Part 21

Fortune, however, had still a smile or two in store for him, one of which may here be noticed. At the Merton sale there was offered a mean-looking foal which no one would look at, but in due time that same animal, then known as Bloomsbury, won the Derby of 1839, for which he had been entered and trained under the superintendence of William, a brother of Robert Ridsdale. Again the breath of rumour got to work; the winner of the race, it was asserted, was not the horse which it was represented to be, but another animal a year older. An objection lodged against the horse, not on that ground, but because of misdescription, was overruled by the stewards; but Mr. Fulwar Craven, owner of the second horse, claimed the stakes and raised an action for payment, in which, however, he was defeated. Bloomsbury never ran as a two-year-old, the Derby being his first race. As "Wildrake" says, in his "Pictorial Gallery of English Race-horses": "He was a most fortunate horse--though most unfortunate to his owners and backers. He won the Derby and a lawsuit. He caused the non-settlement of a settlement. He embroiled Lords and Commons, enriched poor men, impoverished wealth, and made all the world stare when their eyes were opened."

Ridsdale, as has been indicated, lost his nerve; with confidence in himself gone, he forsook the old haunts where he had been so well received, he shunned his former intimates, and gradually became so reduced in purse as to be without a lodging. In the end he was found dead in a stable loft at Newmarket, with three-halfpence in his pocket.

CROCKFORD.

There is a story relating to the life of Crockford, or rather to his death, which has been so often told that it has come to be accepted as true. I have never myself, however, given credence to it, inquiry having satisfied me that the narrative is simply in the nature of a fable; but for all that it is worth repeating as being in some degree illustrative of the more "hectic" features of sport as it was carried on fifty or sixty years ago.

As all versed in our racing records already know, the race for the Oaks in the year 1844 was won by Princess, an animal which had been very heavily backed by William Crockford, both on his own account and for the benefit of a band of followers who "stood in" with him; but as on the previous night the mighty gambler was seized with an attack of paralysis which resulted in his sudden demise, there was consternation among the clique. It being an understood law of the turf that death cancels all bets, those interested in the victory of Princess (should the filly win) saw at once they would lose their money, unless by the adoption of a stratagem of some kind they could avert that misfortune; the cry among them, therefore, was, "What can we do to get our money?" As the sum at issue was rather a large one, it was resolved that an effort should be made to obtain it, and the gruesome plan was hit upon of exhibiting the dead man in his habit as he lived at one of the windows of his club. Only two or three persons knew of Crockford's death, and as they were interested in the Princess affair, they might be depended on to hold their tongues. It was therefore arranged that the sportsmen, as they returned from Epsom, should be shown the corpse; and, by various little stratagems, be made to believe the man was alive.

The matter was managed in the following way: persons were sent to Epsom to see the race, and note the result; the moment the winning-post was reached by the winner, they were told at once to despatch pigeons with the fateful news; the confederates were also instructed to say, to all whom they spoke to, that Mr. Crockford was waiting anxiously at the club, in the hope of hearing that Princess had proved victorious. In due time the anxiously expected bird arrived at its loft, the despatch it carried bore only the brief legend "Princess." So far all had gone as well as could be wished: the right horse had won the race. Then came the second part of the ghastly drama. The corpse, dressed in the clothes which the living body wore, being placed on a chair in front of the window, was made, by various arts, to look as life-like as possible; and many of the gentlemen as they passed on their coaches saw the old man quite plainly, and looking, as some of them said, "rather lively."

In beginning this brief sketch by recording the death of Crockford, it may be said I have begun at the wrong end of my story; but as I do not aim at making a story, it is not of great consequence how what I have to say about that once notorious person is arranged. The prosperous "hell-keeper" died in the sixty-ninth year of his age; his birth having taken place in 1775, five years before the first race for the Derby took place. As a child he might have witnessed the beginning of that great series of turf events, with some of which in after years it was his fate to be connected. Not very much is known regarding the early life of Crockford, nor in what year he saw his first Derby. In the days of his youth he had been a fishmonger, and was well versed in the ways of London's great piscatorial bourse, where at one time he was known as a successful trader.

