PEACE IS INTRODUCED TO A GAMBLING CLUB.
Charles Peace as we have already signified, had become sated of the
village in which he had led so reputable a life for a no very
inconsiderable period; indeed, if we take into consideration the
erratic and adventurous nature of the man, it is a matter of no small
surprise that he should have continued to be a respectable member of
society for so long a time.
But his new sphere of action had many attractions for him.
In the first place, it had the charm of novelty; in the next, he was
petted and made much of by the landlord and the parlour customers of
the “Carved Lion;” and last, though not least, he had been greatly
taken with the girl, Nelly.
A sudden revulsion, however, took place, and our hero determined upon
seeking “fresh fields and pastures new.”
He was possessed of a considerable sum of money; for, in addition to
the amount he realised by following the business of a frame-maker, and
a dealer in works of art, he had the hundred pounds which the earl had
sent by his lawyer as a bonus.
He was bent upon seeing something of London life, and therefore
hastened at once up to the metropolis.
London has attractions for provincial and country people which perhaps
no other city in the United Kingdom possesses, albeit its native
population are in a measure heedless of its many attractions.
It is a wonderful city nevertheless, as the following facts
uncontestably prove:――
London (with all its suburbs) covers within the fifteen miles radius
of Charing-cross nearly seven hundred square miles.
It numbers within its boundaries four million inhabitants.
It contains more country-bred persons than the counties of Devon and
Gloucester combined, or 37 per cent. of its entire population.
Every four minutes a birth takes place in the metropolis and every six
minutes a death.
Within the circle named there are added to the population two hundred
and five persons every day and seventy-five thousand annually.
London has seven thousand miles of streets, and on an average
twenty-eight miles of new streets are opened and nine thousand new
houses built every year. One thousand vessels and nine thousand
sailors are in port every day.
Its crime, unfortunately, is also in proportion to its extent.
Seventy-three thousand persons are annually taken into custody by the
police, and more than one-third of all the crime in the country is
committed within its borders.
Thirty-eight thousand persons are annually committed for drunkenness
by its magistrates.
The metropolis comprises considerably over one hundred thousand
foreigners from every part of the habitable globe.
It contains more Roman Catholics than Rome itself, more Jews than the
whole of Palestine, more Irish than Belfast, more Scotchmen than
Aberdeen, and more Welshmen than Cardiff.
Its beershops and gin-palaces are so numerous that their frontages, if
placed side by side, would stretch from Charing-cross to Chichester, a
distance of sixty-two miles.
If all the dwellings in London could thus have their frontages placed
side by side they would extend beyond the city of York.
London has sufficient paupers to occupy every house in Brighton.
The society which advocates the cessation of Sunday labour will be
surprised to learn that sixty miles of shops are open every Sunday.
With regard to churches and chapels, the Bishop of London, examined
before the House of Lords in the year 1840, said:――
“If you proceed a mile to the eastward of St. Paul’s you
will find yourself in the midst of a population, the most
wretched and destitute of mankind, consisting of artificers,
labourers, beggars, and thieves, to the amount of from three
to four hundred thousand souls. Throughout this entire
quarter there is not more than one church for every ten
thousand inhabitants, and in two districts there is but one
church for forty-five thousand persons.”
Peace, who had but a slender knowledge of the great metropolis, put up
at a snug hotel which was frequented by many of his townsmen.
He had at this time no very clear idea as to his movements or future
plan of action, and therefore, like Mr. Micawber, thought it best to
wait patiently for “something to turn up.”
He had abundance of ready cash for his necessities for some time to
come, and when that was gone he was perfectly well assured he would
find the way to obtain more.
He was never very long in making new acquaintances.
At the hotel where he was stopping he fell into the company of a young
man named Kempshead, with whom he at once fraternised.
Kempshead was rather a go-a-head sort of young gentleman, and was
therefore well adapted as a companion to Peace.
He was well acquainted with every phase of London life, was well up in
all the cant terms and slang sayings which, unfortunately for the
moral tone of society are considered requisite by the young men of the
present day to indulge in and make use of.
The word “awful” had not come into fashion at the time of which we are
writing, but there were others of an equally objectionable character.
The English language is assuredly sufficiently comprehensive far the
expression of thoughts or ideas without being supplemented by slang or
Americanisms. We shall have to dilate upon this subject in a future
chapter of this work.
“Well, governor,” said Joe Kempshead to Peace, as they were seated at
the table in the public room of the hotel, “what’s to be your little
game to-day――the exhibition, a morning performance, or what?”
