Of all games with cards “draw poker” has always been the most popular with politicians, sportin’ men and “show” people. A friend of mine said, the other day, he played “poker” accordin’ to Hoyle, but I told him that could not be, for Hoyle don’t say one word about poker. It wasn’t known in his time.
Money can change hands in poker quicker than at any other “short” game at cards. I have heard of a game in which twenty thousand changed hands in twenty minutes.
John C. Stevens, the great old-time millionaire and horseman, was a tremendous lover of draw poker. He used to keep a room called his “poker parlor” at the Hotel de Paris, as it was called, corner Leonard Street and Broadway. This “poker parlor” was always open to a number of friends all of ‘em well-known men.
In this set were Duff Green, who, in his day, was a noted character and very fond of horseflesh. Billy Semon of Staten Island, another turfist, well known in his day; Jackson of New York, who was known in sportin’ circles as Moccasin Jackson, and who was the owner of the once celebrated trotter Bucktail, who was the first great American trotter ever taken to England. Then there was Mr. Walter Livingston, a rich resident of Oyster Bay, who was said to be better read in sportin’ matters than any man in America, and who owned a pretty nice horse of his own called “April Fool” from having been bought on the first of April. Harry Severn used to belong to this poker parlor set, too. Severn was considered the handsomest man in New York; was the most popular man in New York with the ladies, and owned the fastest pacing horse that ever lived. This animal was christened Oneida Chief, and Harry Severn was more proud of ownin’ him than he was of his own beauty or his popularity. Oneida Chief is said to have paced his mile on a Long Island track in two minutes eight and one-half seconds, the jockey on this occasion being a lad “light weight.” Oneida Chief became so famous that he was sent for from England, and some Lord there paid a big price for him, saying this horse was too good for America. Isaac Van Leer, the old trainer, used to drop in to play poker here, and altogether between horse talk and draw poker, and wine and cigars, the time at the Hotel de Paris passed as pleasantly as if the hotel had been in Paris.
To make it still more like Paris, a celebrated Frenchman used to “drop in” to the “poker parlor” every now and then. This was no less a person than the Prince Louis Napoleon, afterwards Napoleon III. He had got acquainted with Mr. Stevens, and had borrowed money of him, which he afterwards repaid with royal interest. Stevens introduced him to his set, who received him cordially, and got to like him very much independent altogether of his bein’ a prince.
Louis Napoleon was fond of cards, and played pretty well when he gave his mind to it. But sometimes he would get into one of his dreams or brown studies, and then he would lose the game, of course, which would make him mad.
He could speak only broken English, and most of the boys of the poker parlor set could only talk broken (very broken) French; but still they all managed to understand each other very well.
One afternoon they were all playing draw poker when a stable boy entered, bearing a letter for Stevens. Stevens left the table to attend to the letter, but kindly told the stable boy to play his hand during his absence. Stevens, though a very aristocratic man in his family and surroundin’s, had no false pride, and was as kind to a stable boy as to a Prince. Besides, poker is a very democratic game–like love and death, “it levels all distinctions,” and all anybody in the game cares about is for the cards, not for the people who hold ‘em, and so nobody objected to the stable boy sitting down to play with a Prince.
And luck was just as democratic as the company this time, and the stable boy beat the whole lot of ‘em, the Prince included.
When Mr. Stevens returned, the stable boy rose and said, pointin’ to the table, “Boss, I’ve swelled your pile.”
“Well,” said Stevens, “my boy, as you have won it, you shall have it,” suiting the action to the word. All the gentlemen had paid cash of course, but the prince was short to-day and only paid in promises.
He owed thirty dollars, and pattin’ the stable boy on the head said: “Bon garcon, I will pay you soon, and someday when you come to see me in France I will pay you much more.”
That pat and the promise was all the stable boy ever got for his thirty dollars. But the stable boy took care of himself, and had his good luck in his line afterwards as Louis Napoleon had in his; for he turned out to be a great showman, who is still livin’ somewhere, I believe–Dan Rice.
