The Union Democrat

The Union Democrat.

Gamblers and their Superstitious Notions.

General A. L. S., of Kentucky, perhaps one of the best card players in that State, would never play a hand or risk a dollar if there was a black cat in the room. Ex-Governor B., from one of the Western States, an inveterate gambler, would never sit down to a table in a room where there was a looking glass. Some gamblers refuse to play if, on entering the room, the left foot crosses the threshold first, and no persuasion can induce them to do so, until they leave and return with the right foot foremost. To put your foot on the chair of a player is sure premonition of bad luck. Some men will never play on Friday.

In 1849, I was a passenger on the steamer Star Spangled Banner, from New Orleans to Louisville. She was crowded with people and an hour after leaving New Orleans found twenty card tables drawn out, and three or four score of passengers deeply absorbed in the mystery of "old sledge," euchre and poker. All that night and the next day the game went on. As fortune, however, soon singled out and made victims of the poorer and less skilled players, so the number gradually decreased until the fourth day out, when only one table was running.

Old Bob Brasher, a negro trader, young Ben Sandford a horse trader, and two planters from La Fourche still kept on. Although they had played almost incessantly for four days and nights, yet luck had favored neither party, and they were within a few dollars of even. The "bucking" had been principally between Brasher and Sandford, but heretofore they had kept themselves within the "gentleman's limit"--five hundred dollars.

After leaving Memphis the game was renewed, and the bystanders observed "that big playing was on the tapis," as young Sandford was considerably under the influence of liquor, and when in that condition he was known to be a heavy player. Late at night the two traders came together; both had "bucking hands," and Louisiana and Kentucky bank notes soon almost covered the table. "The margin of five hundred dollars had been forgotten, and one, two, three, five hundred better!" rapidly passed between them.

At last Brasher leaned back from the table, unbuttoned his vest, and took from around his body a belt filled with gold pieces. Laying it down upon the bank notes he exclaimed: "Three thousand better!" Sandford became speechless; his face turned deadly pale; he called for a glass of liquor, which he drank never once taking his eyes from the belt of gold. He had exhausted his means in the former bets; all his money lay upon the table.

At last a thought struck him. "Ben! here sir?" he exclaimed. "Yes, massa," and Sandford's body servant, fine, athletic pure-blood, came to his side. "Get upon that table, sir."

Not daring to disobey—as he knew well in that moment of frenzy his young master would send a bullet through his brain, did he refuse—the slave tremblingly stepped on the table, crushing the bank-notes and gold beneath his feet.

"For de good Lord's sake, massa Ben, don't bet dis nigger off! What will de ole missus say when you go home? Ob, massa Ben, please don't," groaned the boy, but in vain.

"Call you sir!" shrieked Sandford, at the same time laying down four queens and an ace.

"An invincible, sir!" said Brasher, with a sneer; "four kings and an ace!" And, as Brasher reached for his belt of gold, young Sandford fell to the floor, the blood gushing from his mouth, nose and ears. With one spring the slave started from the table, dashing through the thin folding doors of the "Social Hall," out on the boiler deck, and, with half uttered prayer for the "old missus," he threw himself into the dark waters of the Mississippi and was seen no more. Death prevented Brasher from claiming his spoil.

Sandford for weeks lingered on a sick bed, but at last recovered, and forever renounced the gaming table. He "made good," however, the money worth of the negro to the winner.