Vanderbilt claimed that he was abandoning "the run between the city of New York and Norwalk because he considered it a hazardous run and not desirable in itself." There was some truth to this: in April, the Citizen Citizen had struck a rock off New Roch.e.l.le, sank, and had to be raised. But the money came at a critical moment. had struck a rock off New Roch.e.l.le, sank, and had to be raised. But the money came at a critical moment.

With the General Jackson General Jackson sitting on the bottom of the Hudson, Vanderbilt quickly leased the sitting on the bottom of the Hudson, Vanderbilt quickly leased the Flushing Flushing to take its place. Meanwhile he built a new steamboat, the to take its place. Meanwhile he built a new steamboat, the Cinderella Cinderella, to take over the route permanently. It seems he chose the name to charm a public disenchanted with the Vanderbilt family. "A fine little steamboat, of the fairy order, and appropriately ycleped [called] the 'Cinderella' was tried in our waters," the New York Gazette New York Gazette reported in September. "She sat buoyantly on the stream, gaily decked out in her best attire, and... she is 'swift as the flash.' The new Cinderella is decidedly in the field as a resolute compet.i.tor." reported in September. "She sat buoyantly on the stream, gaily decked out in her best attire, and... she is 'swift as the flash.' The new Cinderella is decidedly in the field as a resolute compet.i.tor."49 By the time the Cinderella Cinderella began to run, she already faced a rival, and a big one: the 207-ton, 134-foot began to run, she already faced a rival, and a big one: the 207-ton, 134-foot Water Witch Water Witch. Even more dangerous than the boat was the leading spirit behind it. He was a grim-faced man of thirty-four, with dark hair parted on one side, narrow eyes, and such a crimped jaw and sharp cheekbones that it looked as if his collar had compressed the lower half of his head-but then, he did make an art of keeping his mouth shut. His name was Daniel Drew.

A native of landlocked Carmel, New York, Drew had started his working life by driving cattle down to the meat markets of Manhattan. It would later be said-inaccurately-that he invented the "watering" of livestock, the trick of preventing them from drinking on the drive to market, then encouraging them to gorge, once they arrived, to inflate their weight. Incorrect as the attribution was, it speaks to the formidable reputation Drew developed for sharp dealing-which stood in odd juxtaposition with his eventual standing as a devout Methodist in an age of revivalism. Drew was "shrewd, unscrupulous, and very illiterate," Charles F. Adams Jr. would later write, "a strange combination of superst.i.tion and faithlessness, of daring and timidity-often good-natured and sometimes generous." Sly, silent, and stoop-shouldered, he seemed to take pleasure in pa.s.sing down the street unnoticed by the crowd. One man thought that he resembled "a cross between a cartman and a small trader." But if you should catch his eye, "you will observe a sharp, bright glance in it, with a look penetrating and intelligent." As a another writer later remarked, "We have said his intellect was subtle. The word subtle subtle does not altogether express it. It should be does not altogether express it. It should be vulpine." vulpine."50 Drew's peculiar character, and his background in cattle, led to his rise as a figure of street-level finance. In 1830, he took over the Upper Bull's Head Tavern, located on Third Avenue at the Two-Mile Stone (according to the street grid plotted in 1811, this was at Twenty-fourth Street, still far above the settled portion of the city). A large three-story wooden building, the Bull's Head was described by one stagecoach driver as "the common resort for all travellers (and particularly drovers)" on the main route down Manhattan. Drew became a central figure in the cattle business, trading promissory notes and lending money, establishing himself as "a man of sufficient and ample means," in the driver's words.51 It was natural enough, then, that an old friend, circus proprietor Heckaliah Bailey, should approach him in the summer of 1831 to ask him to buy a share in the It was natural enough, then, that an old friend, circus proprietor Heckaliah Bailey, should approach him in the summer of 1831 to ask him to buy a share in the Water Witch Water Witch, and to take charge of its affairs on behalf of himself and a group of Westchester investors who had built it.

Vanderbilt soon realized that he faced a worthy foe in Drew. Inevitably, a rate war erupted, driving fares down to a shilling-only now, unlike his war against the Livingstons, the public was against him. "In the midst of the storm of indignation" over the General Jackson General Jackson, "the very name of Vanderbilt aroused execrations deep and loud all along the North River," declared Harper's Weekly Harper's Weekly in an 1859 profile. "The exasperated river towns and villages... would not allow his boat to make fast to their piers.... When he ran to a wharf he could get no hand to take the ropes he threw ash.o.r.e to make fast. As to business, it is recorded that more than once his daily receipts did not exceed in an 1859 profile. "The exasperated river towns and villages... would not allow his boat to make fast to their piers.... When he ran to a wharf he could get no hand to take the ropes he threw ash.o.r.e to make fast. As to business, it is recorded that more than once his daily receipts did not exceed $0.12 $0.12. When a solitary pa.s.senger did take pa.s.sage in his boat he hid himself from the public gaze, as though he had been doing a guilty thing." The Water Witch Water Witch, on the other hand, "was welcomed daily with huzzas and uproar from the thronging crowds at the landings," according to another 1859 profile-this one of Drew.

Drew, it was later said, often slouched on the dock as the Cinderella Cinderella steamed up, Vanderbilt looming tall at its bow, confidently riding out the public's rage. "You have no business in this trade," Vanderbilt told him. "You don't understand it, and you can't succeed." But Drew understood it all too well. He didn't need to make a profit; he simply had to make his opponent suffer to the point that he was willing to make a deal. The same tactics that Vanderbilt had employed against Hoyt and Peck-to drive down fares until the established line bought him out of the market-now worked against him. If he wanted the steamed up, Vanderbilt looming tall at its bow, confidently riding out the public's rage. "You have no business in this trade," Vanderbilt told him. "You don't understand it, and you can't succeed." But Drew understood it all too well. He didn't need to make a profit; he simply had to make his opponent suffer to the point that he was willing to make a deal. The same tactics that Vanderbilt had employed against Hoyt and Peck-to drive down fares until the established line bought him out of the market-now worked against him. If he wanted the Water Witch Water Witch to go away, he would have to purchase it at a hefty premium. And so, in 1832, the people of Westchester were startled to discover that their champion boat had been bought by Vanderbilt, who promptly raised the fare again. to go away, he would have to purchase it at a hefty premium. And so, in 1832, the people of Westchester were startled to discover that their champion boat had been bought by Vanderbilt, who promptly raised the fare again.

