He had been a very young man when he purchased the property from his father. "Cornele's lot," the locals had called it. His mother lived just a three-minute walk south of here. When he looked out the door of the house, he gazed out atop a hill that gave him a commanding view of the bay, over the terraced landscape and ferry dock below him.16 "It is not possible to conceive a more extended or beautiful prospect," wrote Philip Hone that summer of 1839, after visiting Vanderbilt's neighbors, the Anthons. "Situated on the summit of the hill back of the Quarantine ground [the state hospital for sick immigrants], it commands a view of the ocean and bay, with all that enters or leaves the port, Long Island, the city North River, the Jersey sh.o.r.e, the Kills, Newark, and Elizabeth." The island was becoming a fashionable summer destination, and even Hone toyed with the "plan of having a seat on Staten Island." "It is not possible to conceive a more extended or beautiful prospect," wrote Philip Hone that summer of 1839, after visiting Vanderbilt's neighbors, the Anthons. "Situated on the summit of the hill back of the Quarantine ground [the state hospital for sick immigrants], it commands a view of the ocean and bay, with all that enters or leaves the port, Long Island, the city North River, the Jersey sh.o.r.e, the Kills, Newark, and Elizabeth." The island was becoming a fashionable summer destination, and even Hone toyed with the "plan of having a seat on Staten Island."17 Francis Grund, a wry observer of New York's social elite, took the ferry that same season. "A fine bra.s.s band was stationed on deck," he wrote, "and the company consisted of a great number of pretty women with their attendant swains, who thus early escaped from the heat of the city in order to return to it at shopping-time." These visitors went to the Brighton Pavilion, which "offers really a fine and healthy retreat from the noise and dirt of New York," thought Grund. "The busy bar-keeper was preparing ice-punch, mint-juleps, port and madeira sangarie, apple-toddy, gin-sling, &c. with a celerity of motion of which I had heretofore scarcely seen an example. This man evidently understood the value of time, and was fast rising into respectability; for he was making money more quickly than the 'smartest' broker in Wall street."18 Grund's sly joke applied to the captain overseeing construction of his mansion farther down Staten Island, only in his case it wasn't funny. In the midst of economic hardship, when Hone found "money uncome-at-able, and confidence at an end," the uneducated Vanderbilt rapidly rose in wealth, and so too in social stature, if more slowly. When Charles d.i.c.kens visited the United States in 1842, he marveled at the American "love of 'smart' dealing, which gilds over many a swindle and gross breach of trust." He often pointed out a man who was getting rich "by the most infamous and odious means," yet was "tolerated and abetted" by the public. He always asked, "In the name of wonder, then, what is his merit?" Back came the invariable reply: "Well, sir, he is a smart man."19 Vanderbilt, however, won respect for more than simply being smart. Americans, and Democrats in particular, distinguished between "stockjobbing" speculators, whom they saw as little more than gamblers or tricksters, and "enterprising" men, who built businesses and created wealth. In 1842, editor Moses Beach added Vanderbilt to his annual list of "the Wealthy Citizens of New York City" alongside Philip Hone, Oroondates Mauran, Daniel Drew, and John Jacob Astor. Beach curtly described Drew as "a shrewd, money making man," but he lavished praise on Vanderbilt as a productive entrepreneur. "Cornelius has evinced more energy and 'go aheaditiveness' in building and driving steamboats, and other projects, than ever one single Dutchman possessed," he exclaimed. "Put on the coals and steam and flare up for Stonington!"20 When the mansion was completed in 1840, Vanderbilt moved his large family there, onto his ancestral lands, close to his mother, hard by the dock served by the ferry he now controlled. He now enjoyed s.p.a.cious comfort commensurate with his wealth. But the newly fashionable status of a country seat on Staten Island certainly appealed to him as well, as he began to mingle with the rich and influential. "Vanderbilt... is now at Saratoga," wrote Courtlandt Palmer one August around this time; by habituating the little resort town of Saratoga Springs, just north of Albany Vanderbilt moved in society's loftiest circles. "All the world is here," wrote Hone in Saratoga, referring to perhaps two thousand of the nation's elite, "politicians and dandies; cabinet ministers and ministers of the gospel; officeholders and officeseekers; humb.u.g.g.e.rs and humbugged; fortune-hunters and hunters of woodc.o.c.k; anxious mothers and lovely daughters."21 On his Staten Island estate, the self-made, would-be dynast gathered his family about him rather like a royal court. He built a three-story Tudor house just south of this property for Ethelinda and her husband.22 Vanderbilt's primary attorney was William K. Thorn, newly married to his daughter Emily. And his nephew, Jeremiah Simonson, worked for him as well. Vanderbilt's primary attorney was William K. Thorn, newly married to his daughter Emily. And his nephew, Jeremiah Simonson, worked for him as well.

