On the day this match was to be run a clerical neighbour had agreed to accompany Mr. Elwes to Newmarket. As was the latter's custom they set out on their journey at seven in the morning, and, with the hope of a substantial breakfast at Newmarket, the clergyman took no refreshment before starting. They reached Newmarket about eleven, and Mr. Elwes busied himself in inquiries and conversation till twelve, when the match was decided in favour of Lord Abingdon. The divine then fully expected that they should move off to the town for breakfast; but Elwes still continued riding about on one business or another. Eventually four o'clock arrived; and by this time his reverence had become so impatient that he murmured something about the "keen air of Newmarket heath" and the comforts of a good dinner. "Very true," replied Elwes, "have some of this," offering him at the same time a piece of old, crushed pancake from his great-coat pocket. He added that he had brought it from his house at Marcham two months before, but "that it was as good as new." The sequel of the story was that they did not reach home till nine in the evening, when the clergyman was so tired that he gave up all other refreshment for rest. On the other hand, Elwes, who had hazarded seven thousand pounds in the morning, retired happily to bed with the pleasing recollection of having saved three shillings.
In later life Mr. Elwes was elected to Parliament, where he proved himself an independent country member and exhibited great conscientiousness. During this time he had the greatest admiration for Mr. Pitt, and was wont to declare that in all the statesman's words there were "pounds, shillings, and pence." When he quitted Parliament, he was, in the common phrase, "a fish out of water." He had for some years been a member of a card-club, at the Mount Coffee-House, and it was there that he consoled himself for the loss of his seat. The play was moderate, and he enjoyed the fire and candles which were provided at the expense of the Club; but fortune seemed resolved to force from him that money which no power could persuade him to bestow. He still retained his fondness for play, and imagined that he had no small skill at piquet. It was his ill-luck on one occasion to meet a gentleman who had the same idea of his own powers in this direction, and on much better grounds; for after a contest of two days and a night, in which Elwes continued with the perseverance which avarice will sometimes inspire, he rose the loser of no less than three thousand pounds. The debt was paid by a draft on Messrs. Hoare, which was duly honoured the next morning.
This is said to have been the last bout of gaming indulged in by Mr. Elwes, and not long afterwards he retired to his country seat at Stoke, remarking that "he had lost a great deal of money very foolishly, but that a man grew wiser by time." After this no gleam of pleasure or amusement broke through the gloom of a penurious life, and his insatiable desire of saving became uniform and systematic. He still rode about the country on an old brood mare (which was all he had left); but then he rode her very economically, on the soft turf adjoining the road, so as to avoid the cost of shoes. His household expenses were reduced to a minimum, his few wants being attended to by a man who became almost as celebrated as his master. This extraordinary servant acted as butler, coachman, gardener, huntsman, groom, and valet; and was, according to Mr. Elwes, "a d——d idle rascal" into the bargain.
Mr. Elwes died in 1789 and left an enormous fortune for that day, about five hundred thousand pounds being divided between his two natural sons.
Mr. Elwes' record of having played piquet for two days and a night (thirty-six successive hours) was a remarkable one, for the physical strain involved by playing for such a long period is very considerable. Yet the fascination of remaining at the gaming-table for a long stretch of time frequently takes possession of those addicted to play. As a rule it is not by any means caused solely by the consideration of the stakes played for; it would rather seem that the players become mere automatic gaming machines, the mechanism of which runs steadily on. Several years ago a noticeable instance of this occurred in a London Club, where, on a certain evening, a small party had been playing écarté for fairly moderate stakes. The game began about eleven o'clock; some three or four hours later only two players remained. As the time went on, fine after fine was incurred by this couple, but still they continued playing—until they passed the hour when expulsion was the penalty exacted from any member still remaining in the Club-house. They were still playing when morning broke, and though horrified and sleepy-eyed waiters informed them that they could no longer continue, their only answer was to stop the clock, an irritating reminder of the fleeting hours. In this fashion they continued till one o'clock the next afternoon, when, having realised that their escapade was a serious one, they strolled through a crowd of outraged members into the brilliant sunlight which, as if in irony, chanced that morning to be flooding the street. It should be added that before leaving the Club-house—for ever, as it turned out—the two culprits prudently wrote out their resignations. The curious thing was that the stakes during this sitting were by no means high, and the sums which changed hands were consequently comparatively small.
Rowlandson, the artist, who was a well-known figure at most of the fashionable gaming-houses of his time, frequently played through a night and the next day. On one occasion he remained at the hazard table for thirty-six hours without a break, the only refreshment which he took being brought to him in the gambling-room. Rowlandson, who was a most honourable man, was generally unlucky, and lost several legacies at play. His imperturbability was remarkable, and he never exhibited the slightest emotion whether he won or lost.
At the Roxburgh Club in St. James's Square—at the time when it was kept by Raggett, the well-known proprietor of White's—Hervey Combe, Tippoo Smith, Mr. Ward (a member of Parliament), and the distinguished Indian General, Sir John Malcolm, once sat from Monday evening till Wednesday morning at eleven o'clock, playing whist. Even then, they would very likely have continued playing, had not Hervey Combe been obliged to attend the funeral of one of his partners. Combe, who had won thirty thousand pounds from Sir John Malcolm, jocularly told him that he could have his revenge whenever he liked. "Thank you," replied Sir John, "another sitting like this would oblige me to return to India again!"
In all probability, however, the longest duel at cards which ever took place occurred in the eighteenth century at Sulzbach, where the famous adventurer, Casanova, made the acquaintance of an officer, d'Entragues by name, who was very fond of piquet. For four or five days in succession the Venetian and this officer played after dinner. At the end of that time, however, Casanova declined to play any more, having come to the conclusion that his opponent made a regular practice of rising from the table directly he had won ten or twelve louis. He adhered to this resolution for a day or two, but d'Entragues became quite importunate in offers to give him his revenge.
"I do not care to play," was the reply of Casanova, given with some effrontery. "We are not the same kind of gamblers. I play only for my pleasure and because the game amuses me, whilst you play merely to win."
"If I understand you rightly," was the retort, "this is deliberate rudeness!"