“Haven’t made up my mind, as yet,” returned our hero, putting aside
the paper he had been reading. “What are your movements?”
“I am obliged to go into the city――business matters, you know; but in
the after part of the day I’m at your service――say about five, or
between that hour and six. We can go together somewhere after then,
and see what’s to be seen. What say you――shall I meet you here?”
“Yes, I will be here at about six.”
“Let’s have dinner together at that hour, then.”
“Agreed.”
“Then we shall have the evening before us.”
Mr. Kempshead parted with his newly-made acquaintance with this
understanding, and proceeded into the city.
Peace bent his steps in the direction of the Kensington Museum.
He had heard a good deal of this place, where he found an almost
countless number of objects, which had for him a special interest.
Throughout his life he had always evinced a great fondness for works
of art and mechanical appliances, and the exhibition of patent
articles in the museum was to him one of its most noticeable and
attractive features.
He, therefore, found no difficulty in disposing of his time till the
dinner hour. Upon his return to Sanderson’s Hotel he found his friend
awaiting his re-appearance.
Dinner was served, which was done ample justice to by both gentlemen.
It was washed down by divers and sundry glasses of Rhenish wine.
Our hero had thrown aside the habits of the humble artisan, and went
in for an aristocratic course of regimen.
He was not adapted for it――neither did it suit him; but there is an
old saying, “When at Rome do as Rome does.” Peace was mindful of this,
and gave himself all the airs and graces of a high-born patrician.
An hour or two passed over, during which period Mr. Kempshead lounged
on the sofa, puffed his fragrant weed, and partook of a cup of black
coffee.
“Now, then, what shall us boys go in for?” he said, addressing himself
to Peace.
“I’m in your hands, and leave the matter to your disposal,” returned
the latter.
“Very good――so be it. In the first place, old fellow, I want to
introduce you to a little drum, which is not far from here. It’s a
club I belong to――the members are a jolly lot of fellows. By the by,
do you play?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you play――gamble?”
“At present that is not one of my accomplishments.
“Surprised at that. Every fellow does that sort of thing nowadays.
Couldn’t get through the world, you know, without doing something in
the betting or gambling line. Still, you’ve no occasion to play unless
you like. There’s no harm in looking on.”
“Oh, I’ll go,” cried Peace.
“Right you are; we’ll be off at once then.”
The two friends sallied forth from the hotel. The club to which
Kempshead alluded was situated in a dingy street at the west end of
the town. It was ostensibly a proprietory club――the proprietors
thereof drove a tolerably profitable trade.
It had been established as a social club for gentlemen, but its real
character was that of a betting crib or gambling house; or “hell”
would be the more expressive term.
There are hundreds of such establishments in this great city――betting
and gambling is one of the vices of the age. A case which has but
recently come before the Lord Chief Justice furnishes us with evidence
as to this fact.
A Turkish gentleman instituted proceedings in an action for libel
against the proprietor of a well-known newspaper. The paper in
question contained an article, in which the plaintiff was denounced as
a professional gambler or “black leg.”
It was proved in evidence that both parties had lost and won as much
as fifteen hundred pounds in one night. The gambling transactions were
not confined to this country, but were practised in France and
Germany.
The case will doubtless be fresh in the recollection of most of our
readers, and comment thereon would be superfluous.
After arriving at the club, Mr. Kempshead spoke a word or two to the
man in the hall, ascended the stairs, and entered a large room on the
first floor. He was followed by Peace, who was introduced to several
of the members of the club by his friend Kempshead.
The object which first attracted his attention was a long table which
ran along the centre of the room, the farther end of which was about
the distance of three feet from the opposite wall.
At its end was a fine light gas chandelier; each of the lights had
over it a large green shade, which was much of the same character as
those used in an ordinary billiard-room.
And under the lights was the apparatus with which the game of roulette
is played.
This consists of a mahogany frame about eighteen inches square, and
three or four inches in height; on it is fixed on a pivot a horizontal
wheel about a foot in diameter, the top of which is divided into
thirty-seven alternate red and black squares, each of which is marked
with a number.
Surrounding the wheel is a little slanting ledge bounded by a raised
edge.
The centre of the wheel is held by a thick brass handle, from which
extend four ivory branches.
The whole machine is something like the toy “teetotums” fixed in
boxes, which are sold freely in the shops.
From the apparatus described, extended along the table, is a green
cloth divided by lines worked in white silk into the large portions.
In the margin on one side of the top division is worked the word
“under,” and on the opposite side the word “over.”
