The recent death of Gambetta has given the last “New Year” a sensational interest, and it is a somewhat sensational coincidence that just at the time when Gambetta died in Paris one of his warmest political admirers and most intimate personal friends died in this city at the Hoffman House. I allude to Edward Stern, the rich and eccentric Russian, the often-married president of the Equitable Gaslight Company.
This Stern was in a great many respects a remarkable man. He combined two things more often combined than people imagine–the dash of the romantic adventurer with the hard sense of a thorough-goin’ business man. He spent money wildly, lavishly, recklessly, but he always made more than he spent.
One of his prominent peculiarities was a fondness for games of cards. He was one of the most ardent card-players that ever lived. He had nothing of the professional gambler about him. Never played merely or chiefly to win, but he generally won. His luck was proverbial. In fact, durin’ the last years of his life Stern refused to play cards with anybody unless the “anybody” was somebody who could afford to lose. He generally carried a pack of cards and a lot of money around with him, ready for a big game with a rich friend at any moment.
Stern had made Gambetta’s acquaintance in the early part of his career, and greatly admired him, both as a man and a politician; in fact, he regarded him as a risin’ man long before he became famous. Stern once offered to Gambetta on his mere word of honor 200,000 francs–about $40,000–but the great French politician gratefully but firmly refused the kind offer–and such refusals don’t come every day.
Stern made money easily–he was as lucky in business as in cards. Durin’ the war he made in three years over $400,000 in New York, speculatin’ at the Produce Exchange. He had tip-top qualities for a speculator–sound judgment and tremendous nerve.
He dealt a good deal in hogs, lard, etc., and one time went South just before the war, on some business connected with his operations in the rice line. He met durin’ this trip with a characteristic adventure–interestin’ in itself, and showin’ the shrewdness and darin’ of the man–which he used to take delight in repeating.
Stern was a passenger on board a steamer bound from Louisville to New Orleans, and he played cards with some acquaintances till the boat got to Memphis. There some miscellaneous card-sharpers, three-card monte men, etc., got on board, and Stern, who was somewhat particular about his company, stopped playin’ and contented himself with lookin’ on.
Among the passengers this trip was a hog drover with whom Stern had done some business–a fussy, noisy “hoggish” sort of a man himself, very conceited, and pridin’ himself particularly on two things, in both of which he was rather deficient, of course–shrewdness and courage.
The hog drover had, among other ideas, an idea that nobody could ever fool him on cards. Well, pretty soon the three-card sharpers got to work, and got their fine work in pretty neatly.
The worst of the lot, lookin’ like the best sort of a respectable man, of course–professed to be a kind of repentin’ sinner, and desirin’ to save his fellow passengers from the wiles of sharpers. He claimed to have been recently cheated by some three-card monte men out of all he had, and he wanted to show others how he had been cheated, so as to protect ‘em in future. So he produced a pack of cards from his pocket, and proceeded to show how he had been cheated.
Stern knew that this was all a blind, but the hog drover took it for gospel truth–or, at any rate, for truth–for he didn’t know much about the gospel.
Of course the other sharpers–the confederates–pretended to take interest in this exposure of ‘emselves, and finally they got to makin’ bets among ‘emselves that they could not be fooled the way this highly respectable and victimized penitent had been. They could always pick out the winnin’ cards, although they didn’t.
The hog drover got more and more interested, till it last all was ripe to fleece him. One of the sharpers in league with the gang, pretendin’ to be a looker-on, whispered to him a great discovery that he had made, which was that the winnin’ card always had a little mark or speck on the back of it. On this “point” the hog drover acted at once, and bet three hundred dollars that he could pick out the winnin’ card. Of course, after a lot of preliminary “chin” and “circus,” this bet was taken–and, of course, with his eye on the mark or speck he picked out the card that ought to have been the winnin’ card–and of course it wasn’t the winnin’ card–and of course the hog drover lost his three hundred dollars.
There was the usual amount of recrimination on the part of the hog drover and the usual amount of explanation on the part of the sharper, and then the two men went off together. Stern had kept his eye on the proceedin’s, takin’ everythin’ in, and now rose and slowly followed the party, who were standin’ talkin’ near one of the chimneys of the boat.
Concealed from observation, he heard the sharper tell the hog-broker that he had discovered another “point”–a point which would certainly enable the hog man not only to get even, but to come out far ahead, after all.
“I’ve noticed,” said the sharper, “that that ‘ere feller that throws them ‘ere cards allers lifts ‘em high up from the table when he gives ‘em the last shuffle. I noticed it several times. Now I’m too tall to stoop down, but you’re smaller than I am. So just you get behind him at the table as he gives the last shuffle, and stoop down and see the cards, as he lifts ‘em up, and then you can tell what is the winnin’ card, sure, after he has put the cards down. I will get on the other side of the table, and keep the other fellers from seein’ when you stoop down.”
This “point” made the hog-broker wild to try his luck again. So, promisin’ a divvy of his winnin’s to the “pointer,” the hog man came back to the sharpers again, who had meanwhile kept up a bit of show by chinnin’, waitin’ till their victim was brought back, and ready to “rope in” any new fools.
Seein’ the hog drover, the man who was now operatin’ the cards began manipulatin’ two black fives and a jack of diamonds, the jack bein’ the winnin’ card, of course.
“There can be no possible mistake, now, gentlemen,” cried the operator, “two blacks and a red, and the red Jack wins; keep your eyes on the keards, gentlemen.”
The hog drover kept his eyes on the cards from behind the operator, kept ‘em so closely fixed that, as he stooped down, while the operator gave the cards their last shuffle, he saw–as the operator raised the cards accordin’ to his custom several inches from the table–the jack of diamonds distinctly. He kept his eye on that jack of diamonds, saw it placed on the table and confidently picked it out at once. But the card he picked out was not the jack of diamonds; it was some other card. And the hog drover, who had bet every dollar he had left, had not now a dollar in the world.
He swore fearfully, and then groaned despairingly. He had lost his nerve as well as his wits, but Stern had wit and pluck both. He had pity on the hog-broker besides. It didn’t suit his interests just then that the hog-broker should be ruined by sharpers. Stern had watched the whole affair carefully, havin’ followed the hog man and his tempter back to the table, and carefully noted everythin’ that occurred.
So now he quietly stepped up to the table and turned up the other two cards on it. There was no jack of diamonds on the table at all. Neither of the three cards were the jack of diamonds, although the jack of diamonds had been among the three cards originally.
“You see,” said Stern to the crowd around, “it wasn’t a mistake on the part of this man,” pointin’ to the hog-broker, “but a trick on the part of this man,” pointin’ to the cheater. “The cards have been changed while shuffled the last time. That fellow has hid the jack of diamonds and replaced it by that other card, which was not among the original three cards at all.”
The detected cheat of an operator had by this time drawn his revolver. So had his confederates. But the other passengers had also drawn theirs, and Stern had drawn his, and leveled it at the head of the “operator.”
The passengers and Stern were too many for the three card sharpers. They had to refund all their ill-gotten gains, and were put off the boat at the next island the boat came to.
What became of ‘em was not known, but that hog-broker, if alive to-day, will be sorry to hear of the death of Edward Stern.
[Editor’s notes: Stern’s obituary from the New York Times offers more detail of his “romantic” background:
