June 2, 1887.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



411 



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AN ADVENTURE AT MONTE CARLO. 



EUROPE possesses many wonderously beautiful and 

 picturesque places of resort, and in addition to the 

 richness that nature and art have bestowed upon them, 

 there is a romance that surrounds them and some old 

 story connected -with them that lends peculiar interest to 

 the spot and makes it deeply interesting to the visitor. 

 Among the many of these places there is none more at- 

 tractive nor beautiful, both in situation and surroundings, 

 than the little town of Monaco, which rises from a rocky 

 promontory, putting out in to the blue Mediterranean Sea, 

 a few miles from Nice. Here nature and art have com- 

 bined to form a scene that might well be considered a 

 little paradise. 



In close proximity to the town is Monte Carlo with its 

 lovely gardens, its "terraced slopes and sparkling fount- 

 ains, its shady inviting walks and the famous Casino, 

 now the last of those sumptuous gaming halls, that once 

 formed the chief attraction of Baden-Baden and Hom- 

 burg, and is now that of this charming little spot. 



1 had arrived by the afternoon train, and having 

 finished dinner, I lit a cigarette and stepped from the 

 piazza of the Hotel de Paris for a stroll among the flowers 

 and palm trees and a look at the calm blue sea. I seated 

 myself in one of the pretty little nooks which, while 

 they invite you to rest, at the same time open to you a 

 portion of that gorgeous panorama that the eye never 

 wearies of at Monte Carlo. For a long time I sat in a 

 sor , of reverie, my mind wandering from the surround- 

 ing beauties to my home far away, and I scarcely noticed 

 the passers by, who all seemed to be wending their way 

 toward the Casino. After a while I felt that I was en- 

 tirely alone, the numerous lights flashed through the 

 foliage and over the flower beds and made the water of 

 the fountains sparkle like diamonds. I could hear the 

 strains of sweet music creeping deliciously through the 

 still air and trembling among the beautiful bowers. This 

 music came from the orchestra in the music hall of the 

 Casino, and as I had an horn or two to spare I decided to 

 go to the Casino and see the play and listen to the music. 

 I took my way along the terrace, and turning into the 

 main avenue. 1 arrived at the superb entrance of the grand 

 hall which leads to the gaming room. As I entered the 

 spacious door what a transition! I had left the flowers 

 and fountains, and here was a noble hall, pillared with 

 precious mar Aes, the walls and the ceiling gilded, pan- 

 neled and richly frescoed, and the brilliant bight from the 

 numbers of crystal chandeliers made the entrance a 

 scene of rich splendor. As I stepped toward this room a 

 polite attendant addressed me in French and requested 

 my hat and cane, and I was ushered for the first time into 

 the famous gambling palace of Monte Carlo. 



What a scene was before m I had heard no noise 

 while without, and yet when I entered this immense and 

 splendid saloon it was nearly crowded with people, each 

 one of whom seemed wholly engrossed in watching the 

 progress of the games being played at the several tables, 

 and if conversing at all, doing so in a low tone. There 

 was no sound of laughter or jollity, no expression, aloud, 

 of anger or disappointment, but only the rapid click of the 

 little ivory ball, as it shot from place to place in the swiftly 

 revolving wheel of the roulette board, or the measured 

 voice of the stoical master of the table, as he mechanic- 

 ally called out when the wheel ceased revolving, "Rouge, 

 messieurs, numero trente-quatre" or "Noir, messieurs, 

 numero dice," as the little ivory ball ceased its clicking 

 and dropped into the red or black number, and which 

 decided which were the very few winners and the 

 very many losers. The splendid chandeliers shed a flood 

 of light over the hall. The polished jasper pillars, the 

 grand frescoes, the gilded ceilings and luxurious furni- 

 ture were all around and arranged with the most con- 

 summate taste and rare beauty. And yet this throng of 

 players seemed oblivious to all, and engrossed in nothing 

 save the chances of that little ivory ball dropping into 

 the number in which they hoped to win a heavy stake, 

 strolled around the hall admiring the splendor of the 

 appointments, and as I passed the different tables I 

 paused a few moments to watch the game, and when I 

 sa w the attendants draw in the heavy winnings of gold 

 and notes and ivory checks with their little rakes, I could 

 disceru the sound of a sigh or groan from some of the 

 heavy losers. I was naturally drawn at last to observe 

 the character of the throng of people engaged in the 

 play. The professionals, or steady players, were gen- 

 erally seated around the long tables, and I observed that 

 many were females, not young and foolish, but staid 

 middle-aged ladies, many* of them richly attired, and 

 nearly all heavy betters on the game. Each of them 

 seemed sober, earnest and deeply engrossed. Now and 

 then a man or woman would drop out from among the 

 players with a downcast air and sad expression which 

 plainly showed the heavy loser, and pass slowly from 

 the room, while others, eager to try their fortune, would 

 press into the vacant places. There was one class of 

 those who occupied the tables upon whom the fortunes of 

 the game seemed to have no apparent effect; no change 

 of fortune, no heavy gains or losses seemed to ruffle them 

 or change a single feature of their countenances. . Their 

 hard, calm, stern features never betrayed a single look of 

 compassion, nor a glance of momentary pleasure. Such 

 were the attendants, who dealt the cards or spun around 

 the jeweled wheel, or with careless air drew in toward 

 the bank with little ivory rakes the piles of notes or 

 checks of the misguided victims. Such is a faint picture 

 of the Bank at Monte Carlo. 