It was the beginning of a long and peculiar friendship. For the first time in Vanderbilt's life, he had been forced to pay for what was already his, and he couldn't help admiring the man who had done it to him. Over the course of their lives, these starkly contrasting businessmen would mix partnership and rivalry in a bewildering dance of mutual respect and self-interest.52 ON MAY 20, DEATH HAUNTED the Vanderbilt family. Three years before, on May 20, 1829, Cornelius's brother-in-law and old partner, Captain John De Forest, had died, leaving his sister Charlotte a widow. Now, on May 20, 1832, Cornelius Vanderbilt senior died, pulling his son back to Staten Island for the Moravian Church funeral, the settlement of the will, and attendance on his bereaved mother. the Vanderbilt family. Three years before, on May 20, 1829, Cornelius's brother-in-law and old partner, Captain John De Forest, had died, leaving his sister Charlotte a widow. Now, on May 20, 1832, Cornelius Vanderbilt senior died, pulling his son back to Staten Island for the Moravian Church funeral, the settlement of the will, and attendance on his bereaved mother.

Death defined not only the date, but the year as well. Rumors began to spread of an epidemic. "Some considerable said about the Cholera," noted Hiram Peck in his diary on July 5. Soon the newspapers began to track the disease's daily harvest-one hundred dead on July 20, 104 on July 21, ninety on July 22-as quarantines and a general panic shut down intercity travel. Then a fever struck Vanderbilt himself in September. Dr. Jared Linsly treated him with quinine, but the "ague," as the doctor called it, forced him to bed repeatedly for three months.53 Bankruptcies shadowed Vanderbilt as well-though this was not entirely a bad thing. Like Drew, he lent money to his fellow businessmen, drawing on reserves created by his cash-based steamboat trade; bankruptcies brought him collateral. In September, one debtor handed the keys to a store over to Vanderbilt, who thought of young Hiram Peck. For two years he had cultivated the friendship of this earnest churchgoer; now he had just the right use for him. "I have also today been negotiating with Capt. C. Vanderbilt to take charge of the business a.s.signed to him by Mr. John Coten," Peck wrote in his diary on September 12. "Was at his house at noon and down to the store in the afternoon and at his house in the evening." Three days later he added, "Attended at the store again and came to the conclusion to have the business transacted in my name and Capt. Vanderbilt is to endorse for me. I am to get books and such things as necessary. I have not quite finished bargain about my salary but am to be liberally paid.... We commence taking an inventory this afternoon." Ultimately Vanderbilt granted him a salary of a thousand dollars a year, plus $250 if he returned "a good profit."54 Peck, then, served as the front man, while Vanderbilt lurked behind as the silent partner. It was hardly an unusual arrangement, but it underscored the uncertainties and suspicions that now ran through every business transaction. On March 29, 1833, for example, Vanderbilt sold his steamboat Westchester Westchester for $30,000 to John Brooks, former captain of the for $30,000 to John Brooks, former captain of the Citizen Citizen, and two other men; they put the boat on Vanderbilt's old line to Connecticut. The move outraged Charles Hoyt, who believed that Vanderbilt was using Brooks as a front man. Even Curtis Peck was ready to think the worst of the man whose word had been good enough a year before. The two filed a lawsuit, asking the court to enforce their unwritten understanding that Vanderbilt would not compete against them on this route.

Vanderbilt indignantly denied that he was behind Brooks's move, but it is difficult to know the truth. He proudly imagined himself to be a man who stood by his agreements, but he also possessed a Gibbons-like streak of self-righteousness that looked suspiciously like duplicity to others, when he interpreted agreements in what appeared to be self-serving ways. Was he a force for businesslike order or compet.i.tive anarchy? Even his contemporaries struggled to understand him.55 Vanderbilt's proud idea of himself soon clashed again with his public image. On June 12, 1833, President Jackson visited New York, sparking what the Evening Post Evening Post called "one of the most striking public ceremonies ever witnessed by the people of this city.... The inhabitants of the city seemed to have deserted all the other quarters for the Battery and Broadway." On June 14, he toured northern New Jersey, and returned to New York on the called "one of the most striking public ceremonies ever witnessed by the people of this city.... The inhabitants of the city seemed to have deserted all the other quarters for the Battery and Broadway." On June 14, he toured northern New Jersey, and returned to New York on the Cinderella Cinderella, commanded by Vanderbilt himself.

It was a striking moment, this convergence of two iron-willed men, one who gave his name to the age and the other who in many ways typified it. But Vanderbilt was merely Jackson's pilot, not his peer. In New Jersey, the president met with the still-famous Aaron Ogden, and most likely with Colonel Stevens and his sons, but he probably had no idea who Vanderbilt was.

Pride is often the door to humiliation. The contrast between the captain's ambitions and his actual status must have sc.r.a.ped his thin skin like sandpaper. Frances Trollope had come away highly impressed by New York's refined, wealthy elite-the "Medici of the Republic," as she called them-but Vanderbilt was not one of them. Though always unpretentious, he sorely wanted respect. On October 30, for example, he entered a four-year-old colt in races at the Union Course in Long Island against horses belonging to the patriarchs of transportation, past, present, and future: William Gibbons, Robert L. Stevens and his brother John, and Robert F. Stockton. It was a symbolic race-and Vanderbilt's horse was disqualified.56 If he had been disposed to dwell, he might have stewed gloomily on all that had happened in the previous two years: the death of his father, his defeat by Drew, his humiliation at the racetrack. By temperament and necessity however, he was given not to reflection, but to movement. The Legislator Legislator had exploded in his face, and he had gone ahead; his brother had barely survived a steamboat explosion, and he had gone ahead; he himself had narrowly overcome a deadly fever, and he had gone ahead. He saw no point in mulling over dangers when a world of compet.i.tion demanded that he seize the next opportunity. Like one of his paddlewheelers caught in the currents of h.e.l.l Gate, he had to drive forward or be wrecked. had exploded in his face, and he had gone ahead; his brother had barely survived a steamboat explosion, and he had gone ahead; he himself had narrowly overcome a deadly fever, and he had gone ahead. He saw no point in mulling over dangers when a world of compet.i.tion demanded that he seize the next opportunity. Like one of his paddlewheelers caught in the currents of h.e.l.l Gate, he had to drive forward or be wrecked.

Fortunately for Vanderbilt, whose entire business was transportation, transportation was precisely where the next opportunity appeared. The first rattling, chuffing, clanking trains of steam-drawn railway cars captured the public imagination-and no better example could be found than the Camden & Amboy the special project of the Stevens family. It set off what one magazine called a "fever," for both the faster travel and the rich profits it promised to bring. "If any doubt existed as to the excitement about railroads," it argued in 1831, "it could have been removed by a view of the crowds thronging for stock to the... Camden." With the line now complete, the national press breathlessly reported that it carried pa.s.sengers thirty-five miles in one hour and forty-six minutes, cutting the pa.s.sage from New York to Philadelphia to just seven hours and forty-five minutes.57 On November 8, 1833, Vanderbilt sailed over to South Amboy to examine it for himself. The locomotive resembled an oversize barrel with a smokestack in front; the engineer and fireman stood on a rear platform with no shelter from the elements. Three pa.s.senger carriages trailed behind, linked by heavy chains. Each car looked as if three stagecoaches had been fused together, with three compartments, each of which had a side door, topped by one continuous flat roof for baggage. The whole rested on a leaf spring, set high above the large cast-iron wheels with wooden spokes-two pairs of wheels connected by iron axles. Vanderbilt stepped up into the middle car (the last being reserved for baggage). The engine began to chug, building to twenty-five miles per hour.