And then there was Vanderbilt's younger brother (and neighbor) Jacob, who maintained a powerful bond with Cornelius even as he pursued his own business interests. After the Transportation Company purchased the Lexington Lexington, for example, Jacob continued to serve as its captain, faithfully carrying out repairs and reconstruction under the orders of Captain Comstock. Though he labored in his older brother's shadow, Jacob won renown on Long Island Sound. In December 1837, a New Englander wrote (using phrenological jargon) that Jacob, "as it is pretty well understood, has the 'go ahead' b.u.mp pretty strongly developed." That month he brought the Lexington Lexington safely through a ferocious storm that snapped the rope controlling the rudder. safely through a ferocious storm that snapped the rope controlling the rudder.23 He became famous for his "unsurpa.s.sed energy and decision of character, wonderful quickness, and reach of judgment," as the monthly He became famous for his "unsurpa.s.sed energy and decision of character, wonderful quickness, and reach of judgment," as the monthly Ladies' Companion Ladies' Companion declared, "and imperturbable calmness and resolution in the moment of danger." Had he not taken ill on January 13, 1840, the editors reflected, "many lives might have been saved." declared, "and imperturbable calmness and resolution in the moment of danger." Had he not taken ill on January 13, 1840, the editors reflected, "many lives might have been saved."

At two o'clock on the afternoon of January 15, wrote Philip Hone, "the city was thrown into an awful state of consternation and alarm." Chester Hilliard of Norwich had arrived with terrible news: the Lexington Lexington had been destroyed in a horrific fire two nights before on its way from New York to Stonington. Cotton bales piled around the smokestack had caught fire; the crew had fumbled its attempts to fight the blaze, and had swamped the lifeboats by lowering them while the steamer was still at full speed. Hilliard and another man climbed onto a floating cotton bale; Hilliard strapped himself to it, but his companion did not. After a night adrift in the freezing seas, only Hilliard remained on the bale. Just four of some 125 men, women, and children survived. At least $20,000 in gold and silver disappeared into the Sound. It was, as the newspapers put it, an "appalling calamity." had been destroyed in a horrific fire two nights before on its way from New York to Stonington. Cotton bales piled around the smokestack had caught fire; the crew had fumbled its attempts to fight the blaze, and had swamped the lifeboats by lowering them while the steamer was still at full speed. Hilliard and another man climbed onto a floating cotton bale; Hilliard strapped himself to it, but his companion did not. After a night adrift in the freezing seas, only Hilliard remained on the bale. Just four of some 125 men, women, and children survived. At least $20,000 in gold and silver disappeared into the Sound. It was, as the newspapers put it, an "appalling calamity."

Perversely, the horrific accident may have enhanced Cornelius Vanderbilt's stature. The press reprinted the testimony at the coroner's inquest, held a week after the tragedy. The public read of how Vanderbilt had personally designed the boat, how it had been built with the best materials, how even his enemies had admired its strength and speed. Charles O. Handy, the new president of the Transportation Company (now incorporated as the New Jersey Steam Navigation Company), and Captain Com-stock hinted that Vanderbilt had coerced the company into buying it.24 Fear and admiration, admiration and fear-always they arose in pairs, a spiral helix of emotion, when other businessmen spoke of him. "I have seen Vanderbilt today," wrote R. M. Whitney of the Stonington on November 12, 1840. "I had much rather have the opposition of the Trans. Co. to contend with than his.... He and Mauran are determined, persevering men who will carry through all they undertake." (Whitney obviously believed, perhaps correctly, that Vanderbilt's partnership with Mauran went beyond the Richmond Turnpike Company.) Courtlandt Palmer reflected, "He is so powerful (worth at least half a million of dollars) that we do not wish to war with him if we can possibly avoid it." The railroad's chief engineer, William Gibbs McNeill, echoed these sentiments in an emphatic a.s.sessment he wrote after a lengthy interview with Vanderbilt: "Capt. V. has risen by his merits-a very very enterprising, indefatigable, intelligent (of his business) man. His frequent practice-to build boats-run opposition-make money despite of opposition-then sell at a premium to leave the route. Possible that he may (in the count of not being connected with us) serve us the same way." enterprising, indefatigable, intelligent (of his business) man. His frequent practice-to build boats-run opposition-make money despite of opposition-then sell at a premium to leave the route. Possible that he may (in the count of not being connected with us) serve us the same way."

