards would be too slow a game for the
frequenters of "El Dorado." These could not patiently wait for the
scoring of fifty points, even though the stake were a thousand dollars.
"No, no! _Monte_ for me!" would be the word of every one of them; or a
few might say "_Faro_." And of the five tables in the saloon, four are
for the former game, the fifth furnished for the latter; though there is
but little apparent difference in the furniture of the two; both having
a simple cover of green baize, or broadcloth, with certain crossing
lines traced upon it, that of the Faro table having the full suite of
thirteen cards arranged in two rows, face upwards and fixed; while on
the Monte tables but two cards appear thus--the Queen and Knave; or, as
designated in the game--purely Spanish and Spanish-American--"Caballo"
and "Sota." They are essentially card games, and altogether of chance,
just as is the casting of dice.
Other gambling contrivances have place in the "El Dorado;" for it is a
"hell" of the most complete kind; but these are of slight importance
compared with the great games, Monte and Faro--the real _pieces de
resistance_--while the others are only side-dishes, indulged in by such
saunterers about the saloon as do not contemplate serious play. Of all,
Monte is the main attraction, its convenient simplicity--for it is
simple as "heads or tails"--making it possible for the veriest greenhorn
to take part in it, with as much likelihood of winning as the oldest
_habitus_ of the hell. Originally Mexican, in many of the western
states it has become Americanised.
Of the visible insignia of the game, and in addition to the two cards
with their faces turned up, there is a complete pack, with several
stacks of circular-shaped and variously coloured pieces of ivory--the
"cheques" or counters of the game. These rest upon the table to the
right or left of the dealer--usually the "banker" himself--in charge of
his "croupier," who pays them out, or draws them in, as the bank loses
or wins, along with such coin as may have been staked upon the _albur_.
Around the table's edge, and in front of each player, is his own private
pile, usually a mixture of doubloons, dollars, and ivory cheques, with
bags or packets of gold-dust and nuggets. Of bank-notes there are few,
or none--the currency of California being through the medium of metal;
at this date, 1849, most of it unminted, and in its crude state, as it
came out of the mine, or the river's mud. By the croupier's hand is a
pair of scales with weights appertaining; their purpose being to
ascertain the value of such little gold packages as are "punted" upon
the cards--this only needed to be known when the bank is loser.
Otherwise, they are ruthlessly raked in alongside the other deposits,
without any note made of the amount.
The dealer sits centrally at the side of the table, in a grand chair,
cards in hand. After shuffling, he turns their faces up, one by one,
and with measured slowness. He interrupts himself at intervals as the
face of a card is exposed, making a point for or against him in the
game. Calling this out in calm voice and long-drawn monotone, he waits
for the croupier to square accounts; which the latter does by drawing
in, or pushing out, the coins and cheques, with the nimbleness of a
presti-digitateur. Old bets are rearranged, new ones made, and the
dealing proceeds.
Around the tables sit, or stand, the players, exhibiting a variety of
facial types, and national costumes. For there you may see not only
human specimens of every known nationality, but of every rank in the
social scale, with the callings and professions that appertain to it; an
assemblage such as is rarely, if ever, observed elsewhere: gentlemen who
may have won university honours; officers wearing gold straps on their
shoulders, or bands of lace around the rims of their caps; native
Californians, resplendent in slashed and buttoned velveteens; States'
lawyers, and doctors, in sober black; even judges, who that same morning
were seated upon the bench--may be all observed at the Monte table,
mingling with men in red flannel shirts, blanket coats, and trousers
tucked into the tops of mud-bedaubed boots; with sailors in pea-jackets
of coarse pilot, or Guernsey smocks, unwashed, unkempt, unshorn; not
only mingling with, but jostled by them--rudely, if occasion call.
All are on an equality here; no class distinction in the saloon "El
Dorado;" for all are on the same errand--to get rich by gambling. The
gold gleaming over the table is reflected in their faces. Not in
smiles, or cheerfully; but by an expression of hungry cupidity--fixed,
as if stamped into their features. No sign of hilarity, or joyfulness;
not a word of badinage passing about, or between; scarce a syllable
spoken, save the call-words of the dealer, or an occasional remark by
the croupier, explanatory of some disputed point about the placing, or
payment, of stakes.
And if there be little light humour, neither is there much of
ill-manners. Strangely assorted as is the motley crowd--in part
composed of the roughest specimens of humanity--noisy speech is
exceptional, and rude or boisterous behaviour rare. Either shown would
be resented, and soon silenced; though, perhaps, not till after some
noises of still louder nature--the excited, angry clamour of a quarrel,
succeeded by the cracking of pistols; then a man borne off wounded, in
all likelihood to die, or already dead, and stretched along the sanded
floor, to be taken unconcernedly up, and carried feet-foremost out of
the room.
And yet, in an instant, it will all be over. The gamesters, temporarily
attracted from the tables, will return to them; the dealing of the cards
will be resumed; and, amidst the chinking of coin, and the rattling of
cheques, the sanguinary drama will not only cease to be talked about,
but thought of. Bowie-knives and pistols are the police that preserve
order in the gambling-saloons of San Francisco.
Although the "El Dorado" is owned by a single individual, this is only
as regards the house itself, with the drinking-bar and its
appurtenances. The gaming-tables are under separate and distinct
proprietorship; each belonging to a "banker," who supplies the cash
capital, and other necessaries for the game--in short, "runs" the table,
to use a Californian phrase. As a general rule, the owner of a table is
himself the dealer, and usually, indeed almost universally, a
distinguished "sportsman"--this being the appellation of the Western
States' professional gambler, occasionally abbreviated to "sport." He
is a man of peculiar characteristics, though not confined to California.
His "species" may be met with all over the United States, but more
frequently in those of the south and south-west; the Mississippi valley
being his congenial coursing-ground, and its two great metropolitan
cities, New Orleans and Saint Louis, his chief centres of operation.
Natchez, Memphis, Vicksburg, Louisville, and Cincinnati permanently have
him; but places more provincial, he only honours with an occasional
visit. He is encountered aboard all the big steamboats--those called
"crack," and carrying the wealthier class of passengers; while the
others he leaves to the more timid and less noted practitioners of his
calling.
Wherever seen, the "sport" is resplendent in shirt-front, glittering
studs, with a grand cluster of diamonds on his finger sparkling like
star, or stalactite, as he deals out the cards. He is, in truth, an
_elegant_ of the first water, apparelled and perfumed as a D'Orsay, or
Beau Brummell; and, although ranking socially lower than these, with a
sense of honour quite as high, perhaps higher than had either.