For Vanderbilt, as for almost all of the twenty-four pa.s.sengers in his car, this was an entirely new sensation. The startling speed and relatively smooth ride (compared to stagecoaches) must have thrilled them-the woman from Washington, D.C., who cradled her baby, the minister from Pennsylvania, the gentleman from North Carolina. Just the day before the railroad had broken its own record, cutting the time between New York and Philadelphia to six hours and thirty-five minutes. The countryside slipped past them in a blur as they moved at a rate never known on land before.

Without warning, an axle broke in the lead car. With only two axles per car, the result was catastrophic. The lead car jumped off the tracks; sitting in the one behind it, Vanderbilt saw its roof and walls suddenly spin. His car pitched down the embankment, then tumbled and bounced heavily on its side as the locomotive dragged it farther before the engineer could stop the train.

Vanderbilt found himself at the bottom of the embankment. His clothes had been shredded, and his knees oozed blood where the skin had been torn off. He took a breath, and stopped at the knifing pain where his ribs had pierced his lungs, then suffered even greater agony when he convulsively coughed, blood filling his mouth. His body felt crushed, his back broken. Turning his eyes to the bodies splayed around him, he saw a man's thigh bone jutting through his pants; the woman from Washington, her arm broken, her baby motionless; a man with arms and legs mangled; and the North Carolina fellow, his rib cage driven over his face. The uninjured staggered past-including former president John Quincy Adams, who had been in the lead car.

As Vanderbilt lay at the bottom of the ditch, unable to move, one thought overwhelmed all others: He was going to die.58

Chapter Four.

NEMESIS.

On November 9, 1833, a messenger arrived at the home of Dr. Jared Linsly, a young physician who lived and worked in the four-story forest of buildings that was New York City There had been an accident; the cars of the Camden & Amboy Railroad had overturned. One of the doctor's patients had been severely injured-a Captain Van-derbilt.1 Linsly pulled on his coat, gripped his bag, and rushed to the steamboat pier. The doctor had treated Vanderbilt's intermittent fever the year before, but he did not exactly look forward to seeing this difficult patient again. Linsly thought him "const.i.tutionally irritable" and "dyspeptic." He found Vanderbilt to be an overbearing man under the best of circ.u.mstances-as Linsly later put it, "He never would take direction from anyone." And then there was the flatulence. "A great trouble," he would muse, and "apparently const.i.tutional, as others of his family had it."

After crossing the bay, Linsly found his way to the crash site and was directed to a small cottage nearby. There he discovered two other doctors already in attendance. Edging his way to the bed, he saw the familiar leathery face of the thirty-nine-year-old Vanderbilt. His body had been shattered. Linsly noted the injuries as he examined his patient: "External bruises and the ribs badly fractured in the front and back on the right side. The knees were torn and bruised." Then the captain began coughing, an act that clamped him in pain; when somone wiped his mouth, the cloth ran red. "The ribs penetrated the lungs, as I knew by the escape of air under the skin and from his coughing up blood," Linsly explained later. "He suffered very much at that time trying to clear his lungs from the clotted blood."

Then Vanderbilt spoke, calmly, evenly. "Rational," the doctor noted. Rational indeed, from the very moment Vanderbilt had opened his eyes at the bottom of the embankment the day before, with boiling water and steam still spilling out of the overturned locomotive, the cars upended and broken, the people who had sat next to him almost all dead and mangled. Vanderbilt explained to Linsly that he had not wanted to die anonymously, so he had called out to a bystander and told him his name. That simple act of self-a.s.sertion had seemed to clear his brain. He noticed the cottage they were now in, and had choked through his mouthful of blood to order the fellow to carry him here. Then he had sent for help.

The thirty-year-old Linsly was just four years out of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, but it occurred to him that he had never seen anyone with such self-possession while in the gnawing jaws of pain. Lying in the mud with shattered bones and a punctured lung, Vanderbilt had organized his own rescue, taking command of those around him as surely as if he were ordering about the crew on the Cinderella Cinderella.

Close encounters with death have a reputation for transforming lives, for starting dramatic new departures. Vanderbilt's near extinction concentrated his existing qualities-his decisiveness, his will to dominate, his ability to rapidly a.s.sess a chaotic situation. Indeed, it could be argued that this gruesome accident had nothing to do with the transformation that he would undergo in the next decade, from obscure captain to fearsome commodore, whose name alone would terrify hardened businessmen. But as he lay there impatiently in that cottage over the next four weeks, slowly healing under Linsly's care, the incident took on iconic significance for him. For one thing, Vanderbilt became an ardent admirer of the young doctor. You saved my life, he would often tell him. "If I had died in Jersey in 1833," he would add, decades later, "the world would not have known that I had lived. But I think I have been spared to accomplish a great work that will last and remain."2 AS THE CAPTAIN SLEPT IN HIS BED, the general waged war on the monster. Not just any monster-the Monster, as President Andrew Jackson called it. Without a doubt, General Jackson (as everyone called him) saw himself as St. George in arms against the dragon, an infernal, demonic ent.i.ty that must be destroyed. The Monster, he told Martin Van Buren, "is trying to kill me, but I will kill it I will kill it." This political battle would define not only American politics for the next generation, but also Vanderbilt's new and increasingly public role as a businessman. Coming at the moment of his brush with death, it would prove to be, in many ways, his resurrection.