At the end of one of these long tables there was for a 

 moment a vacancy, into which I placed myself, anxious 

 to see the game, although I had but a limited knowledge 

 of its workings. As I took my position, a number of the 

 players raised their eyes for a moment from the table to 

 scan "the new victim." I felt a little embarrassed, but 

 held my place. Beside me, on the left, sat a fine-looking 

 woman, attired in a rich suit of black, with a large pile of 

 notes, gold and checks in front of her upon the table. 

 Her hand, which was ungloved, sparkled with the num- 

 ber of jewels which adorned her fingers. Leaning lightly 

 upon the back of her chair, on either side, were two men, 

 one much younger than the other, but both cultivated in 

 their appearance, and taking no part in the game. As 



the lull occurred between the betting the lady would turn 

 her face first to one side and then to the other, speaking 

 in French and Italian to these gentlemen without any 

 seeming effort. After a few moments I resolved to try 

 my chances at the betting, and carelessly tossed a Napo- 

 leon on the red diamond. The lady in black, stooping 

 forward, cast a quick glance upward toward me, and then 

 resuming her position made her bets upon such numbers 

 as she had selected. The wheel spun rapidly around, 

 and each one near watched the motion of the little ball as 

 the wheel turned more and more slowly to see into which 

 number it would drop. The mrmber and color were 

 called out and the winnings thrown out upon the table. 

 Several had been betting upon the red diamond and 

 others upon the black, and I really did not know w r hether 

 I had lost or won. At the right of me, a few paces off, 

 stood a tall, straight individual, with long gray side 

 whiskers and moustache and gray hah 1 . As the bets 

 were paid, this man reached forward his long, thin arm, 

 and with his bony hand slowly drew in two Napoleons, 

 which he deposited in his pocket and then resinned his 

 quiet, confident air. The lady at my si e again turned 

 her head and looked toward me, this time a little longer 

 than before, and I fancied with an inquisitive expression. 

 However, I resolved again to risk another Napoleon, just 

 to get even, and I tossed it again upon the red diamond. 

 The wheel was turned, and when it stopped a faint smile 

 came over the face of the lady. She had won a large 

 stake. But even this luck did not seem to ruffle her or 

 fix her attention, as will be seen by her action toward me. 

 Again the long, bony arm of the military man was reached 

 forward and the bony fingers were nearly grasping two 

 bright Napoleons, when the lady hurriedly spoke to the 

 attendant near in French, who tapped the fingers of the 

 military-looking gentleman and he pushed the two Napo- 

 leons toward me, and the military gentleman quietly 

 walked away without a look or a remark. The lady 

 turned toward me, and speaking in perfect English she 

 said, "That party was taking your money, and took the 

 Napoleon that you won before. You do not seem to 

 understand this game, sir?" 

 "No, madam," I replied. 



"Then let me give you a piece of good advice; never, 

 never learn it. I have been here for three weeks and 

 have lost 43,000 francs." 



Judge of my confusion at such an episode. Here I was 

 standing among those that I deemed to be utter strangers 

 to me and my nationality, and wished to appear, at least, 

 not a novice. But I was covered with shame, my face 

 flushed at the knowledge that this "military individual," 

