SOME AMERICAN EXPERIENCES
To New York on the _Mauretania_--Gambling on ocean liners--A
“dear” old gentleman--Phenomenal luck--My suspicions are
aroused--I play the part of a private detective--A puzzling
proposition--The light that shone by night--My suspicions
are confirmed--An artful dodge--A new use for smoke-coloured
glasses--Doctored cards--The most beautiful American city
--Los Angeles--Tuna-fishing at Santa Catalina--Monsters of
400-lb. weight--The Tuna Club--A record catch--Fishing with
kites--Wild goat stalking--Outwitting a gambler--Diamond cut
diamond--A ride on an ostrich--American police methods--An
unpleasant experience.
Travelling to America on the _Mauretania_ some years back, I had
a rather unusual experience. As most people are perfectly well
aware, these crack trans-Atlantic liners are frequently infested
by card-sharpers, who prey upon the unwary amongst the passengers,
and often reap large harvests in ready cash as the result of their
misdirected enterprise.
I always, when travelling, make it a point to study these gentry,
and as a rule it is no very difficult matter for me to detect their
particular methods of swindling; when, of course, I make it my business
to quietly warn such others of the saloon passengers as may be in the
habit of playing cards in the smoke-room.
On this occasion, however, there was amongst the card-players one
whose methods frankly puzzled me. He was a most benevolent-looking old
chap, white-haired and bespectacled, very pleasant and affable, and
hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. Nevertheless there was something
about him that convinced me that he was a crook.
His luck was simply marvellous. For three nights I watched him win with
uncanny regularity; yet, though I studied him closely all the while,
following his every movement with my eyes, I could detect nothing wrong
with his play. All the same, however, I became more and more convinced
that I was not mistaken in my estimate of him. The man was a sharper,
beyond the shadow of a doubt. I could tell by watching his play that he
knew what cards the other players held.
On the fourth evening, after play, during which he won as usual, the
cards happened to be left behind on the smoke-room table. I quietly
pocketed them, and took them down to my cabin, where I spent over an
hour examining them one by one by the aid of a microscope. My labour
was in vain. I could detect absolutely nothing wrong with the cards,
which were those ordinarily sold on board ship at eightpence a pack.
On the following night I again watched him closely, and was more than
ever convinced that I was not mistaken. On this occasion poker was
being played, and his winnings amounted to over £200. During the game
one of the other players, either because his suspicions were aroused,
or perhaps simply with the idea of changing his luck, ordered another
pack of cards, and these were duly supplied by one of the stewards in
the usual sealed package, which was opened by the man who ordered and
paid for them.
This, of course, seemed to do away entirely with any chance of his
having been able to mark the cards beforehand. Yet still he went on
winning, and still I continued to watch him, like a cat watching a
mouse. The sole result was that I was more puzzled than ever. The thing
began to get on my nerves. Here was I a professional card-manipulator,
a man who knew, or at all events thought he knew, every trick on the
board; and here was a man whom I knew in my mind to be a card-sharper,
and yet I could not detect his method of swindling. It made me wild.
The day before we got into New York he had another good night, by far
the best he had had during the voyage. His luck was the talk of the
ship. “Luck!” said I to myself, and ground my teeth in rage to think
how he had outwitted us all. He had not had any of my money, it was
true. I had seen to that. But nevertheless I was furious to think I
could not find out how the trick was worked.
Again I secured possession of the cards he had been playing with, and
again I examined them under the microscope in the quiet seclusion of my
own cabin. I spread them out on my dressing-table, and sat there for
a couple of hours or more, studying them, peering at them, fingering
them back and front. The net result of it all was the same as on the
previous occasion. I could detect nothing whatever wrong with them,
and in the end I gave it up as a bad job, switched off the light, and
tumbled into bed, leaving the pack of cards backs uppermost on the
dressing-table.
About four o’clock in the morning, and when it was still quite dark,
I awoke, and had occasion to get out of my bunk. While on my feet,
groping round for the electric light switch, I saw something sparkle on
the dressing-table, and thinking it might be my diamond ring, I reached
out my hand in order to pick it up. To my surprise it was not there.