The Monster, formally known as the Second Bank of the United States (and more commonly as the Bank), originated as the brainchild of Alexander Hamilton. He had desired a counterpart to the famed Bank of En gland: a federally chartered but privately owned inst.i.tution to hold the government's funds, extend loans to private merchants, facilitate longdistance transfers of money, regulate the flow of credit from state-chartered banks, and provide a stable national paper currency. Jeffersonians had thought a federal bank unconst.i.tutional, and had destroyed the original Bank of the United States in 1811, only to revive it under the fiscal strain of the War of 1812. Jackson despised it. On July 10, 1832, he had vetoed a bill to recharter the Bank, and had run for reelection that year on the promise to permanently eradicate it.3 So began the Bank War, the result not merely of Jackson's obsessions, but the cultural crisis of the times. It broke out because two great waves now crashed into one another: the individualistic, anti-aristocratic, compet.i.tive impulse fostered by the Revolution, and the instinct to organize, amalgamate, develop, and bring order to the chaos of the marketplace. The first impulse was both radical and traditional, combining a suspicion of the wealthy elite with an outlook shaped by this world of small farms, stores, and workshops, where factories were few and self-employment was the standard. The second was both commercially advanced and highly conservative, as wealthy men both organized banks and corporations and tried to tamp down compet.i.tion. Neither impulse was hostile to the market economy itself; indeed, out of this conflict would emerge a new American economic outlook, a culture that embraced equality of opportunity and fierce compet.i.tion, as well as sophisticated business inst.i.tutions.4 But not yet. The Bank War revealed the vast distance still between these two views of the world. When Jackson vetoed the recharter of the Bank, he complained that it "enjoys an exclusive privilege of banking under the authority of the General Government, a monopoly of its favor and support." But it was a very useful monopoly, protested Senator Daniel Webster. "In the absence of a Bank of the United States, the State banks become effectually the regulators of the public currency. Their numbers... give them, in that state of things, a power which nothing is competent to control." Where Jackson saw danger in a government-granted monopoly, Webster saw the danger of an unregulated marketplace, the anarchy of unchecked compet.i.tion.5 To the president, Webster missed the entire point. As he wrote to Nicholas Biddle, the Bank's gifted chief, "I do not dislike your Bank more than all banks." Jacksonians condemned banks, and corporations in general, with a particularly d.a.m.ning word: they were "artificial." After all, what did banks do? In the best cases, they acc.u.mulated reserves of gold and silver coin, paid in by their shareholders, and made loans by issuing paper money, printed by the bank itself. The notes could be redeemed at the bank for gold and silver, but it was more convenient for people to continue to pay each other with the paper, keeping it in circulation. Even a conservatively run bank would issue notes worth at least three times its holdings in precious metals.

To Jacksonians, this was a fraud: banks were loaning what they did not have. Paper money was a dangerous sh.e.l.l game that only worked as long as everyone agreed not to look for the pea. "Real money," wrote William Gouge in an influential book of 1833, "is a commodity commodity." Gold and silver had intrinsic value; no special trust had to be placed in anyone before precious-metal coin was accepted in payment. By contrast, paper money had replaced "the old standard of value" with "the new standard of bank credit," one that was subject to bank failures, to counterfeiting, to deliberate manipulation by greedy corporate officials. By 1833, Americans had already suffered panics in which note holders rushed to a bank all at once, forcing it to suspend specie payments, thus rendering its paper money virtually worthless.6 Even worse, banks could only perpetrate this supposed fraud because of their government-granted monopolistic powers. Most states outlawed private banking; to issue paper money, a bank had to obtain a charter from a state legislature-"by certain arts of collusion, bribery, and political management," declared William Leggett, radical editor of the New York Evening Post New York Evening Post. "It is a matter of utmost notoriety that bank charters are in frequent instances obtained by practises of the most outrageous corruption." And that struck at the heart of the Jacksonian ideal: the equality of opportunity for every individual, and the hatred of any government-favored cla.s.s (or aristocracy, in the rhetoric of the day), especially men with corporate charters.7 "Equality of talents, of education, or of wealth can not be produced by human inst.i.tutions," Jackson observed in his veto message. "But when the laws undertake to add to these natural and just advantages artificial distinctions... the humble members of society... have a right to complain of the injustice of their Government." He and his followers accepted natural inequality-even celebrated the rise to wealth through hard work and intelligence-but hated anything that smacked of the artificial artificial.

In the Jacksonian mind, the fear of monopoly and aristocracy was intertwined with a deep anxiety over the mysterious abstraction of commercial inst.i.tutions. Features that were gradually emerging as standard for all corporations-their legal character as artificial persons, immortality and limited immunity which protected shareholders from liability for a corporation's acts-they saw as strange and alarming special privileges granted through political favoritism. "All corporations are liable to the objection that whatever powers or privileges are given to them, are so much taken from the government or the people," wrote Leggett. And so government had given rise to a race of man-made monsters, with the Bank merely chief among them. "If a man is unjust, or an extortioner, society is, sooner or later, relieved from the burden, by his death," glowered Gouge. "But corporations never die." The implications were frightful. Since they "live forever," fretted Ma.s.sachusetts governor Marcus Morton, their property was "holden in perpetual succession"-unlike individuals, whose estates were divided upon death. Eventually corporations would own everything.8 This idea rested on the notion that the amount of property was constant (rather than growing in a growing economy), and that only physical things-land, goods, animals-could be property, never shares in corporations. Stock and paper money had no value of their own, Jacksonians believed; they were a conjuration that transferred wealth from real producers to stockjobbers who made nothing (except potentially money). Such a fundamentalist mind-set deeply frustrated the president's opponents, especially the Yankee businessmen who were learning to use the sophisticated devices of commerce. Daniel Webster argued that banknotes were were money, that the definition of "currency" should include "all that adjusts exchanges and settles balances in the operations of trade and business," from precious metals to bills of exchange. The corporation was a "truly republican inst.i.tution," declared John Quincy Adams, "of which every cla.s.s of the community may share in the benefit, proportionate to their means and their resources." Jacksonians saw corporations as the grasping of rich men for special privileges; but one bank president argued that America's money, that the definition of "currency" should include "all that adjusts exchanges and settles balances in the operations of trade and business," from precious metals to bills of exchange. The corporation was a "truly republican inst.i.tution," declared John Quincy Adams, "of which every cla.s.s of the community may share in the benefit, proportionate to their means and their resources." Jacksonians saw corporations as the grasping of rich men for special privileges; but one bank president argued that America's "absence "absence of large capitalists [had] been remedied by corporate a.s.sociations, which aggregate the resources of many persons." of large capitalists [had] been remedied by corporate a.s.sociations, which aggregate the resources of many persons."

This was the birth of a kind of abstract thinking never before required in everyday life. It sparked a fierce resistance. On a daily basis, most Americans rarely interacted with corporations; they still lived in a society of farms, small businesses, and independent proprietors. Jacksonians viewed corporations in much the same way that the evangelists of the Second Great Awakening saw the Masons or popery: as a corrupt conspiracy, a mysterious encrustation on the beautiful simplicity of the true religion. As artificial beings, Gouge intoned, "corporations have neither bodies to be kicked, nor souls to be d.a.m.ned."9 Jackson's veto of the Bank recharter marked only the beginning of the Bank War. The Bank still had six years left under its original authorization; its president, Biddle, still hoped to survive. He elected to systematically corrupt Congress by handing out loans and legal fees, and even bribed newspaper editors for friendly articles. Furious, Jackson launched a plan to withdraw the federal government's deposits and place them in friendly state banks, nicknamed the Pet Banks. Biddle retaliated, calling in loans, returning state banknotes for specie, and curtailing new credit. "All the other Banks and all the merchants may break," he growled, "but the Bank of the United States shall not break."