By the way, the late John Brougham’s “experience” with draw poker in his early days in this country is rather amusing. John was starrin’ it through the South and West and was on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers a good deal. Steamboat life then on the southern and western rivers was a more important thing and a livelier thing than it is even now, for there were not so many railroads and everybody traveled by boat. Some people almost lived on the boats altogether.
One time John was on a Mississippi boat, and he got into conversation in his own genial way with a young man, a very nice young man, who had a true appreciation of the drama. This pleased John, and the fact–of which the nice young man informed him–that the nice young man had traveled in England, and liked it, pleased John even better. So he and the nice young man soon became friends.
Card playin’ was going on at different tables in the cabin just then, and one of the tables wanted two players to make up the requisite number. So John’s friend proposed that John and himself should set down and take a hand just to pass away the time. John, always willin’ to be obligin’ and to kill time, consented, though he said he knew very little about the game, which was strictly true. But his friend told him that he would soon learn, which was strictly true, too. He did soon learn, and lost at one lesson, or sitting, two hundred and fifty dollars. The bets were not large, but the games were short and sharp, and the sum total of money and “experiences” was very large.
Pretty soon on a boat going to Memphis, John met this nice young man again; nicer than ever, with more true appreciation of the drama, and the dear old mother country–and draw poker.
Durin’ this trip the nice young man was one of a party of three at a table, and as they wanted one more, John genially consented to be that one. The four played till they arrived at Memphis, and John got more experience, and lost over three hundred dollars.
John didn’t like this, of course, but it was his “luck” and he never thought of blamin’ his nice young man.
Sometime after this Brougham was bound for Yazoo City, and on the boat for that place he met for the third time this nice young man. They got into long talks on the stage in America and England. They also got into a game of poker in which John lost over two hundred dollars. Comin’ back to Vicksburg, John and the nice young man played again, and John was again a loser.
This bad luck got to be monotonous; but a change came and John won, or was allowed to win, about three hundred dollars. Elated at his winnin’s–forgettin’ all about his losses–genial John kept on playin’ and lost all he had won and nearly five hundred dollars besides.
By this time even John Brougham had attained all the “experience” and knowledge of poker he wanted and didn’t play the game any more just then. Besides, to tell the truth, he began to suspect that this very nice young man of not bein’ any better than he should be–in short of being a professional river gambler–which was just precisely what the young man was.
Still Brougham didn’t say anythin’; it was not his way. And one night about eleven o’clock, when most of the passengers had retired, he noticed two old gentlemen, evidently gentleman merchants or planters, not gamblers, who seemed bent on having a little fun before they “turned in.” They wanted to make up a party of three to play a game of cards, but couldn’t find among the passengers who were still “up” anybody who would make the third. They approached John with an invitation, but John for once said “no.” Then somebody suggested that there was a young fellow in state room No. 16 who was an obligin’ fellow and would probably accommodate them. So the two old gentlemen started off for his stateroom and knocked the obligin’ chap up. He was unwillin’ to come out at first, but the two old codgers insisted upon it, so just to oblige ‘em the young man joined ‘em, having first proposed that they should play for money, just to heighten the interest of the game and to make it worthwhile for him to lose his rest.
The old chaps consented, but within less than an hour they wished they hadn’t, and felt heartily sorry they hadn’t let the obligin’ young man sleep, for he won over $500 of ‘em, got his money, skinned ‘em, and went to rest, a sleepier, but a richer man.
And John Brougham, lookin’ at the obliging chap, saw with a smile that the two old chaps had woke up with the wrong passenger, for the obligin’ chap was his own very nice young man.
[Editor’s notes: For those unfamiliar, John Brougham has a long entry in Wikipedia:
“John Brougham (9 May 1814 – 7 June 1880) was an Irish and American actor, dramatist, poet, theatre manager, and author. As an actor he was celebrated for his portrayals of comic Irish characters. The author of more than seventy-five dramatic works, with some sources stating more than 150, he was particularly successful in the genres of burlesque and satire. His large output of subversive satirical stage works earned him the nickname “The American Aristophanes” among critics. In addition to his work as a playwright he published two volumes of his miscellaneous writings; including essays, poems, and other works.”]