I switched on the light and the sparkle disappeared. Investigation
showed me that my diamond ring was safe in a little covered box I used
to keep my jewellery in. There was the usual litter of things on the
dressing-table, but nothing, so far as I could see, that was at all
likely to sparkle in the dark.
Somewhat mystified, I switched the light off again, and at once the
tiny twinkling point of fire flashed into being again. Then I knew.
It emanated from the pack of cards; from the topmost card, that was
exposed back uppermost.
Once more I switched the light on, and laid the cards out face
downwards on the table. Then I switched it off again; and the mystery
stood revealed. Every single card was marked on the top right-hand
corner on the back with a luminous substance, which I found out later
was a patent preparation of phosphorous oil.
The marks were only tiny dots the size of a pin-point, and each card
was marked with two dots, no more and no less. The position of one dot
indicated the suit, the position of the other the value of the card.
The dots were arranged in positions corresponding with the figures on
a watch-face. For instance, one dot placed where the big hand would
be at half-past the hour, meant that the card was a six, another dot
indicating the suit. Similarly if the dot was where the big hand would
be at a quarter-past the hour, it meant that the card was a three, and
so on. The knave and queen were eleven and twelve o’clock. The king,
the thirteenth card, was shown by a dot placed in the centre where
the hands meet. Looked at in the light, the tiny marks were quite
invisible. They could only be seen in the dark--or by a person looking
at them through dark-coloured glasses. The old gentleman, I suddenly
recollected, always wore, when playing, spectacles of a peculiar smoky
hue.
One thing, however, still puzzled me; and that was how the old rogue
had obtained possession of the cards in order to mark them. I jumped
to the conclusion in the beginning that he was probably in league with
one of the under-stewards, who had access to the place where the packs
for sale to the passengers were kept in stock. But this, I discovered
later, was not so. What had happened was this:
On the second day out the dear, affable, old gentleman had organised
a whist drive for the ladies, himself providing the prizes, and had
ordered in advance from the chief steward a dozen and a half packs
of cards. Only eight of these were used, as he had easily foreseen,
there being only eight tables. The ten unopened packs he had returned
to the chief steward the next morning, with the remark that he had
overestimated the number of players taking part in the drive.
This much was clear. The rest I had to guess. But there was no
difficulty, in my mind at all events, in supplying the missing links in
the chain of evidence. He had had the twelve packs in his possession
one whole night. What was easier than for him to steam them carefully
open in the seclusion of his cabin, mark them with the phosphorous oil,
and then re-seal them? The chief steward would hardly be likely to
examine the packs very critically when they were returned to him, and
even if he had done so, he would not in all probability have been able
to detect that they had been tampered with.
Well, I felt pleased as Punch at having solved the riddle. The only
question that agitated me now was whether I ought to expose the old
rascal. I thought the matter over very carefully, and in the end I
decided not to do so. For one thing, any action of that kind would
quite possibly have led to his being arrested on his arrival at New
York, and myself being detained there as a witness; an eventuality
which would not at all have suited my plans. For another thing, I
reflected, the mischief was already done; he could win no more money
that voyage, seeing that this was our last day at sea. So I let him go,
and I noticed that he was one of the first over the gangway when we
arrived at New York.
Later on I instituted a few discreet inquiries about the old gent from
a New York detective whose acquaintance I made, but I could not get him
to admit that he knew him, or even that he haled from New York at all.
“He’s probably a Chicago crook,” he remarked. “There’s a lot of snide
gamblers make Chicago their headquarters.”
That’s the Americans all over. They are awfully proud of their own
particular city, and can never be got to admit that there is anything
wrong with it. Almost the first question a stranger is invariably
asked on his arrival in, say, New York, or Boston, or Philadelphia, is
whether he doesn’t consider New York, or Boston, or Philadelphia, as
the case may be, the finest and most beautiful city he was ever in.
For my part I always used to answer the questions in the affirmative,
no matter where I might be, but my own private opinion is that Los
Angeles is far and away the most beautiful of American cities. It was
while I was performing there, by the way, that I had my first and only
experience of tuna-fishing. This was at Santa Catalina Island, which
lies off the coast of California in the Pacific Ocean.