Like many of his fellows at "the gate," Crockford acquired that taste for gambling which, like the ancient and fish-like smell that dominates Lower Thames Street, has long been a characteristic of the locality, and fortune is reported to have favoured him in his little ventures from the beginning. In his business most of his deals proved successful, as he was possessed of the happy knack of knowing what to do and the right time to do it. Finding out what kind of fish were likely to prove scarce, he used to buy up all that came to hand, and then by dealing them out to other buyers, secure a good profit without much trouble. Twenty years ago there were men in Billingsgate who had known Crockford. One of the number was a porter who used to carry fish to a shop he had taken close to Temple Bar, and was paid with a liberal hand as being an old friend, and always with forcible injunctions not to spend the money in beer or gin. This person had many stories to tell about his "old pal," as he designated Crockford, both as to his doings at "the gate" and after he became more celebrated or, as may be said, more notorious. The following is one of them: a Billingsgate salesman with whom Crockford had often done business fell into misfortune, having become security for the sum of a thousand pounds on behalf of a near relative of his wife. One morning he found himself called on to pay, but unfortunately, with several bad debts of magnitude in his books, he had no alternative but to cry peccavi; to crown the poor man's distress, as one of his children lay on her death-bed, his furniture was seized, and, but for Crockford, would have been sold. He it was who came to the rescue, and brought comfort to the parents in their day of misfortune; he purchased not only the furniture, but the lease of the man's house as well, paid the funeral expenses of the child also; and after doing all that, lent the salesman a couple of hundred to be going on with, and was never the man to say he had done it. Many other good actions of a similar kind might, were the details known, be placed to the credit side of Crockford's account.

There is no doubt that Crockford did many kind acts in his day which never could be chronicled, because none but he knew of them. When a boy I was taken once or twice to see "Crockford's," and on many occasions I heard of his doings. He had one virtue--"for days and days," I was told, "he never drank liquor stronger than water." Abstinence from intoxicants was one of the aids by which he made the half-million with which at one time he might have retired into private life, and been free of gambling evermore.

There is, I think, as much gambling of all kinds to-day as there was during the days of the great hell in St. James's Street. There is this difference, however: we hear less about it, even though we have ten times the number of newspapers telling us of our sins. To-day gambling goes on everywhere. There may be no hells in London at the present time to compare in splendour and luxury with that kept by William Crockford, but there is hardly a club in the mighty town in which speculation of some kind is not constantly carried on. As for betting on horse-racing, ten times more money, much of it, however, in small amounts, now changes hands over a big race than changed hands sixty years since.

Summing up the situation as between then and now, the case may be thus stated: in the days of Crockford there might perhaps be a thousand persons each betting or gambling their occasional thousand or two in the course of the season, but at the present time, as has been already said, there will not be fewer in the United Kingdom than half a million persons, each betting or gambling to the tune of from half-a-sovereign to five pounds per diem. These figures do not include, at either period, the score of big speculators who know no bounds to their ventures, and are only given by way of illustration; nor do they include the greatest gamble of all--that which takes place on the Stock Exchanges of the kingdom, where, speaking in figurative language, tens of thousands of pounds are passed every hour of the day from account to account all the year round.

Crockford soon learned the art, and began the business of gambling. The times favoured him. Gambling in his time--that is, gambling by means of cards, dice, and more elaborate machinery--was more of an open practice than it is now. A number of small, or, as they were called, "silver" hells were in existence in those days, where persons could risk shillings or half-crowns, and to one or other of these the young fishmonger was a constant visitor after he had closed his shop. He became in time a painstaking speculator, and soon began to make money in steady fashion whilst others were losing it. As a contemporary remarked, "he was lucky from the first; whatever he tried turned up trumps." Along with a partner picked up in a gambling-house--he was a clever person, who seemed to be always fortunate in his dealings--Crockford made his début on the turf with a roulette-table constructed after a somewhat rude fashion; it was, in fact, a revolving handle fixed on a board, which at the end of each revolution pointed to one or other of several figures painted on a piece of white cloth, by means of which winnings were determined. Many similar tables were to be found on the racecourses of the period. At Ascot, Epsom, and Doncaster tents were at one time fitted up in which gambling was carried on all day long; and there was no concealment, the frequenters of the racecourse being openly invited to "walk in; roulette," or "walk in; hazard," as might happen. Cards with addresses upon them were also distributed at race meetings, so that those inclined to try their fortunes might know where they could tempt the fickle goddess. To many, attendance at a race meeting was simply--about the time referred to--an excuse for a gambling bout, which nearly always resulted in favour of those who kept the bank.