"The subject of the removal of the bank deposits increases daily in interest," wrote a New York merchant on January 11, 1834. "n.o.body talks or thinks of anything else." n.o.body, of course, but Vanderbilt, lying broken in that Jersey cottage, spitting up blood within earshot of the trains of the Camden & Amboy. They were weeks of torment for the country and himself. As merchants and brokers along Wall Street pushed back their top hats and worried aloud, he had himself carried up to the railroad tracks, then placed in a special horse-drawn car he had ordered. Each rattle along the rails must have been agony, but it was better than one of the famously uncomfortable carriages that bounced down the turnpike. At South Amboy his crewmen lifted him out and placed him in one of his steamboats for the return to New York.

There the city's businessmen fretted over their own casualties. One of those worriers was Philip Hone, a former mayor of New York, a wealthy merchant, and a member of the old Anglo-Dutch elite. His life would repeatedly intersect Vanderbilt's, despite their sharply contrasting social backgrounds. Most nights he sat at his desk and wrote in his diary in a tidy cursive script, recording the events of the day in eloquent, highly opinionated prose that makes him an ideal witness to Vanderbilt's world. "Wall Street was thrown into consternation this morning by the failure of John G. Warren & Son," Hone wrote on January 31. Like most of the city's conservative merchants, he blamed the president, not Biddle. "If Gen. Jackson had visited Wall Street this morning, he might have been regaled with a sight similar to that of the field of battle at New Orleans. His killed and wounded were to be seen in every direction, and men enquiring with anxious solicitude, 'Who is to fall next?'"10 The Bank War spun American politics in a centrifuge, concentrating the two impulses of the day into distinct parties. On one side were Jackson's followers, the Democratic Party-or the Democracy, as they called it-the party of individual equality and limited government. Under the slogan "Jackson, Commerce, and Our Country," they celebrated a market economy of real persons and republican simplicity. In opposition arose the Whigs, who were more trusting in the beneficial role of active government. At the time, the division between the two seemed as natural as a canyon. The Democrats had emerged out of the resistance to the eighteenth-century patricians and their culture of deference, out of battles against the limited franchise, aristocratic privileges, and mercantilist monopolies. Though their elected leaders often would make use of the government's economic power, the most radical among them-especially New York's "Locofoco" faction (nicknamed after the brand of matches they used when their rivals at a tumultuous party meeting doused the lights)-championed laissez-faire as their definition of equal rights. The Whigs (such as Hone) inherited some of the ordering, top-down outlook of the old elite, and a deeply moral vision of the role of the state. They believed that measures to a.s.sist the most enterprising, such as corporate charters or public works, would grace everyone; as historian Amy Bridges writes, they believed "the state should guide interdependent interests to a common good." As development-minded modernizers in a young and growing country, they saw compet.i.tion as a destructive force that punished entrepreneurship.11 For months the nation endured the crisis, as Biddle squeezed, bankers and merchants gasped, and Jackson grimly held to his plan for removing federal deposits. Vanderbilt followed the war through the newspapers in his bed at 134 Madison Street, confined under Dr. Linsly's orders and the necessities of pain. Meanwhile Whig congressmen came to the painful conclusion that Biddle had gone too far. His retaliation against Jackson seemed to have proved the president's argument that the Bank threatened democracy.

As spring wrestled loose from the grip of winter, scooping the ice from the harbor's waters and snow out of the streets, Americans realized that they had survived the Bank War. Biddle was beaten; in the end, he was forced to obtain a state charter from Pennsylvania for the Philadelphia-based Bank. And, by the end of 1834, Americans would discover that the prospering, dyspeptic, overbearing Vanderbilt had become a champion of the radical Jacksonian creed.12 IN THE SUMMER OF 1834, not many weeks had pa.s.sed since Vanderbilt had first emerged from his house on Madison Street, his skin pale from lack of sunlight, his legs shaky from lack of use. It had been a difficult winter. He was a man who charged ahead by instinct, by calculation, by the metaphor of the time; instead he had been confined to a single room until the onset of spring, struggling to simply hold steady as he managed his boats from his sickbed. He had ordered the new 1834, not many weeks had pa.s.sed since Vanderbilt had first emerged from his house on Madison Street, his skin pale from lack of sunlight, his legs shaky from lack of use. It had been a difficult winter. He was a man who charged ahead by instinct, by calculation, by the metaphor of the time; instead he had been confined to a single room until the onset of spring, struggling to simply hold steady as he managed his boats from his sickbed. He had ordered the new Union Union, for example, to be put on his lower Hudson River line, but Heyward, its captain (a "blockhead" or "blatherskite" or worse in Vanderbilt's extensive vocabulary of abuse), had allowed a shipment of thirty-eight crates of cotton prints to get so wet that the colors ran. Now Vanderbilt faced a lawsuit that would eventually cost him $5,000, plus $360 in court costs. At least his reliable brother Jacob had managed the Water Witch Water Witch well on its route to Hartford. well on its route to Hartford.13 Now there was this Westchester Westchester business. Three men confronted Vanderbilt in his office, angrily reminding him that, on March 15, 1834, the boat, which he had sold the year before, had started to run between New York and Albany at a fare of $2 per person. The men believed, as Hoyt and Peck had previously, that Vanderbilt was the real owner of the business. Three men confronted Vanderbilt in his office, angrily reminding him that, on March 15, 1834, the boat, which he had sold the year before, had started to run between New York and Albany at a fare of $2 per person. The men believed, as Hoyt and Peck had previously, that Vanderbilt was the real owner of the Westchester Westchester, and it infuriated them. They had taken pains to put the fare up to $3 on their own Albany-bound boats, and were grimly determined to do whatever was necessary to keep it there.

When Vanderbilt later discussed this meeting in the press, he neglected to mention the names of his visitors. No matter-the public would not have recognized them. They were all-but-anonymous members of the Hudson River Steamboat a.s.sociation, an organization of businessmen who maintained a monopoly on traffic between New York and Albany. The most famous among them, Robert L. Stevens, had sold out to the rest in 1832. They had paid Stevens the enormous sum of $80,000 for his boat, the North America North America, but the physical vessel was only one part of the purchase. They also had bought his agreement to not run any boat on the Hudson for ten years.14 The stiff price-probably double the original construction cost-showed how difficult it was to maintain a monopoly on the Hudson, and how lucrative that monopoly proved to be. After the opening of the Erie Ca.n.a.l, traffic had boomed between Albany and New York, thanks to the pa.s.sengers and freight coming from the West and the fast-growing towns along the Hudson and the ca.n.a.l. More and more entrepreneurs jumped in to meet this demand, forcing the monopoly to either buy them off or include them. By 1834, it had swollen to an overstretched alliance of three steamboat companies: the Hudson River, the North River, and the Troy.