The tuna is a gigantic mackerel, weighing anything from 80 lb. up to
400 lb., and even more, and is the strongest and gamest fish that
swims. “When you go tuna-fishing,” I was told, “you must be prepared to
hook something like a thirty-knot torpedo-boat.”
The favourite haunt of the tuna is the warm shallow water round
Santa Catalina. He comes there after the flying-fish, which form his
favourite food, and angling enthusiasts flock there in the season from
all parts of the world in order to enjoy the sport of killing him.
There are two species of tuna found at Santa Catalina, the blue-finned
and the yellow-finned. The first-named is by far the bigger. I had to
be content with the latter, as the blue-finned kind was not in evidence
during my stay on the island. I regretted this greatly, for I was
assured on all sides that to kill a genuine blue-finned leaping tuna
with rod and line was something to be proud of--a feat to be remembered
and talked about for the rest of one’s life.
This I can quite believe, judging by the stories I heard. I was told,
for instance, of a new-comer on the island, a perfect novice at the
game, who at his first attempt played a gigantic blue-finned tuna for
five hours without assistance, and finally killed it. The youthful
angler--he was little more than a boy--was taken ashore fainting, a
fingernail gone, a thumb dislocated, the palms of both hands skinned,
blistered, and bleeding, and his strained arms rendered useless for
days. But he was radiantly happy; for he had qualified on his very
first day for the Tuna Club--the blue riband of ocean angling.
To become a member of this exclusive association the fisherman must
catch and kill with unbroken rod a fish weighing not less than 100 lb.
It need not, however, necessarily be a tuna. A barracouta will do, or
an albicore, or a black bass. Some of these latter fish run up to 500
lb. (nearly a quarter of a ton) and are as fierce and game as tigers.
I was told of one of 327 lb. weight that was played for seven and a
half hours. At the end of that period it broke its captor’s wrist by
a sudden sidelong jump. A second angler then came to the rescue, and
played it for another five and a half hours before killing it.
As regards tuna, the record weight for one of these fish brought to
boat by rod and line is, I was informed, 251 lb. But monsters of
this size are comparatively rare, and still rarer is it for them to
be captured after this fashion. To do so demands of the angler a
combination of skill, strength, nerve, judgment, and several other
qualities, plus any amount of dogged determination and abnormal staying
power. As illustrating my meaning I may mention that a former president
of the Tuna Club, Mr. Charles F. Holder, had his boat towed ten miles
by quite a moderate-sized fish (183 lb.) which fought gamely for hours
on end, never sulking a minute. Another angler was dragged more than
fourteen miles under similar circumstances, and had his arm broken into
the bargain.
None of these exciting experiences, I need scarcely say, came my way;
for, as I have already intimated, the big blue-finned tuna had not then
arrived off the island, and I had to be content with trying my luck and
skill on the smaller yellow-finned variety. With these, however, I was,
so I was assured, quite unusually successful. My partner and I between
us killed altogether thirty-three fine fish in eight hours. Of these
twenty-six were tuna, two rock bass, and five skipjack.
This, I was told, constituted a record for novices, such as we were,
and we had our catch photographed. I have a copy of the picture in
my possession, with underneath it the following inscription: “Record
catch of yellow-finned tuna by ‘Carlton,’ the English Magician, and
Dr. Lartigau of San Francisco, aggregate weight 350 lb., caught on 9-9
tackle in eight hours. Catalina Island, April 10th, 1911. (Signed)
P. V. Rogers, Official Photographer to the Tuna Club.”
The day before this record catch I went out alone with a boatman, in
order to get my hand in, so to speak. It was well I did so, for I
discovered that tuna-fishing, like most other things in this world,
wants some learning. I hooked my first fish all right, but after
playing him for an hour or so I had to give up. My arms ached as
though they were being wrenched from their sockets, and my hands were
all blistered. Next day I wore gloves, and my boatman taught me that
afternoon how to play a fish with my whole body, throwing it backwards
and forwards as in rowing.