The methods of gambling in the days of Crockford were ruthlessly exposed during the trial of the well-known case of Smith v. Bond, then a well-known partner in one of the superior London hells. At the time indicated (1820 to 1845), the parishes of St. George's and St. James' swarmed with gambling-houses, where large or small sums of money could nightly be gained or lost, as might happen, and the play at the majority of such houses was well known to fall out largely against the players, as by many well-planned devices the bankers had points in their favour. The Bonds, who had named their place the Junior St. James' Club, waxed wealthy and fat over the game which was oftenest played there, namely, French hazard. In the course of the trial much interesting information was elicited as to the gambling practices which then prevailed; in the end a heavy verdict was returned against the defenders and in favour of the men who had the courage to sue them. The amount given by the jury was £3,508, being treble the sum which Smith had lost. If it had pleased some of the noblemen and gentlemen who gave evidence to play the part of plaintiff, the amount of the verdict might easily have been quintupled, so high and extensive did play run in the house of the Bonds--"a place of bondage," as one of the counsel wittily described it as being.

Coming back to the doings of my hero, it has to be stated with regard to Crockford that, although at one period he was in possession of a stud of race-horses, among the lot being Sultan, which made some mark on the turf, he never took a great amount of interest in the noble animal, preferring to regard it, like many other men, as an instrument of gambling; but the owner of the St. James' gambling-house was well versed in turf chicanery of all kinds, and knew in his day most of the prominent spirits of the racing world. The year in which Crockford saw his first Derby is not known, but in the course of his lifetime it is said he saw the race run on thirty-five consecutive occasions. Whether that be correct or not, it is certain that the Derby was a race in which he evinced great interest, and he was reputed to have landed more than one large stake on the winner of the Blue Ribbon. One year Crockford was the owner of a Derby favourite in Ratan, a horse which had made its mark as a two-year-old. Although the horse was very carefully watched, seeing that its owner had backed it to win an enormous sum of money, it was "got at," and it is supposed poisoned by means of arsenic introduced into its drinking trough.

Crockford started a house at Newmarket, which became an agreeable resort to those visitors to whom he offered hospitality, and he was no niggard in dispensing the good things of life at his table. Nor did he invite persons to his house so that, when heated with liquor, he might rob them at cards or dice. Crockford was then a betting man and bookmaker, laying or backing as he thought best for his own interest; and his visitors, to use a slang phrase, were "as fly as he was." They were not all spiders who walked into his Newmarket parlour, his visitors were known to have, on many occasions, their pockets well stuffed with crisp Bank of England notes. Another feature of Crockford's behaviour helped him to connection and wealth; when he lost he never required to be asked for money, he was a prompt payer; nor did he, when he was reputed to be rolling in wealth, ever forget himself, he was invariably polite and courteous. The devil, indeed, never was so black as he has been painted, and Crockford, gambler though he was, was not the fiend that some writers described him as being. As well as being a betting man and the keeper of a hell, Crockford was also a keen operator on the Stock Exchange; but on that stage of speculation he generally came to grief, and much of the cash made in St. James's Street was paid away to the stockbrokers. Another branch of turf business which Crockford conducted at one time was that of "squaring" the books of smaller betting men than himself; he could always be relied upon, even at the last moment--that is, immediately before a race--to lay the odds against such horses as a bookmaker was "bad" against, and required therefore to back back again, so as not to run greater risk than was compatible with an honest desire to meet engagements, and pay what was seen to be due after the race was determined.