This confrontation, Vanderbilt recognized, was a dangerous moment. In this age of the cunning Yankee, of strangers and professional thieves, suspicion reigned; no one knew how far to trust appearances. He insisted (quite truthfully) that he no longer had anything to do with the Westchester Westchester. "As further evidence of my unwillingness to appear as if joining in or promoting an opposition to the combined companies," he explained shortly afterward, "I [had] refused a liberal offer for a charter of my steamboat Union Union, to run as an opposition boat between New York and Albany, and this I did for the purpose of keeping myself entirely aloof from all contest and compet.i.tion." The monopoly men didn't believe him. The question was settled: it would be war.15 The problem was, it was war by proxy. A compet.i.tor soon appeared on Vanderbilt's lower Hudson route-his old Citizen Citizen, captained by Curtis Peck, steaming to Sing Sing at what Vanderbilt called "the paltry and pitiful price of 12 cents." Like his enemies, he saw a hidden hand at work-their hand. "It may be said that the Citizen Citizen does not belong to the combined companies," he announced in the press. "To that I answer-she has been started in opposition to me at their suggestion, and is running under their sanction, protection, and patronage, and therefore the act is theirs." The language was a bit too orderly to have come straight from his mouth, but the ferocity was pure Vanderbilt. does not belong to the combined companies," he announced in the press. "To that I answer-she has been started in opposition to me at their suggestion, and is running under their sanction, protection, and patronage, and therefore the act is theirs." The language was a bit too orderly to have come straight from his mouth, but the ferocity was pure Vanderbilt.

His language was also pure radicalism. It appeared on the front page of the New York Evening Post New York Evening Post, in an announcement of his retaliation against the monopoly.

TO THE PUBLIC.-Having established a line of Steamboats on the North River, for the conveyance of pa.s.sengers between New York and Albany, called the People's Line People's Line, in opposition to the great triangular monopoly great triangular monopoly composed of the North River Steamboat company, the Hudson River Steamboat company, and the Troy Steamboat company, I deem it proper to say a few words by way of appeal to a generous public, which, I feel persuaded, will sustain a single individual in an attempt to resist the overbearing encroachments of a composed of the North River Steamboat company, the Hudson River Steamboat company, and the Troy Steamboat company, I deem it proper to say a few words by way of appeal to a generous public, which, I feel persuaded, will sustain a single individual in an attempt to resist the overbearing encroachments of a gigantic combination gigantic combination. Compet.i.tion in all things promotes the public convenience; and although the step I have taken may prove advantageous to the public, yet to me it may be far otherwise.16 The brilliance of this appeal could be heard in its echo of the Evening Post's Evening Post's radical brand of Jacksonianism, as advocated by editor William Leggett. Two days before, Leggett had attacked corporations for "combining larger amounts of capital than unincorporated individuals can bring into compet.i.tion." He had called for laissez-faire to allow individuals to defeat "the grasping, monopolizing spirit of rapacious capitalists," as expressed in corporate charters. "Even now, how completely we are monopoly-governed!" he had written. "How completely we are hemmed in on every side, how we are cabined, cribb'd, confined, by exclusive privileges!" radical brand of Jacksonianism, as advocated by editor William Leggett. Two days before, Leggett had attacked corporations for "combining larger amounts of capital than unincorporated individuals can bring into compet.i.tion." He had called for laissez-faire to allow individuals to defeat "the grasping, monopolizing spirit of rapacious capitalists," as expressed in corporate charters. "Even now, how completely we are monopoly-governed!" he had written. "How completely we are hemmed in on every side, how we are cabined, cribb'd, confined, by exclusive privileges!"

Vanderbilt's declaration mimicked this rhetoric, which celebrated commerce and entrepreneurship but blasted corporations. He went on to explain how the monopoly had instigated the Citizen's Citizen's run against him, and concluded: run against him, and concluded: Thus, fellow citizens, has this aristocratic monopoly, secure as they think themselves in wealth and power, wantonly attacked an individual whose constant endeavor has been to avoid a contest with them. The gauntlet has been thrown by them, and not by me; and the question now is, will the public countenance the combined companies in an act of overbearing oppression, or will they patronize and encourage one who is determined to resist aggression and injustice, although the odds is vastly against him. The North River is the great highway of the people, and does not belong exclusively to the Monopolists.17 Leggett himself could not have written a more vehemently Jacksonian statement.

A more deliberately manipulative man probably would have been more careful in his argument. Vanderbilt praised the benefits of compet.i.tion, for example, then wrote that he was challenging the Hudson River a.s.sociation only after trying to avoid avoid "all contest and compet.i.tion." He attacked his enemies for being monopolists, but his outrage stemmed from their attack on "all contest and compet.i.tion." He attacked his enemies for being monopolists, but his outrage stemmed from their attack on his his monopoly between New York and Peekskill. This inconsistency speaks of inflamed self-righteousness as much as cold cunning. He was undoubtedly opportunistic, and there is no evidence he was a Democrat (or a Whig, for that matter). But the political debate over monopolies and corporations went to the heart of his existence, leaving a deep impression that he believed his rhetoric: he was the people's rebel, a challenger of the mighty. monopoly between New York and Peekskill. This inconsistency speaks of inflamed self-righteousness as much as cold cunning. He was undoubtedly opportunistic, and there is no evidence he was a Democrat (or a Whig, for that matter). But the political debate over monopolies and corporations went to the heart of his existence, leaving a deep impression that he believed his rhetoric: he was the people's rebel, a challenger of the mighty.

And the people loved it-the drama, the slap in the face of the monopoly, and, especially, the low prices. Vanderbilt put the Nimrod Nimrod and the and the Champion Champion on the line to Albany for a $ on the line to Albany for a $i fare. "Our river-boats are long, shallow, and graceful," wrote one pa.s.senger, "and painted as brilliantly and fantastically as an Indian sh.e.l.l. With her bow just leaning up from the surface of the stream, her cut-water throwing off a curved and transparent sheet from either side, her white awnings, her magical speed, and the gay spectacle of a thousand well-dressed people on her open decks, I know of nothing prettier." Serving fine food and abundant alcohol, these incessantly churning sidewheelers traveled a river renowned for beauty slipping between the wooded bluffs of upper Manhattan and the stunning cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades. On reaching West Point, the same writer found it almost impossible "to give an idea of the sudden darkening of the Hudson, and the underground effect of the sharp, overhanging mountains as you sweep first into the Highlands." fare. "Our river-boats are long, shallow, and graceful," wrote one pa.s.senger, "and painted as brilliantly and fantastically as an Indian sh.e.l.l. With her bow just leaning up from the surface of the stream, her cut-water throwing off a curved and transparent sheet from either side, her white awnings, her magical speed, and the gay spectacle of a thousand well-dressed people on her open decks, I know of nothing prettier." Serving fine food and abundant alcohol, these incessantly churning sidewheelers traveled a river renowned for beauty slipping between the wooded bluffs of upper Manhattan and the stunning cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades. On reaching West Point, the same writer found it almost impossible "to give an idea of the sudden darkening of the Hudson, and the underground effect of the sharp, overhanging mountains as you sweep first into the Highlands."18 Vanderbilt's mind was not on beauty, but the pain he inflicted on his opponents. Even a fare of $i-half that charged by the Westchester Westchester, the ostensible cause of this war-did not strike him as ruthless enough. Within days, he reduced it to fifty cents. Meanwhile he ordered his captains to beat the monopoly's boats at all costs.

