Chapter Twenty Eight.
The “Hell” El Dorado.
A Monté Bank in the city of San Francisco, in the establishment y-cleped “El Dorado”—partly drinking-house, for the rest devoted to gambling on the grandest scale. The two are carried on simultaneously, and in a large oblong saloon. The portion of it devoted to Bacchus is at the end farthest from the entrance-door; where the shrine of the jolly god is represented by a liquor-bar extending from side to side, and backed by an array of shining bottles, glittering glasses, and sparkling decanters; his “worship” administered by half-a-dozen “bartenders,” resplendent in white shirts with wrist ruffles, and big diamond breast-pins—real, not paste!
The altar of Fortuna is altogether of a different shape and pattern, occupying more space. It is not compact, but extended over the floor, in the form of five tables, large as if for billiards; though not one of them is of this kind. Billiards would be too slow a game for the frequenters of “El Dorado.” These could not patiently wait for the scoring of fifty points, even though the stake were a thousand dollars. “No, no! Monté for me!” would be the word of every one of them; or a few might say “Faro.” And of the five tables in the saloon, four are for the former game, the fifth furnished for the latter; though there is but little apparent difference in the furniture of the two; both having a simple cover of green baize, or broadcloth, with certain crossing lines traced upon it, that of the Faro table having the full suite of thirteen cards arranged in two rows, face upwards and fixed; while on the Monté tables but two cards appear thus—the Queen and Knave; or, as designated in the game—purely Spanish and Spanish-American—“Caballo” and “Sota.” They are essentially card games, and altogether of chance, just as is the casting of dice.
Other gambling contrivances have place in the “El Dorado;” for it is a “hell” of the most complete kind; but these are of slight importance compared with the great games, Monté and Faro—the real pièces de résistance—while the others are only side-dishes, indulged in by such saunterers about the saloon as do not contemplate serious play. Of all, Monté is the main attraction, its convenient simplicity—for it is simple as “heads or tails”—making it possible for the veriest greenhorn to take part in it, with as much likelihood of winning as the oldest habitus of the hell. Originally Mexican, in many of the western states it has become Americanised.
Of the visible insignia of the game, and in addition to the two cards with their faces turned up, there is a complete pack, with several stacks of circular-shaped and variously coloured pieces of ivory—the “cheques” or counters of the game. These rest upon the table to the right or left of the dealer—usually the “banker” himself—in charge of his “croupier,” who pays them out, or draws them in, as the bank loses or wins, along with such coin as may have been staked upon the albur.
Around the table’s edge, and in front of each player, is his own private pile, usually a mixture of doubloons, dollars, and ivory cheques, with bags or packets of gold-dust and nuggets. Of bank-notes there are few, or none—the currency of California being through the medium of metal; at this date, 1849, most of it unminted, and in its crude state, as it came out of the mine, or the river’s mud. By the croupier’s hand is a pair of scales with weights appertaining; their purpose being to ascertain the value of such little gold packages as are “punted” upon the cards—this only needed to be known when the bank is loser. Otherwise, they are ruthlessly raked in alongside the other deposits, without any note made of the amount.
The dealer sits centrally at the side of the table, in a grand chair, cards in hand. After shuffling, he turns their faces up, one by one, and with measured slowness. He interrupts himself at intervals as the face of a card is exposed, making a point for or against him in the game. Calling this out in calm voice and long-drawn monotone, he waits for the croupier to square accounts; which the latter does by drawing in, or pushing out, the coins and cheques, with the nimbleness of a presti-digitateur. Old bets are rearranged, new ones made, and the dealing proceeds.