The margin of the middle space contains the words, “even” and “odd,”
and at the opposite sides of the last section of the green cloth are
two squares of cloth, one black and the other red.
The cloth is also divided into thirty-seven equal squares.
The uninitiated reader will by the foregoing description be able to
form a tolerably accurate notion of the gambling machinery used in
playing the game of roulette.
It must, however, be understood that “rouge et noir,” and other games
were played at the club-house into which Peace now found himself for
the first time introduced.
Kempshead endeavoured to explain to him the manner in which the game
was played.
A short bald-headed gentleman, who wore a military coat, and had a
remarkably thick and dark moustache, and who had been introduced to
Peace as Captain Draper, now sidled up to Kempshead and said, nodding
at Peace――
“Does your friend play?”
“Well, no, I can’t say he does――he’s a novice. Ahem, a young man from
the country.”
“Ah, ah! capital――I see,” returned the captain, with a loud military
laugh.
Everything he did or said impressed you with being “loud.” Doubtless
the reader has met with a man of this description.
It is marvellous what a number of captains are to be found in gambling
houses, billiard saloons, and other places of public resort.
If you are in doubt about a man it is quite safe to put him down as a
captain or a stockbroker.
But the captains are by far the most numerous, and in many instances
the most doubtful.
Captain Draper had, of course, a stentorian voice, which doubtless had
been acquired by his constantly giving the word of command to the
gallant troop of which he was the head.
“Your friend will not refuse to take a glass of wine with me?” said
Draper to Kempshead, in an easy off-hand manner.
“He will be most delighted to do so, I’ve no doubt.”
The three gentlemen moved towards the sideboard.
This was an important feature in the appointments of the room. Upon it
rested a goodly array of bottles――and such bottles no one out of the
gambling world ever saw in their life.
They were redolent not only of wines and spirits but of wickedness.
No other bottle had so insinuating a shape, so graceful a neck, so
smiling a mouth, and such an irresistible-looking cork. As far as
their external appearance was concerned they were faultless, so also
was the brilliant and seductive-looking sideboard.
The thought arose in Peace’s mind, “Where do these dangerous bottles
come from. Are they manufactured for the exclusive use of the members
of this highly respectable and aristocratic club, or does some wealthy
member make them a present to the establishment for the use of the
delectable members thereof?”
This last hypothesis does not seem to be the correct one.
The brands on them are unknown to fame. None but a sporting man could
recognise the name of the maker.
Are they supplied by an adventurous gentleman of the Hebrew
persuasion, who finds enough supporters in the villainous world to
employ spirit importers, manufacturers, bottle makers, and label
printers? The aforesaid gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion is, of
course, constrained in his multifarious business transactions to lend
money at sixty per cent. occasionally――only occasionally――and then it
must be to good men and true.
“What will you take?” said the captain. “Shall we have a bottle of
sparkling?”
“My friend does not much care for champagne. If I might suggest, he
would like some brandy and seltzer.”
“Yes, I should,” remarked Peace.
“Then we’ll have a pint of sparkling between us,” said Draper.
A waiter came forward and attended upon the three gentlemen.
“Ah,” remarked the captain, carrying the glass to his eye. “When I was
in India this sort of tipple did go down, I can tell you.”
“No doubt,” said Kempshead.
“‘Give Draper his fizz,’ Lord Gough used to say, ‘and he’ll carry any
position.’ And by Jove, sir, he was right. I remember――――”
“’Aw, cap’n, ’aw do you do?” said a young man who had just entered the
room. “Want to see you, cap’an.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Ya’as. Most particular business; that fellow’s turning nasty; talks
about writing to the guv’nor, and all that sort of thing. He’s a
cursed bore.”
“I’ll see to that,” returned Draper. “We’ll talk the matter over by
and by.”
“You must see to it, old fellow. ’Pon my soul you must, and no flies.”
“All right; I will.”
The languid swell strolled towards the table.
“What’s up?” inquired Kempshead.
“Oh, the old story――overrunning the constable, that’s all. Wine and
women, sir,” said the captain, turning towards Peace, “would double up
any man sooner or later.”
The captain, having finished his drink, joined the languid swell and
Kempshead, and Peace took stock of the company, which, by this time,
was far more numerous than when they first entered the precincts of
the unhallowed ground.
Some of the members were seated at the tables, and others stood behind
them. The banker took up his position by the roulette.
Before him was a heap of gold, which had been turned out of a cash-box
that stood on the table.
In one hand he held a stick, about two feet long, across the top of
which was fixed a triangular piece of wood.
This is technically known as the “rake.”