The palatial gaming club erected by Crockford was at one time looked upon as one of the wonders of London; two or three houses had been knocked down to provide a site for it, and no expense was spared to render it commodious and luxurious, and make it attractive to visitors, who were waited upon by footmen in gorgeous liveries, and had their palates tickled by the gastronomic delicacies of Monsieur Ude. There were over eight hundred members, and the house was placed under the management of a committee, to whom Crockford conceded all they asked. Gambling, as a matter of course, was the business or recreation of all who came to the place; figuratively speaking, the rattle of the dice was heard morning, noon, and night, thousands of pounds changing hands as if they were so many halfpence. "Crockford's" cost an enormous sum of money; the building of it, I have been told, was carried on regardless of expense by night as well as by day. All its appointments were sumptuous, the cellars were filled with the finest of wines, and the culinary arrangements were for months the talk of the town.

Much capital has from time to time been drawn by philanthropic gentlemen out of what took place at "Crockford's," when the amounts at stake were practically unlimited, a bank of £10,000 being put down every evening at about eleven o'clock, the chief game of the house being French hazard. Play of some kind was always, however, going forward in every room of the large establishment, which was lit by hundreds of wax candles all night long. Sad pictures have been painted of the ruin that overtook men in the St. James' club-house; but many of these men who went there were simply fools who brought on their own fate, and who, had they not been ruined at Crockford's, would have been ruined in some other hell. There were plenty of such places, and although public gambling-houses are now not tolerated, it is quite certain that card-playing goes on nightly in all the clubs in London, and that in several of them large sums of money are lost and won. Crockford was not in any degree worse than his neighbours, and no one has ventured to say that undue advantage of any kind was ever taken of the persons who frequented his house by the proprietor or his servants. It should be kept in mind as well that visitors to Crockford's went there to try and obtain his money, and if in doing so they lost their own, they scarcely require to be sympathised with.

It is not my intention to defend gambling, or to become the apologist of Crockford, but such matters should be looked straight in the face, because, if there be sin in the matter, it is unfortunately of universal occurrence and among all classes of society; but surely it is not more sinful to stake one's sovereign on the turning up of a particular card than it is to do so on the rise or fall of the stock of a particular railway, or the loan bonds of some foreign country.

RACING ROGUERIES.

"The turf is so beset with knaves that when you go racing you are robbed when you least expect to be robbed, and that too by men whom you would least expect to rob you."

So wrote a racing commentator sixty years since, and the same sentence might be written to-day, with a still greater chance of hitting the nail on its head. When, half a century ago, some isolated case of turf fraud of a high degree of enormity became public, a prodigious outcry was raised regarding the circumstance--as would doubtless be done to-day--by a section of turfites, much indignation being usually expressed, especially by those not "in the swim"; but to-day racing rogueries are too numerous, too varied, too much a matter of course to attract much attention, and for this among other reasons, namely, that "they all do it." It may well be said as regards the turf and its surroundings, "Let him who is among you without sin cast the first stone."

Happily, there almost never falls nowadays to be chronicled any vulgar or pronounced frauds--these seldom become public. He would prove himself but a poor hand in turf chicanery who would so act as to be "found out," who would venture, for instance, to instruct a jockey to "pull" his horse, when the animal could be so "doctored" before leaving the stable as to render its chance hopeless. As a general rule, a pailful of water will "do the trick," although, as a once popular trainer, now deceased, was heard to say at Newcastle-on-Tyne, "sometimes even two pails won't stop the beggars from winning." At all events, when it has been determined by interested parties that a horse shall run to lose a race it has been entered for--and such arrangements are common enough--nothing is easier than to make sure that it shall do so, and that the horse selected, in the event of the public fancying him, shall be made a market horse, and be "milked" for the benefit of those interested: the losing of a race may at any time be ensured, and there are scores of "turf dairymen" who are reputed adepts in the use of the milking pail.

There is no other business, perhaps, which offers so many opportunities for successful fraud as horse-racing, and that for the best of all reasons: the chicanery that is prevalent does not render those who practise it amenable to the criminal law, turf crimes being without the pale of legal action. When, therefore, the owner of a horse, looking ahead, conspires with a bookmaker or other confederate to deceive the public by entering an animal for a race which it is not intended the horse shall win, it is not the interest of either to say a word to outsiders about the arrangement, while those whose bad fortune it is to be deceived are without legal remedy. Persons foolish enough to make bets in the hope that a given horse may win a given event must suffer the consequences if the animal has been all along a market horse: bettors in such a case have only themselves to blame for getting on a "wrong one." Happily, no one can be compelled to bet, and if those who do so miss the mark, one person has cause to rejoice--he is the bookmaker.