Philip Hone witnessed the resulting struggle on the Hudson. "We left Albany at past 6 this morning in the Steam Boat Champlain," Champlain," he wrote in his diary on September 14. "There is a violent opposition between two lines of boats." He meant he wrote in his diary on September 14. "There is a violent opposition between two lines of boats." He meant violent violent literally. The rival crews hated each other, and public opinion was inflamed. "We were contending with the literally. The rival crews hated each other, and public opinion was inflamed. "We were contending with the Nimrod Nimrod all the way down, and for five or six miles before we reached Hyde Park Landing, the boats were in contact, both pushing furiously at the top of their speed. And we and our trunks were pitched ash.o.r.e like bundles of hay. The people at the landing being all in favour of the opposition... n.o.body would take a line, and we might have drowned without an arm being reached to save us." all the way down, and for five or six miles before we reached Hyde Park Landing, the boats were in contact, both pushing furiously at the top of their speed. And we and our trunks were pitched ash.o.r.e like bundles of hay. The people at the landing being all in favour of the opposition... n.o.body would take a line, and we might have drowned without an arm being reached to save us."

Hone was a commercially savvy merchant, yet he loathed such cutthroat compet.i.tion, even when he had no personal interests at stake. Two days later, he took Vanderbilt's Champion Champion to New York; the experience caused his social prejudices to rise up in his throat like bile. "Our boat had three or four hundred pa.s.sengers, and such a set of rag-tag & bobtail I never saw on board a North River Steam Boat-the effect of the 50 cent system," he sniffed into his diary. "If the people do not rise in their might and put a stop to the racing & opposition it will be better to return to the primitive mode of travelling in Albany sloops." to New York; the experience caused his social prejudices to rise up in his throat like bile. "Our boat had three or four hundred pa.s.sengers, and such a set of rag-tag & bobtail I never saw on board a North River Steam Boat-the effect of the 50 cent system," he sniffed into his diary. "If the people do not rise in their might and put a stop to the racing & opposition it will be better to return to the primitive mode of travelling in Albany sloops."

If the people do not rise? Against what-cheap travel? Hone saw firsthand the popularity of Vanderbilt's fierce compet.i.tion, but he did not believe his own eyes. Indeed, his visceral distaste illuminates America's social and political divisions. The Democrats derided Hone and his fellow Whigs as "aristocrats," and not entirely without cause. Though political and economic inst.i.tutions no longer depended upon distinctions in social rank, New York's old patrician families had carried on into this more compet.i.tive, egalitarian era, carrying their wealth and prejudices with them. Their elitism blended with the Whig faith in an entreprenurial but orderly economy. Hone's disgust at being forced to mingle with his social inferiors was inseparable from his disaste for compet.i.tive anarchy. After complaining of the "rag-tag and bobtail," he added, "I would rather consume three or four days in the voyage than be made to fly in fear and trembling, subject to every sort of discomfort, with my life at the mercy of a set of fellows whose only object is to drive their compet.i.tors off the river." Against what-cheap travel? Hone saw firsthand the popularity of Vanderbilt's fierce compet.i.tion, but he did not believe his own eyes. Indeed, his visceral distaste illuminates America's social and political divisions. The Democrats derided Hone and his fellow Whigs as "aristocrats," and not entirely without cause. Though political and economic inst.i.tutions no longer depended upon distinctions in social rank, New York's old patrician families had carried on into this more compet.i.tive, egalitarian era, carrying their wealth and prejudices with them. Their elitism blended with the Whig faith in an entreprenurial but orderly economy. Hone's disgust at being forced to mingle with his social inferiors was inseparable from his disaste for compet.i.tive anarchy. After complaining of the "rag-tag and bobtail," he added, "I would rather consume three or four days in the voyage than be made to fly in fear and trembling, subject to every sort of discomfort, with my life at the mercy of a set of fellows whose only object is to drive their compet.i.tors off the river."19 Vanderbilt pressed the war into November. He added the Union Union to the line. He offered overnight service. He ran ads in Albany newspapers headlined " to the line. He offered overnight service. He ran ads in Albany newspapers headlined "PEOPLE'S LINE.-FOR NEW-YORK.-NO MONOPOLY." He battled on until fingertips of ice began to poke down the Hudson, until finally the freeze clasped its hands shut over the river.20 In the spring, steamboats began to churn again to Albany-and again charged $3 per person. The war was over; Vanderbilt had withdrawn. The public, which had cheered Vanderbilt's boats at every dock and landing, must have been mystified. Where had he gone? The answer would not come for another five years, when a careful investigation by the New York Herald New York Herald revealed that Vanderbilt had fought not for a principle, but for revenge. On those terms, he had won a resounding victory. He had forced the "odious monopoly," as the revealed that Vanderbilt had fought not for a principle, but for revenge. On those terms, he had won a resounding victory. He had forced the "odious monopoly," as the Herald Herald called it, to call Peck off the Sing Sing route and to pay Vanderbilt the astronomical fee of $100,000 to leave the line to Albany, plus an annual payment of $5,000 to stay away called it, to call Peck off the Sing Sing route and to pay Vanderbilt the astronomical fee of $100,000 to leave the line to Albany, plus an annual payment of $5,000 to stay away21 It was becoming a pattern with him. In the emerging code of conduct for steamboat men, the first proprietor to occupy a line a.s.sumed a sort of natural right to the route. A challenger who lasted long enough could expect an offer of a bribe to abandon the market and, should he accept it, would be expected to abstain from further compet.i.tion. Vanderbilt had now repeatedly preyed on existing lines-to New Brunswick, to western Long Island Sound, and now to Albany-and each time had taken money to stay away. Like his late mentor Thomas Gibbons, he often acted out of a sense of self-righteous outrage, but always in ways that suited his material interests. To say that his Jacksonian rhetoric was deliberately deceitful is, perhaps, to suggest that he was more self-aware than he actually was. He made himself his first and last cause, but never the subject of study.

The public, however, had no inkling of who Vanderbilt was as a man, or why he had left the Albany line. The people looked for his next fare-cutting offensive as he unerringly hunted out the next great channel of commerce. To them, he was not a self-serving capitalist, but a lone proprietor, an avenging entrepreneur, the monopolists' nemesis.

