Light Come, Light Go: Gambling—Gamesters—Wagers—The Turf

by Ralph Nevill

The passion for speculation which, throughout all ages, has captivated the great bulk of humanity, would seem to be an innate characteristic of mankind. It assumes various forms and guises which often deceive those over whom it exercises its sway, and becomes in numberless cases a veritable obsession, causing its victims to devote the whole of their time, thoughts, and money—sometimes even their lives—to its service. Devotees of the simpler forms of gambling, such as are to be procured at the card-table and on the race-course, are often looked down upon by people who are themselves under the sway of other insidious, if more reputable, modes of tempting fortune. For all speculation, whether it be in pigs or wheat, stocks and shares, race-horses or cards, is in essence the same—its main feature being merely the desire to obtain "something for nothing," or in other words to acquire wealth without work. Gambling, of no matter what kind, is thus a conscious and deliberate departure from the general aim of civilised society, which is to obtain proper value for its money. The gambler, on the other hand, receives either a great deal more than he gives or nothing at all.

All conditions of life being more or less disquieted either with the cares of gaining or of keeping money, it is but natural that mankind should be allured by the idea of discovering and utilising an easy and quick road to riches. Alas, the prospect of speedy wealth, which exercises such an irresistible fascination over certain natures, is in the vast majority of cases nothing but a delusive mirage, as tempting to covetous folly as the "philosopher's stone." Indeed, the votaries of chance in a great measure resemble the alchemists of old, who were ever seeking, but never found, a method of producing untold gold.

So convinced were these searchers of the possibility of eventually discovering the secret of manufacturing riches, that they laughed even at successful gamblers, deeming them to be mere drudges and sluggards on the golden road. There was a time, indeed, when students of what Gibbon termed "the vain science of alchemy," were actually called "multipliers," and their unbounded confidence naturally made a deep impression upon the credulous ignorance of their age. So much so that our Henry IV. appears to have become seriously alarmed at the prospect of the country being flooded with precious metals manufactured by the "multipliers," for a statute passed during his reign decrees that "none from henceforth shall use to multiply gold or silver or use the craft of multiplication, and if any the same do he shall incur the pain of felony." His Majesty might just as well have issued an edict against gamblers making use of a sure method of winning!

One of the most remarkable things about gambling is that no one ever seems to win—certainly the vast majority of those addicted to play, even the most lucky, generally declare that on the whole they have lost. A number of these, however, probably leave out of their calculations the large amounts which they have spent whilst fortune was in a generous mood; for gamblers when in luck are apt to fling their money about very freely, and even when they are losing they do not as a rule practise a rigid economy. This is not the case, of course, with followers of methods and systems who take their gambling seriously; these are often frugal men who, though quite callous about losing large sums in the pursuit of their hobby, regard money spent on enjoyment or luxuries as wasted. This is the type of gambler who racks his brains with calculations, and takes immense trouble to obtain really sound information about the chances of some race-horse, or of the rise or fall of some stock.

But even to such sober gamblers the result is usually disappointing. All methods, systems, and combinations do little to assist gamblers to win—the most they can effect is to put a limitation on their losses; and as regards special information, those who are addicted to racing know only too well how expensive it is to be acquainted with any one in a position to give really good "tips." More than that, information which emanates from owners, trainers, and jockeys would soon break the Bank of England were that institution to decide to risk its capital on such advice. Not that in many cases these men are not really anxious to give their friends winners; but somehow or other the good thing hardly ever comes off. It is indeed not at all unlikely that the race-goer who knows no one connected with the Turf has a distinct advantage; for when regular racing men possess reliable information as to a horse which has been reserved for some coup, they are obviously not at liberty to divulge its name, and consequently the "tips" they give are little more than hints of vague possibilities.

Although as a matter of fact the goddess of chance—not erroneously called "fickle"!—is in the long run pitilessly severe upon her votaries, one and all, there are times and occasions on which she seems not indisposed to smile. To propitiate her is, therefore, the first ambition of all gamblers, and in their efforts to attain this end many of them exhibit an almost childish superstition. Yet we must remember that the wisest of the Roman emperors kept a golden image of Fortune in their private apartments, or carried it about them. They never sent it to their successor till they were near expiring; and then it was accompanied with this declaration—that in the whole course of their achievements, they were more indebted to fortune than to any skill or dexterity of their own.

Always feminine, Fortune is to all appearances essentially wayward and capricious. She requires to be constantly tended, silently expected, and approached with due caution and prudence. Rough and refractory behaviour scares her away; irritation at her eccentricities banishes her altogether; whilst levity and ingratitude, when she is in a beneficent mood, soon causes her to escape. Moderation is the only chance of securing her constant presence. In short, fortune, or luck, is a phenomenon, the ground and essence whereof is to a great degree inexplicable. For the most part we know it only from its effects, and can give no certain account either of its nature or of its mode of action, and of the always increasing or diminishing greatness of it. To the gambler fortune appears to be an occult power, the aid of which is not infrequently invoked by means of various fanciful fetishes, which for the moment acquire a real virtue, as being likely to propitiate the invisible influence which presides over speculation.

The movements of fortune have been well compared to those of the sea, which for the most part seems to affect a serene and smiling aspect, broken only by tranquil ripples. From time to time, however, furious tempests and storms disturb its surface, calm being often re-established as quickly and suddenly as it was originally broken. Like the sea, Fortune would at heart appear to be inclined towards tranquillity, though her fury, when roused, is inclined to conceal this tendency.

Whilst Fortune generally seems to distribute her favours in a somewhat haphazard way, there is no doubt that those who study the so-called laws of chance are the most likely to receive them. For although chance is generally considered to be effect without design, this is not strictly true. Throughout the universe of nature, indeed, all events appear in the end to be governed by immutable laws which have existed from the beginning of time, no matter what partial irregularities may arise at certain periods.