University of Virginia Library

12. XII.

My last letter left me on my way up to “the
rooms” over the Exchange, where the goddess of
fortune sits enthroned, with a “cue” for her sceptre,
and a card pack for her “magna charta,” dispensing
alternate happiness and misery to the infatuated
votaries who crowd in multitudes around her altars.
Proceeding along the corridor, we left the billiard-room
on our left, in which no sound was heard
(though every richly-carved, green-covered table
was surrounded by players, while numerous spectators
reclined on sofas or settees around the room)
save the sharp teck! teck! of the balls as they came
in contact with each other, and the rattling occasioned
by the “markers” as they noted the progress
of the game on the large parti-coloured “rosaries”

extended over the centre of the tables. Lingering
here but a moment, we turned an angle of the gallery,
and at the farther extremity came to a glass
door curtained on the inner side, so as effectually to
prevent all observation of the interior. Entering
this,—for New-Orleans,—so carefully guarded
room, we beheld a scene, which, to an uninitiated,
ultra city-bred northerner, would be both novel and
interesting.

The first noise which struck our ears on entering,
was the clear ringing and clinking of silver, mingled
with the technical cries of the gamblers, of “all
set”—“seven red”—“few cards”—“ten black,”
&c.—the eager exclamations of joy or disappointment
by the players, and the incessant clattering of
the little ivory ball racing its endless round in the
roulette-table. On one side of the room was a faro-table,
and on the opposite side a roulette. We approached
the former, which was thronged on three
sides with players, while on the other, toward the
wall, was seated the dealer of the game—the “gentleman
professeur.” He was a portly, respectable
looking, jolly-faced Frenchman, with so little of the
“black-leg” character stamped upon his physiognomy,
that one would be far from suspecting him to
be a gambler by profession. This is a profession
difficult to be conceived as the permanent and only
pursuit of an individual. Your conception of it has
probably been taken, as in my own case, from the
fashionable novels of the day; and perhaps you
have regarded the character as merely the creation
of an author's brain, and “the profession” as a profession,

existing nowhere in the various scenes and
circumstances of life.

There are in this city a very great number of
these infernos, (anglicè “hells”) all of which—
with the exception of a few private ones, resorted
to by those gentlemen who may have some regard
for appearances—are open from twelve at noon till
two in the morning, and thronged by all classes,
from the lowest blackguard upward. They are
situated in the most public streets, and in the most
conspicuous locations. Each house has a bank, as
the amount of funds owned by it is termed. Some
of the houses have on hand twenty thousand dollars
in specie; and when likely to be hard run by heavy
losses, can draw for three or four times that amount
upon the directors of the “bank company.” The
establishing of one of these banks is effected much
as that of any other. Shares are sold, and many
respectable moneyed men, I am informed, become
stockholders; though not ambitious, I believe, to
have their names made public. It is some of the
best stock in the city, often returning an enormous
dividend. They are regularly licensed, and pay
into the state or city treasury, I forget which, annually
more than sixty thousand dollars. From six
to twelve well-dressed, genteel looking individuals,
are always to be found in attendance, to whom salaries
are regularly paid by the directors; and to this
salary, and this occupation, they look for as permanent
a support through life as do members of any
other profession. It is this class of men who are
emphatically denominated “gamblers and black

legs.” The majority of them are Frenchmen,
though they usually speak both French and English.
Individuals, allured by the hope of winning,
are constantly passing in and out of these houses, in
“broad noon,” with the same indifference to what is
termed “public opinion,” as they would feel were
they going into or out of a store.

Those places which are situated in the vicinity of
Canal-street and along the Levée, are generally of a
lower order, and thronged with the canaille of the
city, sailors, Kentucky boatmen, crews of steamboats,
and poor Gallic gentlemen, in threadbare
long-skirted coats and huge whiskers. The room
we were now visiting was of a somewhat higher
order, though not exclusively devoted to the more
genteel adventurers, as, in the very nature of the
thing, such an exclusion would be impossible. But
if unruly persons intrude, and are disposed to be
obstreperous, the conductors of the rooms, of course,
have the power of expelling them at pleasure.

Being merely spectators of the game, we managed
to obtain an advantageous position for viewing
it, from a vacant settee placed by the side of
the portly dealer, who occupied, as his exclusive
right, one side of the large table. Before him were
placed in two rows thirteen cards; the odd thirteenth
capping the double file, like a militia captain
at the head of his company, when marching “two
by two;” the files of cards, however, unlike these
martial files of men, are straight. You will readily
see by the number, that these cards represent every
variety in a pack. The dealer, in addition, has a

complete pack, fitting closely in a silver box, from
which, by the action of a sliding lid, he adroitly and
accurately turns off the cards in dealing. The
players, or “betters,” as they are termed, place their
money in various positions as it respects the thirteen
cards upon the table, putting it either on a
single card or between two, as their skill, judgment,
or fancy may dictate.

As I took my station near the faro-board, the
dealer was just shuffling the cards for a new game.
There were eleven persons clustered around the
table, and as the game was about to commence,
arm after arm was reached forth to the prostrate
cards, depositing one, five, ten, twenty, or fifty dollars,
according to the faith or depth of purse of
their owners. On, around, and between the cards,
dollars were strewed singly or in piles, while the
eyes of every better were fixed immoveably, and,
as the game went on, with a painful intensity, upon
his own deposite, perhaps his last stake. When the
stakes were all laid, the dealer announced it by drawling
out in bad English, “all saat.” Then, damping
his forefinger and thumb, by a summary process
—not quite so elegant as common—he began drawing
off the cards in succession. The card taken off
does not count in the game; the betters all looking
to the one turned up in the box to read the fate of
their stakes. As the cards are turned, the winners
are paid, the money won by the bank swept off with
a long wand into the reservoir by the side of the
banker, and down go new stakes, doubled or lessened
according to the success of the winners—again

is drawled out the mechanical “all set,” and the
same routine is repeated until long past midnight,
while the dealers are relieved every two or three
hours by their fellow-partners in the house.