These gentlemen (the bookmakers), especially those of them engaged in extensive ways of business, are, it has been often affirmed, but such statements must be accepted with reserve, able to manage any kind of turf chicanery--money on the turf, as everywhere else, being pretty well omnipotent; and therefore, it has been said, should one of the fraternity find he is likely to lose £10,000 by the victory of a particular animal in a given race, he thinks it well worth his while (and no sin) to part with a few hundred pounds to have the animal made safe, an operation that, as has been hinted, can be achieved in various ways. Such turf rogueries are more frequent than is supposed by the general public. Many a race that, before being run, was deemed a certainty for a particular animal, has resulted in a surprise that would not have proved so had the truth been made manifest by a recital of its private history. At one time it was no unusual circumstance for an animal which had become favourite for a particular race to be prevented from winning by violent means. It was what is called "nobbled" or "got at" by some person hired for the purpose, or it might be lamed by the farrier, or perhaps poisoned by a stable attendant, or in other ways rendered hors de combat, to the deep chagrin in many instances of owner and trainer.

Such modes of dealing with race-horses are now seldom resorted to, but frauds of a more subtle kind are common enough. "Nobbling" of a rude description is a very dangerous game, which requires confederates to ensure a successful issue; and a first-rate training stable is usually subjected to such careful watching, especially when it contains a horse of celebrity, that strangers as a rule cannot obtain access to it, and for a stableman to betray his trust is dangerous--ruin would assuredly follow the discovery of such a breach of confidence. But, as an old-time hanger-on of one of the Newmarket hotels was wont to say, "it's all along o' the money; them tenners and fivers is at the bottom of all them there swindles; there's men about here as would kill a hoss right out for a couple o' ponies."

The magnitude of the sums betted against particular horses gives rise to temptation. Certain bookmakers will lay from ten to twenty-five, or even forty thousand pounds upon occasion, against each of half-a-dozen horses entered to run in an important handicap, and if the one or two of these animals which appear most likely to win the race can--if they have been well backed--in some way be rendered unfit to run, so much the better for those who have laid the odds. Under such circumstances, a horse has sometimes been bought on behalf of a bookmaker and his confederates, so that its losing the race may be made certain. Backers, unaware of the sale, continue to "fancy" it, till the transaction becomes profitable to the purchaser, who keeps the animal well to the front in the market, and continues personally, and by the aid of confederates, to bet heavily against its chance. Such transactions often prove excellent bargains. For a bookmaker, or clique of bookmakers, to purchase for a thousand or even sixteen hundred pounds a horse, against the chance of which to win they may have betted as many thousands, is good business; true, that particular animal might not have proved the winner, but, being dangerous, his removal out of the way if possible was deemed prudent. Some may say that the bookmaker having laid against all or most of the other horses in the race, he will have plenty of money to clear his liabilities, no matter which animal may win; but bookmakers, being prudent men, like to make matters as certain as possible. Men are known who have had a finger in such pies; names cannot, however, be mentioned here, and there are persons engaged in laying the odds who would not individually do a very dirty action, but even the most respectable bookmakers make no bones about laying a "stiff one."

II.

In such transactions as have been indicated, the biters are sometimes bit. A few years since a clever school of these men agreed to purchase, for £2,000, a horse which had become a prodigious favourite for one of the chief handicaps. It was reputed to have won a good trial, in which it had beaten its stable companions "to blazes," and was being backed every day at lessening odds. About eight days before the race it was quoted at 100 to 12, and seemed as if it would be a dangerous horse. Negotiations for its purchase were entered into by an agent of the syndicate--and terms being agreed upon, the horse was quietly transferred to another stable--the dealers having forgotten, in their anxiety to conclude the business, that the vendor of the animal had another and, as it proved, a better horse entered for the same race, quite capable of winning it! As it came out in the sequel, the gentleman had backed his "lot" to win a considerable sum, whilst a confederate had taken some "long shots" about the other one, so that the seller had all the best of the deal, the horse purchased by the bookmakers proving in the end worthless. In reality the owner was delighted to sell number one, because he had planned to win the race if he could with number two, and that being so, he began business by backing his "lot."