 who was one of the many ' 'dead beats" that frequent all 

 gaming places, picking up here and there a little money 

 from the unwary, this fellow had read me at a glance, 

 and had it not been for the lady he would have picked up 

 my wnrnings as long as I would have bet. He knew that 

 I was a novice and knew nothing about the game. But 

 my greater confusion was caused by the lady, whom I 

 thought was a foreigner of distinction, speaking none 

 but foreign languages, and yet she turned to me and read 

 me in an instant, and in my own language gave me some 

 good, sound advice. I thanked the lady as well as my 

 confusion would permit, and turning away, I left the 

 room to think calmly over some common sense teachings 

 that may be gathered even in the Monte Carlo gaining 

 room. As I passed into the hall, my attention was at- 

 tracted by a straight-built, dark-complexioned man, who 

 was pacing the hall with measured step and approaching 

 me. His chin rested upon his breast, bis brow was deeply 

 f urrowed, his eyes cast down and he seemed to be buried 

 in distressing reflections. I stepped to one side and he 

 passed me, and as I left the door I turned back to look, 

 and I saw the same figure, still pacing, with measured 

 tread, the marble pavement, and his dark, troubled coun- 

 tenance seemed to haunt me. As I walked hurriedly 

 along the broad gravel walk that led to the hotel, the 

 thought of that troubled face filled my imagination, 

 and although years have passed away, that countenance 

 is photographed upon my memory. I knew that he must 

 have been a heavy loser at the game and probably hope- 

 lessly ruined. But he was among the many who had 

 suffered the same bitter experience and must have known 

 when he commenced the game that the chances were 

 much against him. And then the kind countenance of 

 the lady in black would come to nay mind, and I could 

 hear her earnest voice exclaim*. "Take my advice, sir, 

 and never learn." But I had reached the hotel portico 

 and it was g-.tting late. I paused a short time to breathe 

 the evening perfume that arose from the flowers around, 

 and look upward at the clear blue starry sky; and then 

 out upon the lovely sea, where the waves danced and 

 shimmered in the soft moonlight. I seated myself at a 

 table on the broad piazza among my friends, and sipped 

 my coffee and smoked a cigarette. We talked over my 

 visit to the Casino, joked a little over what so excellent a 

 player as I was must have lost or won; but I kept the 

 events of the evening to myself, and went to bed to pass 

 a sleepless night, for it seemed impossible for me to rid 

 my mind of that troubled face I had seen in the hall of 

 the Casino. 



The sun is an early riser at Monte Carlo and I was glad 

 to welcome his charming light, for I could not have slept 

 an horn - during the night. As the dawn brightened I arose 

 and cooled my fevered head with refreshing water; I 

 dressed, and made up my mind to take a long walk and 

 enjoy the fresh pure morning air and endeavor to drive 

 away my foolish reflections. There were but few of the 

 hotel people up when I descended into the corridor. The 

 porter bowed me a polite -'■Bon jour, monsieur," as he 

 opened the door, and I passed out into the fresh air. The 

 sun had just peeped above the horizon. I walked along 

 a narrow path taking a short cut to the terrace, and as I 

 approached a thick portion of the shrubbery 1 detected 

 voices talking in low hurried tones. I quickened my 

 steps, and turning a corner formed by some dense box- 

 wood, I saw three men, gardeners apparently, bending 

 over a bed of mignonette and heliotrope. I hurried for- 

 ward and was close upon them ere one of them heard me, 

 when it was too late for them to prevent me from observ- 

 ing that among the beautiful flowers, nearly buried in the 

 purple blossoms, lay the figure of a man flat upon Ms 

 face. One of the men urged me to retire, but I persisted 

 in staying, and he placed his fingers to his lips warning 

 me to be secret. They now proceeded to raise the man, 

 who was evidently dead. As they turned him over, from 

 his hand dropped a small pistol, with which he had in- 

 flicted the fatal wound in his left breast, and which 

 had ended his fife. His tight-buttoned coat was burned 



with the powder, and the prstty flowers were stained with 

 his blood. As they bore him past me I glanced at his face, 

 when to my horror I recognized th 3 'dark troubled face 

 I had seen pacing the hall but a few hours before. 

 Oh, how sad! Oh, how horrible! Shall I ever forget the 

 scene ? I hastened back to the hotel and went to my room. . 

 During the morning I mentioned the whole circumstance 

 to a friend of mine, an old habitue. He listened to my 

 story and then with a melancholy smile replied, "Oh, 

 such things are quite common here; they gamble, they 

 lose, they die." 



Well, I havs ended my little tale of Monte Carlo. What 

 scenes of misery, wretchedness and woe are hidden be- 

 neath the quiet beauties of this most lovely place. C. 



A DAY'S DUCKING AT MARTIN'S. 



THIRTY-FIVE miles south of Montreal, on the Riche- 

 lieu, the outlet of Lake Champlain into the St. Law- 

 rence River, is Martin's. I imagine there is scarcely a 

 sportsman in Montreal who does not know the place. For 

 forty years it has been the favorite resort of the ducking 

 fraternity of the Canadian metropolis. Ever since Pere 

 Martin — the best shot in all the province of Quebec in his 

 day — built the rambling, white-wa lied, low-roof ed house 

 over against Isle le Noir and the duck hunters' marshes 

 of South River, the place has been famous. 