VANDERBILT PRESENTED THE MODEL to Joseph Bishop and Charles Simonson in their office down by Corlears Hook. The two men were among New York's most experienced shipbuilders, but-as Bishop remarked as he pored over the model-they had never seen a design quite like it. On this winter day of early 1835, Vanderbilt could boast of seventeen years in the steamboat business. He had built or owned perhaps fifteen paddlewheelers, and had worked closely with almost every steamboat man but Fulton himself. All his experience had led him to this new departure-the first of "an entirely new cla.s.s of steam vessels," as one expert would declare. to Joseph Bishop and Charles Simonson in their office down by Corlears Hook. The two men were among New York's most experienced shipbuilders, but-as Bishop remarked as he pored over the model-they had never seen a design quite like it. On this winter day of early 1835, Vanderbilt could boast of seventeen years in the steamboat business. He had built or owned perhaps fifteen paddlewheelers, and had worked closely with almost every steamboat man but Fulton himself. All his experience had led him to this new departure-the first of "an entirely new cla.s.s of steam vessels," as one expert would declare.22 "Make her as strong as possible," Vanderbilt ordered. Bishop and Simonson could only nod; it would have to be very strong indeed. The captain wanted the twin paddlewheels enlarged dramatically from any previous design, to twenty-four feet in diameter. To drive them, he would have a new engine constructed, more powerful than any ever put into a steamboat. The piston in the North America North America, Robert L. Stevens's famous "rather-faster-than-lightning steamer," pulsed at a rate of 384 feet per minute; Vanderbilt envisioned one that would pound away at six hundred feet per minute. He foresaw a single engine that could do the work of two, saving as much as 50 percent on fuel while driving the wheels around at twenty-three revolutions per minute.

"Her shape was very peculiar," Vanderbilt later remarked. The hull was unusually long and narrow-205 feet from stem to stern post, with a beam of only twenty-two feet, less than the diameter of her wheels (though the guards outside the wheels extended her deck to forty-six feet). She was literally built for speed. The problem was that such a narrow, extended hull would "hog," or bend in the middle. To correct it, he called for an arched deck, "built on the plan of [a] patent for bridges," as he explained his inspiration, to shift the pressure to the ends of the deck planks.

Bishop and Simonson agreed to build it. "There was no written contract, no price agreed upon beforehand," Bishop recalled. Simonson was Vanderbilt's brother-in-law, and the three trusted one another implicitly. In the days that followed, as Bishop erected the gallows frame in their shipyard, Vanderbilt decided on a name: the Lexington Lexington, after the place where the Revolution began.23 He ordered the Lexington Lexington for a very simple reason: cotton. As the 1830s rushed past, cotton powered the American economy forward. Demand from British textile mills had already caused a westward-moving land rush across the South by cotton planters, dramatically expanding slavery into new territories. Slave-owning Americans had even settled the Mexican province of Texas. "Funds from the Northeast and England financed the transfer of slaves, purchase of land, and working capital during the period of clearing the land," writes economic historian Dougla.s.s C. North. Once cultivated, harvested, and pressed into bales, the cotton enriched not only the planters, but also the merchants, shippers, and financiers of New York. Much of it was transshipped to Britain through Manhattan; even after most of it came to be exported directly from the South, it was in New York-based ships that would return to Manhattan with cargoes of British goods. Then there were loans, commissions, and insurance charges, until one committee of Southern legislators concluded that one-third of each dollar paid for cotton went to New York-a percentage that continued to rise. for a very simple reason: cotton. As the 1830s rushed past, cotton powered the American economy forward. Demand from British textile mills had already caused a westward-moving land rush across the South by cotton planters, dramatically expanding slavery into new territories. Slave-owning Americans had even settled the Mexican province of Texas. "Funds from the Northeast and England financed the transfer of slaves, purchase of land, and working capital during the period of clearing the land," writes economic historian Dougla.s.s C. North. Once cultivated, harvested, and pressed into bales, the cotton enriched not only the planters, but also the merchants, shippers, and financiers of New York. Much of it was transshipped to Britain through Manhattan; even after most of it came to be exported directly from the South, it was in New York-based ships that would return to Manhattan with cargoes of British goods. Then there were loans, commissions, and insurance charges, until one committee of Southern legislators concluded that one-third of each dollar paid for cotton went to New York-a percentage that continued to rise.24 But not all of it crossed the Atlantic. Every year, ever more thousands of dirty white bales were unloaded on New York's slips, then reloaded onto vessels bound for New England. That cotton fed the first real factories in the United States, the waterwheel mills that increasingly crowded the rivers and streams of Ma.s.sachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, in a great arc centered on Boston. New York took back much of the finished fabric, to be made into clothing in the city's workshops and distributed by the city's merchants. By the time the Lexington Lexington took shape in its shipyard, New York had emerged as capital of the commercial revolution, Boston as capital of the industrial. Businessmen, craftsmen, and messengers, cargoes of cotton and kegs of gold, all pa.s.sed between them in rising numbers. It was the aorta of the American economy took shape in its shipyard, New York had emerged as capital of the commercial revolution, Boston as capital of the industrial. Businessmen, craftsmen, and messengers, cargoes of cotton and kegs of gold, all pa.s.sed between them in rising numbers. It was the aorta of the American economy25 The question of transportation between the two cities attracted the attention of the nation's greatest minds and richest men. In 1830, those rich men organized corporations to construct railroads radiating out of Boston. If ever corporations were necessary, it was now, for railways were far more costly and far more complex than textile mills (almost all of which were owned by individual proprietors or partnerships). Curiously, their organizers never wanted to create those corporations in the first place. Historian John Lauritz Larson argues that New England's first railroad promoters initially planned their lines as public works, to be built and owned by the state (as they sometimes were in other regions, as in the case of the Michigan Central). But the state governments refused, due to the failure of various ca.n.a.ls and turnpikes to replicate the success of New York's Erie Ca.n.a.l. "Thus it was in frustration (not appreciation for the corporate form) that Ma.s.sachusetts's railroad pioneers turned to private corporations," Larson writes. This very specific political history set the pattern for American railroads nationwide. Though they were public works in the broadest sense-increasingly important as the common carriers of commerce-they were also private property, owned by individuals who pursued their own interests. In the end, these circ.u.mstances would define Vanderbilt's historical role as public figure and private businessman.26 A group of influential New Yorkers organized one of the first of these pioneering railways: the Boston & Providence Railroad, a forty-three-mile line that would link its eponymous cities and allow pa.s.sengers and freight from Boston to connect to Long Island Sound steamboats, bypa.s.sing the long sea trip around Cape Cod. It would prove typical of New England's railroads: short, and specifically designed as part of a combined land-sea route to New York. A continu