McNeill was a graduate of the two great schools of America's early railway engineers, West Point and the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, and was hardly a soft touch. Yet his respect for Vanderbilt verged on awe. He concluded, "I confess if we are to be opposed I'd sooner have him him with us, than against us." with us, than against us."25 Vanderbilt was a man defined by enterprise, but he had handed his son over to Daniel Drew, the furtive master of speculation and subterfuge. As one of Drew's clerks, Billy entered the eternal dusk of Wall Street, where the dim light perfectly suited his boss. In New York's early, unregulated stock market, insider trading was the norm. Courtlandt Palmer and William D. Lewis, for example, often wrote about plans for an "operation in our stock," as they tried to profit through their access to inside information, or attempted to manipulate the share price up or down.

At one point the refined Lewis built a steamer, the Eureka Eureka, for the Stonington line. In a Vanderbiltesque maneuver, its captain tried to extort money from the Hudson River monopoly by threatening to run it to Albany. "Under the circ.u.mstances," Palmer advised Lewis, "perhaps it would be judicious for you to [put] the stock you have bought in the name of someone else, that you are not to be known as an owner of the Eureka." Eureka." Unfortunately for them, the leading figure in the monopoly was now Drew, who saw through the deceit and sent a stark warning to the Stonington men. Soon Palmer glumly reported that the Unfortunately for them, the leading figure in the monopoly was now Drew, who saw through the deceit and sent a stark warning to the Stonington men. Soon Palmer glumly reported that the Eureka's Eureka's captain had been "tampered with" by Drew and his partners, adding, "he has been in their pay" captain had been "tampered with" by Drew and his partners, adding, "he has been in their pay"26 "All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks," Captain Ahab declares in Moby-d.i.c.k Moby-d.i.c.k. "Some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask." Herman Melville's sense of the world as untrustworthy, as a shroud over a deeper reality captured something essential about this time and place. For such was the world that swallowed Billy Vanderbilt: a netherworld populated by those artificial persons called corporations that masked the real persons behind them; by paper money, that masked real gold and silver; by whispered rumors, that masked the manipulations of self-serving men. Paper currency, the North American Review North American Review piously intoned, was "a consequence of the increased confidence of man in his fellow man;" but it could also be seen as a piously intoned, was "a consequence of the increased confidence of man in his fellow man;" but it could also be seen as a demand demand for confidence that raised suspicions all the higher. Melville's later novel for confidence that raised suspicions all the higher. Melville's later novel The Confidence-Man The Confidence-Man consists largely of eloquent appeals for trust in others, appeals made by the trickster of the t.i.tle in the service of fraud. Legitimate banknotes were rarely accepted at face value, for fear that they could not be redeemed for the full amount of specie promised, and thousands of counterfeit varieties circulated. In consists largely of eloquent appeals for trust in others, appeals made by the trickster of the t.i.tle in the service of fraud. Legitimate banknotes were rarely accepted at face value, for fear that they could not be redeemed for the full amount of specie promised, and thousands of counterfeit varieties circulated. In The Confidence-Man The Confidence-Man, a hapless fellow tries to use a counterfeit detector (a list of identifying marks on legitimate bills) that itself is counterfeit. By the 1840s, it seemed that these mysterious abstractions, these false fronts, these outright lies, had layered over the direct, natural economy of people and things that Americans had always known. It is telling that Melville's talisman for the white whale, the ultimate, unreachable reality is a gold coin.27 "Delicate" was the word that later popped up whenever Billy's youth was mentioned-but life in Wall Street's shadow world required iron nerve. It would be said that he worked hard, too hard, as he married Maria Kissam, daughter of a prominent Brooklyn minister, and settled into an East Broadway house (most likely rented from his own father). But the daily risks, the tensions, the double-dealing weighed on him.28 Then came the Indiana bonds. Like many states (including New York), Indiana embarked on a "Mammoth System" of public works during these years of depression. It issued millions of dollars' worth of bonds to finance ca.n.a.ls, roads, railroads, and other "internal improvements." Many of these securities were entrusted to Commissioner Milton Stapp to sell in London. Unfortunately, the printing of the bonds did not meet the standards of the London market; new bonds were issued, and Stapp was directed to cancel the old ones. Instead, he met with Drew and Robinson in late 1840. Drew's firm sold both the old and the new bonds in New York in January 1841, bringing a windfall of $134,000. A new commissioner, sent to investigate, stormed into the office and demanded an accounting. Robinson flatly refused to provide one, and Indiana filed suit. For the state government, it was part of a financial catastrophe. For the nation, it was part of a growing disgust with public works that failed to produce public benefits-a disgust that would open the way for Drew, Vanderbilt, and others to build fortunes in railroads. And for Billy, it was a shocking education in the underhanded ways of Wall Street.29 Billy suddenly quit Drew's firm. "He was a delicate young man," the New York Times New York Times would say, "and the hard work he had done proved too much for his const.i.tution." More likely, he could not bear the stress of risky, even illegal maneuvers. Cornelius grudgingly purchased a farm for his broken son and his new wife near the village of New Dorp on Staten Island, not far from his own palatial estate. "Billy is good for nothing but to stay on the farm," he told Hosea Birdsall, one of his employees. As Birdsall recalled, "He said he would try to make a good farmer of him." would say, "and the hard work he had done proved too much for his const.i.tution." More likely, he could not bear the stress of risky, even illegal maneuvers. Cornelius grudgingly purchased a farm for his broken son and his new wife near the village of New Dorp on Staten Island, not far from his own palatial estate. "Billy is good for nothing but to stay on the farm," he told Hosea Birdsall, one of his employees. As Birdsall recalled, "He said he would try to make a good farmer of him."30 Meanwhile, Vanderbilt returned to the war for control of Long Island Sound.

