The “telegraph,” as explained in the chapter on Poker, is a favorite resource of professionals. It is not always easy to employ this stratagem, but when it can be employed successfully the results are of a sort extremely satisfactory to the manipulators. While I was running a saloon in Columbia, Missouri—which was in fact, but a cloak for secret “brace” gambling—I had an apparatus of this sort attached to a peep-hole in such a manner that I could readily signal to my confederate when it was safe for him to bet high. Of all victims in the world the “skin” gambler is especially rejoiced to meet a man who is in the habit of drinking to excess. During my entire career as a gambler I always felt reasonably sure of winning the money of such a man. On the particular occasion to which I am about to refer, two individuals, both somewhat inebriated, dropped into the saloon, and it was by no means difficult to engage them in a game of poker. My partner, whose name was Forshay, sat at the table together with the strangers, while I retired to a convenient spot in order to work the telegraph apparatus. The device succeeded admirably. Forshay experienced no difficulty in winning the money of the chance visitors, but in his exhilaration over his success he forgot prudence. The wire went through the floor; two casual customers entered the place and called for drinks; Forshay jumped up from his seat to wait on them, and forgetting in his excitement that the secret wire was attached to the bottom of his trouser’s leg by means of a fish-hook, omitted to detach the same. The result was that he went sprawling full length upon the floor, the entire mechanism of the machine being exposed to the curious eyes of any member of the vulgar herd who might have happened to be about. The situation was a critical one, but Forshay rose equal to it. One glance towards the table satisfied him that the two “suckers” were so far gone in their cups that any man of average intelligence might have driven a royal Bengal tiger across the table without attracting their attention.[attention.] Forshay himself was so far gone under the influence of the “ardent” that a small object, such as a jack rabbit, might have escaped his notice, but his fall had a sobering effect upon him. When he arose from the floor his clothes were covered with sawdust, and he was altogether as disreputable an object as one would wish to see. Brushing the dirt from his knees and apologizing for the torn condition of his nether habiliments, he resumed his seat at the table, which he occupied just long enough to detach the hook from his clothing. He waited upon the customers and returned to his place without having attracted the attention of the greenhorns. This anecdote has a moral of its own. In the first place, it is in itself a condensed temperance lecture; in the second, it may serve to convince the reader that however attractive a saloon may be, he can never determine by himself what sort of risk he runs by engaging in a “friendly” game, at any of the tables which the hospitable proprietor offers for his use.
A QUEER STAKE.
The excitement of play has prompted men to wager almost everything that they possess, and sometimes a good deal that they did not own, but it is doubtful whether any game was ever played for quite as strange a stake as that once indulged in by a professional gambler who was temporarily “under a cloud” in Georgia. The blackleg in question had become involved in a dispute with one of the natives over a game of cards, and the disagreement had resulted in the Georgian going to the hospital and the gambler to jail. Popular prejudice against gambling ran high in the community at the time, and the professional was advised by his counsel that he was likely to have a rather hard time in getting out of the scrape. While a prisoner, he cultivated the acquaintance of the sheriff, whom he found to be a good-natured, jovial sort of a fellow. One day he discovered, by accident, that his custodian[custodian] was a devotee of faro. It appeared that he had been moderately wealthy at one time, but had lost nearly all his property in playing against faro banks, and would still walk ten miles through a swamp to get a chance to play again. The gambler saw his opportunity. He chalked out a layout on the floor of his cell, procured an old pack of cards and proceeded to deal faro for the sheriff. Buttons were used for chips, and the officer of the law would squat outside the grated door of the cell and tell the prisoner where to place his bets. In a few days the gambler had all of his ready cash. Then he sold a mule and lost the proceeds. Head by head of the sheriff’s live stock went the same way. Then he put up his watch and chain and a suit of clothes. The professional won them and insisted upon their delivery to him. In a week the prisoner’s cell presented the appearance of a country store. It contained boots, hams, a pair of scales, all the sheriff’s stationery, a barrel of flour, a saddle and a feather bed. At last the Chief Executive Officer of the county came to the cell to interview his prisoner. “John,” said he, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You have won everything I can move except the old woman and the kids. Now I’ll play you a game of seven-up for all that I have lost against your liberty.” The prisoner promptly assented. They played through the grated door, and it was probably the most exciting game to both parties that either of them had ever indulged in. At last the score stood six to six. The gambler turned up a jack. “That puts you out,” said the sheriff and he unlocked the door; “now get out.” The blackleg lost no time in taking advantage of the permission. The Sheriff fired a shot at his retreating form, undoubtedly claiming that this right was reserved to him by the terms of the wager. Probably his excitement rendered him nervous; at all events the charge passed over the head of the fleeing ex-prisoner and crippled a darkey in an adjoining corn-field. The gambler who narrates this bit of experience always assures his auditors that only the pressing nature of his business prevented him from stopping to inquire how seriously the negro was hurt.
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DAN RICE’S BIG POKER GAME.
The following story relative to “Uncle Dan Rice,” the veteran showman, has appeared before, but will certainly bear repetition. The following version of it is given, as nearly as possible, in his own language.
“When they talk about winnin’ money at cards,” he said, “they make me tired. Why they don’t bet big money nowadays. They ain’t got the money in the first place, and if they have they ain’t got the nerve to put it up. What’s $30,000? Sho! Why I won $280,000 one night playin’ poker. I won it from two smart gamblers, too—Canada Bill and George B. Pettibone. O! they were cunnin’ but your ‘Uncle’ Dan was too smart for ’em. George Pettibone taught me to play chuck-a-luck and won my money, but I got even with him.
“It was this way: I had my circus in Cincinnati in 1851. The cholera broke out and we had to get away quick. So I loaded the whole durned circus onto a boat and started for Pittsburg, drew all my money from the bank and put aboard. I had about $350,000 in cash. Carried it in a safe in my state-room. People was a-dyin’ on the lower decks, and Canada Bill, Pettibone, my ringmaster, named Fowler, and I went upstairs to play poker. Did that to keep our minds off the cholera, don’t you see? We started in at a quarter limit. Then we got to playin’ a no-limit game, and I had ’em then. I had dollars to their buttons. About 4 o’clock in the mornin’ we got to bettin’ on a hand. All had big hands. We played with a short deck. Took everything below the tens out and threw ’em overboard. Bill and Pettibone had everything on the table—money, watches, diamonds, and everything. I told Fowler to watch ’em, and I went back to my state-room and got $250,000 out o’ the safe. My wife says—good woman, my wife—she says:
“‘Where are you goin’ with that money?’
(“I had it in canvas bags. It made an armful.) ‘I’m goin’ to bet it,’ says I.