Abominations of Modern Society — Chapter 09 - The Fatal Ten-Srtike part 1
THE FATAL TEN-STRIKE.
While among my readers are those who have passed on into the afternoon of life, and the shadows are lengthening, and the sky crimsons with the glow of the setting sun, a large number of them are in early life, and the morning is coming down out of the clear sky upon them, and the bright air is redolent with spring blossoms, and the stream of life, gleaming and glancing, rushes on between flowery banks, making music as it goes.
Some of you are engaged in mercantile establishments, as clerks and book-keepers; and your whole life is to be passed in the exciting world of traffic.
The sound of busy life stirs you as the drum stirs the fiery war-horse.
Others are in the mechanical arts, to hammer and chisel your way through life; and success awaits you.
Some are preparing for professional life, and grand opportunities are before you; nay, some of you already have buckled on the armor.
But, whatever your age or calling, the subject of gambling, about which I speak in this chapter, is pertinent.
Some years ago, when an association for the suppression of gambling was organized, an agent of the association came to a prominent citizen and asked him to patronize the society.
He said, "No, I can have no interest in such an organization.
I am in no wise affected by that evil."
At that very time his son, who was his partner in business, was one of the heaviest players in "Herne's" famous gaming establishment.
Another refused his patronage on the same ground, not knowing that his first book-keeper, though receiving a salary of only a thousand dollars, was losing from fifty to one hundred dollars per night.
The president of a railroad company refused to patronize the institution, saying--"That society is good for the defence of merchants, but we railroad people are not injured by this evil;" not knowing that, at that very time, two of his conductors were spending three nights of each week at faro tables in New York.
Directly or indirectly, this evil strikes at the whole world.
Gambling is the risking of something more or less valuable in the hope of winning more than you hazard.
The instruments of gaming may differ, but the principle is the same.
The shuffling and dealing of cards, however full of temptation, is not gambling, unless stakes are put up;
while, on the other hand, gambling may be carried on without cards, or dice, or billiards, or a ten-pin alley.
The man who bets on horses, on elections, on battles--the man who deals in "fancy" stocks, or conducts a business which extra hazards capital, or goes into transactions without foundation, but dependent upon what men call "luck," is a gambler.
It is estimated that one-fourth of the business in London is done dishonestly.
Whatever you expect to get from your neighbor without offering an equivalent in money or time or skill, is either the product of theft or gaming.
Lottery tickets and lottery policies come into the same category.
Fairs for the founding of hospitals, schools and churches, conducted on the raffling system, come under the same denomination.
Do not, therefore, associate gambling necessarily with any instrument, or game, or time, or place, or think the principle depends upon whether you play for a glass of wine, or one hundred shares in _Camden and Amboy_.
Whether you employ faro or billiards, rondo and keno, cards, or bagatelle, the very _idea_ of the thing is dishonest; for it professes to bestow upon you a good for which you _give no equivalent_.
This crime is no newborn sprite, but a haggard transgression that comes staggering down under a mantle of curses through many centuries.
All nations, barbarous and civilized, have been addicted to it.
Before 1838, the French government received revenue from gaming houses.
In 1567, England, for the improvement of her harbors, instituted a lottery, to be held at the front door of St. Paul's Cathedral.
Four hundred thousand tickets were sold, at ten shillings each.
The British Museum and Westminster Bridge were partially built by similar procedures.
The ancient Germans would sometimes put up themselves and families as prizes, and suffer themselves to be bound, though stronger than the persons who won them.
But now the laws of the whole civilized world denounce the system.
Enactments have been passed, but only partially enforced.
The men interested in gaming houses wield such influence, by their numbers and affluence, that the judge, the jury, and the police officer must be bold indeed who would array themselves against these infamous establishments.
Within ten years the House of Commons of England has adjourned on "Derby Day" to go out to bet on the races; and in the best circles of society in this country to-day are many hundreds of professedly respectable men who are acknowledged gamblers.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars in this land are every day being won and lost through sheer gambling.
Says a traveller through the West--"I have travelled a thousand miles at a time upon the Western waters and seen gambling at every waking moment from the commencement to the termination of the journey."
The South-west of this country reeks with this abomination.
In New Orleans every third or fourth house in many of the streets is a gaming place, and it may be truthfully averred that each and all of our cities are cursed with this evil.
In themselves most of the games employed in gambling are without harm.
Billiard-tables are as harmless as tea-tables, and a pack of cards as a pack of letter envelopes, unless stakes be put up.
But by their use for gambling purposes they have become significant of an infinity of wretchedness.
In New York city there are said to be six thousand houses devoted to this sin; in Philadelphia about four thousand; in Cincinnati about one thousand; at Washington the amount of gaming is beyond calculation.
There have been seasons when, by night, Senators, Representatives, and Ministers of Foreign Governments were found engaged in this practice.
