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.