"THE STONINGTON IS THE key key," wrote William Gibbs McNeill on November 13, 1840. The line's chief engineer never wavered in his belief that the railroad must become the primary artery of transportation between New York and Boston. But it faced a grave problem. "The company being embarra.s.sed-involved in debt-with an impaired credit," he wrote in an official report, "could not procure steamboats of their own, and of course were dependent on those who did own them. To their terms we were compelled to submit, and we did submit." The Transportation Company had the upper hand. To change that, McNeill wanted to forge an alliance with Vanderbilt.31 On November 13, Vanderbilt strode into McNeill's rooms in New York, where the sick engineer was confined to his bed. A daguerreotype of Vanderbilt from this time calls to mind a description of a typical wealthy New Yorker by Francis Grund in 1839: His stature was straight and erect; his neck... was, by the aid of a black cravat, reduced to a still narrower compa.s.s; and his hat was sunk down his neck so as to expose half his forehead. His frock-coat... was b.u.t.toned up to the chin, and yet of such diminutive dimensions as scarcely to cover any one part of his body. His trowsers were of the same tight fit as his coat, and the heels of his boots added at least an inch and a half to his natural height.

But Vanderbilt was no dandy A viscerally physical presence, he was worth as much-and probably far more-than the entire Transportation Company (capitalized at $500,000). Even as he took control of the Richmond Turnpike Company, he had bought out the New Haven Steamboat Company and added the powerful C. Vanderbilt C. Vanderbilt to his Southern coastal line. McNeill spoke bluntly to him, and made the only contemporary verbatim record of a conversation from the first fifty years of Vanderbilt's life. to his Southern coastal line. McNeill spoke bluntly to him, and made the only contemporary verbatim record of a conversation from the first fifty years of Vanderbilt's life.32 "Captain Vanderbilt," he began, "my usage and preference is, in a matter like the present, to be explicit and unreserved. You are aware of our present connection [with the Transportation Company] and the reasons its continuance is to be preferred.... They have suitable boats... and although it would be a loss to them, yet if not employed by by us they as probably be run in opposition us they as probably be run in opposition to to us.... You know them?" us.... You know them?"

"Yes."

"We are in negotiation now now and we await their terms. You have read my report?" and we await their terms. You have read my report?"

"Yes."

"Then you know my views," McNeill concluded. "What are yours?"

More than ten years earlier, Frances Trollope had observed the shrewdness of the Yankee businessman in conversation-his gift for indirection, his ability to avoid giving away any useful information-and Vanderbilt now displayed his talent at that fine art. After praising the railroad, he haltingly remarked, "To be candid with you, as you've been with me-I-couldn't-be in anything-with Mr. Palmer for president."