Men wishing to gamble will find places just suited to their capacity, not only in the underground oyster-cellar, or at the table back of the curtain, covered with greasy cards, or in the steamboat smoking cabin, where the bloated wretch with rings in his ears deals out his pack, and winks in the unsuspecting traveller,--providing free drinks all around,--but in gilded parlors and amid gorgeous surroundings.
This sin works ruin, first, by unhealthful stimulants.
Excitement is pleasurable.
Under every sky, and in every age, men have sought it.
The Chinaman gets it by smoking his opium; the Persian by chewing hashish; the trapper in a buffalo hunt; the sailor in a squall; the inebriate in the bottle, and the avaricious at the gaming-table.
We must at times have excitement.
A thousand voices in our nature demand it.
It is right.
It is healthful.
It is inspiriting.
It is a desire God-given.
But anything that first gratifies this appetite and hurls it back in a terrific reaction is deplorable and wicked.
Look out for the agitation that, like a rough musician, in bringing out the tune, plays so hard he breaks down the instrument!
God never made man strong enough to endure the wear and tear of gambling excitement.
No wonder if, after having failed in the game, men have begun to sweep off imaginary gold from the side of the table.
The man was sharp enough when he started at the game, but a maniac at the close.
At every gaming-table sit on one side Ecstasy, Enthusiasm, Romance--the frenzy of joy; on the other side, Fierceness, Rage, and Tumult.
The professional gamester schools himself into apparent quietness.
The keepers of gambling rooms are generally fat, rollicking, and obese; but thorough and professional gamblers, in nine cases out of ten, are pale, thin, wheezing, tremulous, and exhausted.
A young man, having suddenly heired a large property, sits at the hazard-table, and takes up in a dice-box the estate won by a father's lifetime sweat, and shakes it, and tosses it away.
Intemperance soon stigmatizes its victim--kicking him out, a slavering fool, into the ditch, or sending him, with the drunkard's hiccough, staggering up the street where his family lives.
But gambling does not, in that way, expose its victims.
The gambler may be eaten up by the gambler's passion, yet only discover it by the greed in his eyes, the hardness of his features, the nervous restlessness, the threadbare coat, and his embarrassed business.
Yet he is on the road to hell, and no preacher's voice, or startling warning, or wife's entreaty, can make him stay for a moment his headlong career.
The infernal spell is on him; a giant is aroused within; and though you bind him with cables, they would part like thread; and though you fasten him seven times round with chains, they would snap like rusted wire; and though you piled up in his path, heaven-high, Bibles, tracts and sermons, and on the top should set the cross of the Son of God, over them all the gambler would leap like a roe over the rocks, on his way to perdition.
Again, this sin works ruin by killing industry.
A man used to reaping scores or hundreds of dollars from the gaming-table will not be content with slow work.
He will say, "What is the use of trying to make these fifty dollars in my store when I can get five times that in half an hour down at 'Billy's'?"
You never knew a confirmed gambler who was industrious.
The men given to this vice spend their time not actively employed in the game in idleness, or intoxication, or sleep, or in corrupting new victims.
This sin has dulled the carpenter's saw, and cut the band of the factory wheel, sunk the cargo, broken the teeth of the farmer's harrow, and sent a strange lightning to shatter the battery of the philosopher.
The very first idea in gaming is at war with all the industries of society.
Any trade or occupation that is of use is ennobling.
The street sweeper advances the interests of society by the cleanliness effected.
The cat pays for the fragments it eats by clearing the house of vermin.
The fly that takes the sweetness from the dregs of the cup compensates by purifying the air and keeping back the pestilence.
But the gambler gives not anything for that which he takes.
I recall that sentence.
He _does_ make a return; but it is disgrace to the man that he fleeces, despair to his heart, ruin to his business, anguish to his wife, shame to his children, and eternal wasting away to his soul.
He pays in tears and blood, and agony, and darkness, and woe.
What dull work is ploughing to the farmer, when in the village saloon, in one night, he makes and loses the value of a summer harvest?
Who will want to sell tape, and measure nankeen, and cut garments, and weigh sugars, when in a night's game he makes and loses, and makes again, and loses again, the profits of a season?
John Borack was sent as mercantile agent from Bremen to England and this country.
After two years his employers mistrusted that all was not right.
He was a defaulter for eighty-seven thousand dollars.
It was found that he had lost in Lombard street, London, twenty-nine thousand dollars; in Fulton street, New York, ten thousand dollars;
and in New Orleans, three thousand dollars.
He was imprisoned, but afterwards escaped and went into the gambling profession.
He died in a lunatic asylum.
This crime is getting its pry under many a mercantile house in our cities, and before long down will come the great establishment, crushing reputation, home, comfort, and immortal souls.
How it diverts and sinks capital may be inferred from some authentic statements before us.
The ten gaming-houses that once were authorized in Paris passed through the banks, yearly, three hundred and twenty-five millions of francs!
The houses of this kind in Germany yield vast sums to the government.