The motor-boats that are used for tuna-fishing are, I should explain,
fitted with sliding seats, like our racing craft here at home, and with
leather holdfasts for the feet, and this makes it much easier to play
a really big fish, once one has learnt the knack of it. I had also
explained to me how to use the patent reel, with which the rods used in
tuna-fishing are fitted, and which only runs out at a certain pressure;
not freely, as in the case of an ordinary reel.
I forgot to mention that the bait used for the yellow-finned tuna
is a sardine, that for his big blue-finned cousin being invariably
a flying-fish. Both these tuna are the same species of fish, be it
understood, but bearing about the same relation to one another in point
of size as the trout does to a salmon.
In angling for the big tuna a kite is sometimes used. This is flown
over the sea, and attached to it is a line with a flying-fish (the
bait) dangling at the end of it on or near the surface of the water.
The motion of the kite, driven by the wind, causes the bait to bob up
and down very much as does the live flying-fish, and the tuna leaps out
of the sea after it just as a trout does after a fly. When the big fish
swallows the baited hook he of course drags the kite down with him.
Another curious feature in connection with Santa Catalina Island is
that boats built with glass bottoms are in use there. This is done to
give the visitor an opportunity of studying and admiring at his leisure
the wonderful sea flora that everywhere carpets the comparatively
shallow ocean floor in the immediate neighbourhood of the island.
The beauty and variety of this latter must be seen to be believed. It
seems almost a profanation to apply the hackneyed term of “seaweed” to
these lovely forms of subaqueous tropical vegetation, although this,
I suppose, is practically what they really are. Many of the species,
however, are as big as small trees, and all colours are represented,
from brightest tints of green to vivid crimson, that in an instant
pales to lavender, quivers to gold, or slips into molten ruby or
sapphire as the angle of view alters.
[Illustration: OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPH OF A RECORD CATCH OF YELLOW FIN TUNA
CAUGHT BY CARLTON AND ANOTHER FISHERMAN JOINTLY AT SANTA CATALINA]
These wonderful undersea glades spring from a groundwork of coral no
less beautifully tinted, and spread about the interstices, and
strewn thick on the patches of golden sand, are the most beautiful
shells imaginable. On one of my trips out I took with me a professional
diver, a half-breed Mexican Indian, and he went down several times, and
brought me up a very fine collection of shells, corals, and so forth.
I have most of them still, and they have been greatly admired. Hiding
deep down amongst the coral and seaweed, too, one catches glimpses of
many weird fishes that no angler has ever succeeded in catching.
Altogether I was very pleased indeed with my experiences at lovely
Santa Catalina, the tuna-fishing more particularly appealing to me
greatly. As regards another form of sport that is peculiar to the
island, however, I was somewhat disappointed. This was wild goat
stalking, of which I had heard big things. The animals are supposed
to have descended from some left there long ago by the old Spanish
voyageurs, and were pictured to me as being very wild, shy, and
difficult to approach.
Naturally I concluded I would like to have a shot at one or more of
them, especially as I was assured that it was quite the correct thing
to do; so a day was fixed, and I set off very early in the morning
in quite high spirits. I was looking forward to something between a
chamois hunt in the Swiss Alps and a day’s deer-stalking amongst the
Highlands of Scotland. Alas, how different was the reality from the
expectation! After riding on the backs of ponies along interminable
mountain tracks, ascending higher and higher until we reached a region
of utter sterility and barrenness, we at length came upon the goats--an
entire herd of them. But they were not the least bit wild. On the
contrary, they were quite disgustingly tame. They did not even attempt
to run when I approached them, but stood stock-still and “baa-a-d.” I
thought of Tennyson’s line about “catching the wild goat by the beard.”
It would have been a quite easy feat as regards these goats.
To shoot them was, of course, quite out of the question. There was
nothing for it but to retrace my footsteps to the lowlands whence I had
come, which I accordingly did. My guide could not understand it. “So
easy a shot!” I heard him muttering to himself. “Such beautiful horns!
How splendid a trophy! What a chance thrown away!”