Is not the occasion when fortune disclosed to Pere Mar- 

 tin his opportunities and his mission in life worth re- 

 counting? It was shortly after he had completed his do- 

 micile on the west bank of the Richelieu, and had settled 

 down to the humble, hum-drum life of a small Canadian 

 farmer and fisherman, that a party of Montreal sports- 

 men come up to Isle le Noir in a yacht, for a couple of 

 weeks' sport shooting and fishing. One fine morning in 

 September Pere Martin heard a great banging of guns 

 from Isle le Noir. Tumbling into his flat-bottomed scow, 

 he rowed over to the island to see what might be the mat- 

 ter. As he stepped on shore he saw a long-extended line 

 of sportsmen m high boots and knickerbockers, marching 

 toward him. In front of them ranged a brace of fine 

 dogs, which, as Martin left his boat, were just in the act 

 of drawing to a point. The worthy Frenchman was no 

 novice in the art of gunning, and he knew at once what 

 this maneuver meant. 



Scaipe, scaipe! Up went a brace of snipe between Mar- 

 tin and the gunners. Quick as thought the Frenchman 

 dropped prone upon his face, and a dozen hurtling loads 

 of shot whistled over his head. When the firing was 

 over, Martin looked up, unharmed, and saw the birds, 

 after circling around the chimneys of the old ruined Brit- 

 ish Fort on the island, pitch down in the swale beyond. 

 It was a critical moment with the honest native. He was 

 amused, to say the least, but he dared not betray it in the 

 face of ten smoking guns! 



"Voilti! voUa!" he cried, pointing in the direction of 

 the swale. The ten sportsmen and two dogs hurried off 

 in the direction indicated. 



Now Martin always kept in his boat an ancient double 

 fowling piece, whose barrels had at some time been so 

 rudely divorced from the stock that the owner had found 

 it necessary to reunite the parts by a stout cord, wound a 

 dozen times or more abort them. This venerable fusil 

 Martin hastily fetched to land. He inspected the prim- 

 ing, clapped on a couple of caps, raised the hammers and 

 stood awaiting developments. 



Presently from the swale beyond the chimneys came a 

 crackling sound, like the snapping of faggots in a giant's 

 fireplace. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang! Over the 

 chimneys whirled the snipe again, unruffled in so much 

 as a feather, but complaining hoarsely with then metallic 

 scaipe, scaipe at having then quiet so often disturbed by 

 such purposeless racket. Martin saw' them coming like the 

 wind, one a little in advance of the other, then white 

 breasts gleaming in the sunlight. He calmly raised the 

 old fowling piece to his shoulder. Bang! Down dropped 

 the first bird, turning over and over and fairly knociced 

 out of shape by the heavy duck charge. The other bird 

 turned and mounted into the air like a rocket. But 

 Martin's aim, relentless, sure as fate, folloAved its tower- 

 ing course. Bang! a litt e cloud of feathers floated off 

 in the morning sunlight, and the snipe, dying in the air, 

 fell almost at the feet of the city sportsmen as they came 

 hastening over the ridge. And thus it was that Martin 

 and Martin's were discovered. 



Every season thereafter the little whitewashed Cana- 

 dian house opposite the island and the fort became a 

 rendezvous of a score or more of Montreal gunners. They 

 could run up in the evening to Stottsville on the Grand 

 Trunk, only thirty-five miles from Montreal, and there 

 Martin would meet them with his sturdy little French 

 pony and they would be jolted over the rough road three 

 miles to their destination. Scarcely a night for forty 

 years, during the ducking season, has there not been 

 jollity in that lonely little house by the Richelieu Do 

 you recall those dark stormy nights by the blazing wood 

 fire, the pipes, the songs, the stories, the good cheer? But 

 alas! Whom do I invoke? Who can answer of that band 

 of choice spirits, through the shades and L mists of well 

 nigh half a century? 



But the old place is the same, scarce changed a whit, 

 sa re by the addition of a newly-built kitchen and loft, 

 the latter divided by rude partitions into little 10x12 

 apartments for the accommodation of sportsmen who 

 must be housed during the shooting season. 



It was the second week in November when I made my 

 last pilgrimage to Martin's. Pere Martin has now two 

 stalwart sons, Romauld and Joe, who do the guiding; and 

 the boys have an invaluable ally who goes by the un- 

 musical, but thoroughly distinctive name of "Gamash." 

 The veteran himself, Pere Mart n, has seen his day. 

 Gamash wields the venerable fowling piece of forty years 

 ago, and there is life (and death) in the ancient fusil yet. 

 It will beat many a breechloader of modern pattern and 

 improvements at long ran £ e shots and for killing quali- 

 ties. Romauld and Joe are both splendid shots, but they 

 will never equal the veteran. When his eye was clear 

 and his nerves unshaken by age and decrepitude he Was 

 as sure of bringing down his brace of ducks at 50yds. 

 as though he saw them already lying breast up on the 

 water. 



" .When I stepped upon the platform of the station at 

 Stottsville the ground on every side was white with snow. 

 It was the first snowstorm of the season, and I had taken 

 advantage of it in the hope that it would hasten the still 

 lingering wildfowl south and afford good flight shooting 

 during the few days that I could remain. I had had no 