The Hamburg establishment pays to the government treasury forty thousand florins; and Baden Baden one hundred and twenty thousand florins.
Each one of the banks in the large gaming-houses of Germany has forty or fifty croupiers standing in its service.
Where does all the money come from?
_The whole world is robbed!
_ What is most sad, there are no consolations for the loss and suffering entailed by gaming.
If men fail in lawful business, God pities, and society commiserates; but where in the Bible, or in society, is there any consolation for the gambler?
From what tree of the forest oozes there a balm that can soothe the gamester's heart?
In that bottle where God keeps the tears of his children, are there any tears of the gambler?
Do the winds that come to kiss the faded cheek of sickness, and to cool the heated brow of the laborer, whisper hope and cheer to the emaciated victim of the game of hazard?
When an honest man is in trouble, he has sympathy.
"Poor fellow!"
they say.
But do gamblers come to weep at the agonies of the gambler?
In Northumberland was one of the finest estates in England.
Mr. Porter owned it, and in a year gambled it all away.
Having lost the last acre of the estate, he came down from the saloon and got into his carriage; went back; put up his horses, and carriage, and town house, and played.
He threw and lost.
He started home, and on a side alley met a friend from whom he borrowed ten guineas; went back to the saloon, and before a great while had won twenty thousand pounds.
He died at last a beggar in St. Giles.
How many gamblers felt sorry for Mr. Porter?
Who consoled him on the loss of his estate?
What gambler subscribed to put a stone over the poor man's grave?
Not one!
Furthermore, this sin is the source of uncounted dishonesties.
The game of hazard itself is often a cheat.
How many tricks and deceptions in the dealing of the cards!
The opponent's hand is ofttimes found out by fraud.
Cards are marked so that they may be designated from the back.
Expert gamesters have their accomplices, and one wink may decide the game.
The dice have been found loaded with platina, so that "doublets" come up every time.
These dice are introduced by the gamblers unobserved by the honest men who have come into the play;
and this accounts for the fact that ninety-nine out of a hundred who gamble, however wealthy they began, at the end are found to be poor, miserable, ragged wretches, that would not now be allowed to sit on the door-step of the house that they once owned.
In a gaming-house in San Francisco, a young man having just come from the mines deposited a large sum upon the ace, and won twenty-two thousand dollars.
But the tide turns.
Intense anxiety comes upon the countenances of all.
Slowly the cards went forth.
Every eye is fixed.
Not a sound is heard, until the ace is revealed favorable to the bank.
There are shouts of "Foul!
Foul!"
but the keepers of the table produce their pistols and the uproar is silenced, and the bank has won ninety-five thousand dollars.
Do you call this a game of chance?
There is no chance about it.
But these dishonesties in the carrying on of the game are nothing when compared with the frauds which are committed in order to get money to go on with the nefarious work.
Gambling, with its greedy hand, has snatched away the widow's mite and the portion of the orphans; has sold the daughter's virtue to get means to continue the game; has written the counterfeit signature, emptied the banker's money vault, and wielded the assassin's dagger.
There is no depth of meanness to which it will not stoop.
There is no cruelty at which it is appalled.
There is no warning of God that it will not dare.
Merciless, unappeasable, fiercer and wilder it blinds, it hardens, it rends, it blasts, it crushes, it damns.
It has peopled Moyamensing, and Auburn, and Sing Sing.
How many railroad agents, and cashiers, and trustees of funds, it has driven to disgrace, incarceration, and suicide!
Witness a cashier of the Central Railroad and Banking Company of Georgia, who stole one hundred and three thousand dollars to carry on his gaming practices.
Witness the forty thousand dollars stolen from a Brooklyn bank; and the one hundred and eighty thousand dollars taken from a Wall Street Insurance Company for the same purpose!
These are only illustrations on a large scale of the robberies _every day_ committed for the purpose of carrying out the designs of gamblers.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars every year leak out without observation from the merchant's till into the gambling hell.
A man in London keeping one of these gambling houses boasted that he had ruined a nobleman a day; but if all the saloons of this land were to speak out, they might utter a more infamous boast, for they have destroyed a thousand noblemen a year.
Notice also the effect of this crime upon domestic happiness.
It hath sent its ruthless ploughshare through hundreds of families, until the wife sat in rags, and the daughters were disgraced, and the sons grew up to the same infamous practices, or took a short cut to destruction across the murderer's scaffold.
Home has lost all charms for the gambler.
How tame are the children's caresses and a wife's devotion to the gambler!
How drearily the fire burns on the domestic hearth!
There must be louder laughter, and something to win and something to lose;
an excitement to drive the heart faster and fillip the blood and fire the imagination.
No home, however bright, can keep back the gamester.
The sweet call of love bounds back from his iron soul, and all endearments are consumed in the flame of his passion.
The family Bible will go after all other treasures are lost, and if his everlasting crown in heaven were put into his hand he would cry: "Here goes, one more game, my boys!
On this one throw I stake my crown of heaven."