Los Angeles is one of the most up-to-date places imaginable, with its
blaze of electric lights, its scurrying tramcars and innumerable swift
automobiles. So, too, of course is San Francisco, and most of the other
big Californian cities and towns; but some of the smaller mining camps
up in the mountains are pretty rough. I once visited one of these which
was known far and wide throughout the State as a “hard town,” being
in fact a regular Mecca for gamblers and others of the light-fingered
gentry.
While strolling round my attention was attracted by a leather-lunged
individual who was appealing to a group of miners to the effect that he
would bet he could cut the ace of spades, or any other card designated,
in a pack which had been thoroughly shuffled by anyone.
The interest was at fever heat, and the miners wagered freely on the
outcome. Over 100 dollars were in fact lying on the table when I
addressed the gambler saying:
“I’ll take ten dollars of that if you will let me shuffle the
pasteboards.”
“Why, certainly, stranger,” he replied. “It’s all the same to me.”
I placed the bet and shuffled the cards.
“Now, gentlemen,” said the gambler, laying the deck upon the table, “I
win if I cut the ace of spades.”
So saying, he whipped out a huge knife, and with a mighty swing he cut
the cards clean through.
“Gentlemen,” he yelled as he quickly scooped up the money, “the cash is
mine as I cut the ace of spades.”
“Oh, no, you haven’t,” I cried. “I have the ace of spades.”
I had palmed it while shuffling the deck.
“Say, stranger!” was the gambler’s only comment. “I reckon that the
feller as said that no man cud beat another at his own game was a
gol-durned fool.”
While in Los Angeles I had my first, last, and only ride upon an
ostrich. This was at the Pasedena Ostrich Farm, one of the sights
of the place. It was not a success, at all events, so far as I was
concerned. The ostrich was hooded when I got on his back, and quite
quiet. But directly the hood was removed, the huge ungainly bird ran
like mad under the railings, nearly breaking my leg, and glad was I to
get off him.
It was here, too, that I had my only experience of the autocratic
methods of the much-talked-of American policeman. I was strolling
leisurely back to my hotel late one evening from a cigar store, where
I had been smoking, chatting, and throwing dice for “rounds” of cigars
and cigarettes, a favourite pastime, by the way, with the Yanks, when a
burly Irish policeman suddenly pounced upon me. He carried a big club
and a big revolver, so I thought it best not to attempt to get away.
In fact I imagined at first that he was having a game with me.
I was soon undeceived, however. “Come along!” he shouted roughly,
seizing me by the collar, “I want you.”
“What for?” I asked.
“You’ll soon see,” he answered, and marched me to a telephone-box,
which he unlocked with a key he carried, and asked over the wire for a
patrol waggon to be sent along immediately.
Into it, as soon as it arrived, I was unceremoniously bundled, and
driven to the police-station. Here I was charged with being drunk and
disorderly. I tried to explain, but had hardly opened my mouth before I
was roughly ordered to be silent by the Inspector on duty, and the next
moment I was seized from behind and hustled into a cell.
There I remained until after daybreak the following morning. The time
seemed endless, and all the while I was wondering what my wife would
say, left alone in a strange hotel in a strange city. At length there
was a stir outside, a rattle of keys, and an officer appeared, and what
is called out there, I learnt afterwards, the “daylight court” was
convened.
I stated my case volubly, and with considerable heat. The officer
interrupted me.
“You’re English?” he asked.
“Yes I am,” I replied, “and I’m going to have satisfaction for this
outrage. I’ll go to the British consul. I’ll----”
“Get out!” he interrupted.
“But I say I wasn’t----”
“Get out!”
“I’ve been insulted and----”
“Get out!”
What could I do? I got out. When I reached my hotel I found my wife in
hysterics. I comforted her as well as I could. Then I rushed off to the
Los Angeles Record office and saw the editor. He only laughed.
Afterwards I saw the manager of the music-hall where I was performing.
He laughed too. Then he winked slowly.
“Why didn’t you tip the cop a dollar?” he asked.
Then I understood. But, alas! the understanding came too late to be of
use.