At the right hand of the dealer, upon the table,
is placed what is denominated “the bank, ”though
it is merely its representative. This is a shallow,
yet heavy metal box, about twenty inches long, half
as many wide, and two deep, with a strong net-work
of wire, so constructed as to cover the box
like a lid, and be secured by a lock. Casting my
eye into this receptacle through its latticed top, I
noticed several layers of U. S. bank notes, from
five to five hundred dollars, which were kept down
by pieces of gold laid upon each pile. About one-fifth
of the case was parted off from the rest, in
which were a very large number of gold ounces and
rouleaus of guineas. The whole amount contained
in it, so far as I could judge, was about six thousand
dollars, while there was more than three thousand
dollars in silver, piled openly and most temptingly
upon the table around the case, in dollars,
halves, and quarters, ready for immediate use. From
policy, five franc pieces are substituted for dollars
in playing; but the winner of any number of them
can, when he ceases playing, immediately exchange
them at the bank for an equal number of dollars.
It often happens that players, either from ignorance
or carelessness, leave the rooms with the five franc
pieces; but should they, five minutes afterward, discover
their neglect and return to exchange them, the
dealer exclaims with an air of surprise—

“Saar! it will be one mistake, saar. I nevair
look you in de fas before, saar!” Thousands of
dollars are got off annually in this manner, and a
very pretty interest the banks derive from their
ingenious method of franking.

Having seen some thousands of dollars change
hands in the course of an hour, and, with feelings
somewhat allied to pity, marked the expression of
despair, darkening the features of the unfortunate
loser, as he rushed from the room with clenched
hands and bent brow, muttering indistinctly within
his teeth fierce curses upon his luck; and observed,
with no sympathizing sensations of pleasure, the
satisfaction with which the winners hugged within
their arms their piles of silver, we turned from the
faro, and crossed the room to the roulette table.
These two tables are as inseparable as the shark
and the pilot fish, being always found together in
every gambling room, ready to make prey of all
who come within their influence. At faro there is
no betting less than a dollar; here, stakes as low
as a quarter are permitted. The players were
more numerous at this table than at the former,
and generally less genteel in their appearance.
The roulette table is a large, long, green-covered
board or platform, in the centre of which, placed
horizontally upon a pivot, is a richly plated round
mahogany table, or wheel, often inlaid with ivory
and pearl, and elaborately carved, about two feet
in diameter, with the bottom closed like an inverted
box cover. Around this wheel, on the inner border,
on alternate little black and red squares, are marked

numbers as high as thirty-six, with two squares
additional, in one a single cipher, in the other
two ciphers; while on the green cloth-covered
board, the same numbers are marked in squares.
The dealer, who occupies one side of the table,
with his metal, latticed case of bank notes and gold
at his right hand, and piles of silver before him,
sets the wheel revolving rapidly, and adroitly spins
into it from the end of his thumb, as a boy would
snap a marble, an ivory ball, one quarter the size of
a billiard ball. The betters, at the same instant,
place their money upon such one of the figures
drawn upon the cloth as they fancy the most likely
to favour them, and intently watch the ball as it
races round within the revolving wheel. When
the wheel stops, the ball necessarily rests upon
some one of the figures in the wheel, and the fortunate
player, whose stake is upon the corresponding
number on the cloth, is immediately paid his winning,
while the stakes of the losers are coolly
transferred by the dealer to the constantly accumulating
heap before him; again the wheel is set
revolving, the little ball rattles around it, and purses
are again made lighter and the bank increased.

As we were about to depart, I noticed in an
interior room a table spread for nearly a dozen persons,
and loaded with all the substantials for a
hearty supper. The dealers, or conductors of the
bank, are almost all bachelors, I believe, or ought
to be, and keep “hall” accordingly, in the same
building where lies their theatre of action, in the
most independent and uproarious style. After the

rooms are closed, which is at about two in the
morning, they retire to their supper table, inviting
all the betters, both winners and losers, who are
present when the playing breaks up, to partake
with them. The invitations are generally accepted;
and those poor devils who in the course
of the evening have been so unfortunate as to have
“pockets to let,” have at least the satisfaction of
enjoying a good repast, gratis, before they go
home and hang themselves.[4]

Having satisfied our curiosity with a visit to this
notable place, we descended into the Exchange,
which was now nearly deserted; a few gentlemen
only were taking their “night caps” at the bar, and
here and there, through the vast room, a solitary

individual was pacing backward and forward with
echoing footsteps.

Leaving the now deserted hall, which at an
earlier hour had resounded with the loud and confused
murmur of a hundred tongues, and the
tramping of a busy multitude, we proceeded to
our hotel through the silent and dimly lighted
streets,[5] without being assassinated, robbed, seized
by the “gens d'armes,” and locked up in the guard-house,
or meeting any other adventure or misadventure
whatever; whereat we were almost
tempted to be surprised, remembering the frightful
descriptions given by veracious letter-writers,
of this “terrible city” of New-Orleans.