eech exchanged. They seem to have no
acquaintance with one another, beyond that begot out of the game.

And so the play proceeds, amidst the clinking of coin, and clattering of
ivory pieces, these monotonous sounds diversified by the calls "Sota"
this, and "Caballo" that, with now and then a "Carajo!" or it may be
"Just my luck!" from the lips of some mortified loser. But, beyond such
slight ebullition, ill-temper does not show itself, or, at all events,
does not lead to any altercation with the dealer. That would be
dangerous, as all are aware. On the table, close to his right elbow,
rests a double-barrelled pistol, both barrels of which are loaded. And
though no one takes particular notice of it, any more than it were a
pair of snuffers on their tray, or one of the ordinary implements of the
game, most know well enough that he who keeps this standing symbol of
menace before their eyes is prepared to use it on slight provocation.

It is ten o'clock, and the bank is in full blast. Up to this hour the
players in one thin row around the tables were staking only a few
dollars at a time--as skirmishers in advance of the main army, firing
stray shots from pieces of light calibre. Now the heavy artillery has
come up, the ranks are filled, and the files become doubled around the
different tables--two circles of players, in places three, engaging in
the game. And instead of silver dollars, gold eagles and doubloons--the
last being the great guns--are flung down upon the green baize, with a
rattle continuous as the firing of musketry. The battle of the night
has begun.

But Monte and Faro are not the only attractions of the "El Dorado." The
shrine of Bacchus--its drinking-bar--has its worshippers as well; a
score of them standing in front of it, with others constantly coming and
going.

Among the latest arrivals are two young men in the attire of navy
officers. At a distance it is not easy to distinguish the naval
uniforms of nations--almost universally dark blue, with gold bands and
buttons. More especially is it difficult when these are of the two
cognate branches of the great Anglo-Saxon race--English and American.
While still upon the street, the officers in question might have been
taken for either; but once within the saloon, and under the light of its
numerous lamps, the special insignia on their caps proclaim them as
belonging to a British man-of-war. And so do they--since they are
Edward Crozier and Wil