He was not altogether an ordinary-looking individual――such as one
meets with in places of public resort. It struck Peace that he was
playing a part, and this inference was a tolerably correct one.
He was decidedly clever, or he would not have been chosen for the
position he occupied.
There was an engaging manner about him; he was loquacious, and
affected to be more of the pigeon than the hawk.
But if anyone arrived at any such conclusion they would make a false
estimate of his character.
Still, he was eminently qualified for his position. He spoke broken
English at the commencement of the evening, but, strange to say, this
wore off as the hours flew by.
He was a thin sallow-faced man, with a shrewd expression, and
captivating manners.
He said, addressing those present, “We are all friends here; all know
one another, and we are here for amusement, that’s all.”
Several of the members assented by nods to this proposition.
The croupier seemed satisfied.
“He loved play,” he said, and here he shook a pound’s worth of
“counters” in his white long-fingered hand.
Gambler, indeed! Not he.
He was no gambler, but he loved play to beguile the tedium of what
would be otherwise his lonely hours.
He loved society, and was glad to see so many faces around him with
which he had been familiar for years.
He certainly did talk like a father――not to say like a saint――to the
members of the club.
The hot feverish players smiled grimly at his eloquence.
He was the only talkative man in the room.
There were many there who were not quite so cheery. They were
evidently bent on business, not gossip or badinage, and to judge from
their apparel their business did not please them much.
“Only for amusement,” pleaded the little sallow-faced man, “that’s
all――only amusement. No stake larger than half-a-crown. We none of us
want to be ruined. We play only for amusement. This is a social club.
We are all brothers here. We all know that. Only for amusement,
gentlemen.”
He kept repeating this sentence, even as the raven in “Barnaby Rudge”
was wont to repeat “Never say die.”
Indeed, to say the truth, the little croupier reminded one very much
of a raven.
“Would you like to have one turn, and try your luck?” inquired
Kempshead of Peace.
“I don’t know anything of the game; but, being here, I must do as
others do, I suppose,” answered our hero.
“As I said before, gentlemen, we play only for amusement,” again
remarked the croupier. “It’s all fair and aboveboard at this
establishment.”
Mr. Kempshead drew to the table, and purchased eight round pieces of
ivory, each about the size of a shilling, for which he paid the bland
and smiling croupier one sovereign.
Peace handed his friend a sovereign, and requested him to purchase
eight pieces for him.
Opposite to the two friends was a bald-headed florid-complexioned man,
who, Kempshead informed our hero, was a large merchant in the City. He
was supposed to be very wealthy, but was a frequent visitor to the
club. As a rule, he preferred _rouge et noir_ to roulette.
Near to the florid-faced man were two young fellows of gentlemanly
appearance, speech, and demeanour; but the gambling contagion had
seized hold of them, and their whole souls seemed intent upon the
whirling of the roulette.
Peace placed a counter upon the red patch of cloth. His companion had
already put one on the black patch, which he had forfeited.
The general banker now gave the roulette a twist with the handle, and
at the same time a marble shot round the circling edge.
The little ball flew round and round in one direction, and the
roulette spun in the opposite, until at length the impetus of the
marble was insufficient to keep it upon the slanting surface of the
frame, and it sank upon the still twisting roulette and settled into a
pocket opposite one of the squares.
The square in question was a red one, and the banker handed Peace
another counter, value two shillings and sixpence.
Meanwhile the vivacious croupier kept the ball rolling, and continued
the game, with many quaint and curious sayings, which seemed to be
especially diverting to most of the members and visitors present.
He hospitably invited Peace to drink, enumerating a long list of
refreshments for him to choose from; but our hero politely declined.
He was bent upon keeping himself as sober as possible――indeed,
drinking was not one of his vices; neither was gambling――he had enough
bad qualities, in all conscience, without adding either of these to
the list.
Peace varied the proceedings by placing another counter upon the
margin marked “even.”
The ball spun on, and the roulette turned, and ultimately his
half-crown was raked up by the banker, as an odd number had been
marked by the little marble.
Varying fate attended his efforts, but in the end he left off a loser
of about fifteen shillings. Kempshead, on the contrary, was a winner.
“I suppose you’ve had enough of it for one evening?” said the latter
to Peace, who answered in the affirmative.
“Very good; we’ll be for making tracks, then.”
“What is the name of your club?” inquired Peace; when they had gained
the street.
“It is called the ‘Tumblers’.”
“What a singular name! How came it to be christened that?”
“I don’t know. The idea is, I believe, that if the members tumble down
they know how to pick themselves up again.”