"Well, suppose you had it all your own way-whom you please for president and directors-O. Mauran? Or anyone else?"

"Anybody else and what board you please-anybody but him." Vanderbilt had nothing but contempt for the spineless, technically ignorant Palmer.

"Well," answered McNeill, with rising frustration, "suppose that settled-your terms?"

"Why-if the route were open I wouldn't ask a better business than one-half," Vanderbilt replied, meaning half the through fare between New York and Boston.

"That is my idea-but the route is not open," McNeill said, referring to the Stonington's ties to the Transportation Company. But he wanted to know if Vanderbilt planned on launching a rate-cutting war on the route. "By the bye," he asked, "do you think of coming on it anyhow?" anyhow?"

"Have not made up my mind."

Blunted in this probe, McNeill took another tack. "Would you propose to throw in your boats for stock-we have the privilege of owning boats under a very advantageous charter." In other words, would Vanderbilt consider selling the railroad some steamboats in return for shares in the Stonington, and a post as a director?

"I've heard of that, and think it might be made to answer." Vanderbilt warmed to the topic, pondering aloud how the railroad might run if he joined its management. "It might take one-or two-years to do any opposition up," he mused, using the slang "do up" for destroy destroy. "Steamboats would both lose."

"Yes, and we pay expenses only."

"You'd do more than that," that," Vanderbilt snorted. A master of economy, he had a reputation for making a profit even in a rate war. "And-after two years-would have it all our own way. Vanderbilt snorted. A master of economy, he had a reputation for making a profit even in a rate war. "And-after two years-would have it all our own way. I I shouldn't care to make money in that time. I know the route-there's nothing like it." shouldn't care to make money in that time. I know the route-there's nothing like it."

"Well-we agree in that-but as you can understand me me-I should be glad at your convenience to know what you will do," McNeill stated.

The conversation displayed Vanderbilt's peculiar combination of wiliness and directness, of intense personal dislikes (in this case for Palmer) and sly concealment of his intentions. It also included one revealing exchange that McNeill mistakenly dismissed as mere bravado. Frustrated with Vanderbilt's refusal to commit himself, he asked at one point, "What do you think would be to your interest interest to offer?" to offer?"

"If I owned the road," Vanderbilt answered, "I'd know how to make it profitable."

"Oh!" McNeill exclaimed sarcastically. "I suppose you'd own own the boats too." the boats too."

"Yes," Vanderbilt replied, and said nothing more about it. McNeill paid no attention. He could not take seriously the idea of one man buying control of a railroad. The Stonington was some fifty miles long, worth millions in fixed capital. It was also "embarra.s.sed" by debt, as he put it, and in the hands of its creditors, the Philadelphia banks. Vanderbilt as master of his railroad? The idea was ridiculous.33

Chapter Six.

MAN OF HONOR.

Marx says somewhere that men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circ.u.mstances chosen by themselves.1 He forgot to add that great plans often come about by accident. How many times had Vanderbilt embarked on important enterprises only because of chance? His start in steamboats under Gibbons, his Dispatch Line to Philadelphia, his lower Hudson route, his People's Line to Albany, all originated in the unexpected. He was quick to turn trouble to his advantage, and to prey on the weak and vulnerable. He forgot to add that great plans often come about by accident. How many times had Vanderbilt embarked on important enterprises only because of chance? His start in steamboats under Gibbons, his Dispatch Line to Philadelphia, his lower Hudson route, his People's Line to Albany, all originated in the unexpected. He was quick to turn trouble to his advantage, and to prey on the weak and vulnerable.

In the 1840s, the strategic balance in the transportation network of Long Island Sound destabilized as new railways were constructed alongside the Boston & Providence and the Stonington. The decade began with the completion of both the Hartford & New Haven and, more important, the Norwich, a line that descended from Worcester, Ma.s.sachusetts, to the Connecticut seaport that gave it its name. And the Long Island Railroad advanced eastward by the hour. Though it would one day become a commuter line, it was designed to connect New York and Boston by way of a steamboat ferry from its eastern terminus to New England's railways.

Even among these compet.i.tors, the Stonington should have throbbed with traffic and profits, for it was still the fastest route between New York and Boston. Instead it writhed in bankruptcy-mercilessly exploited by the Navigation Company (formerly the Transportation Company) and tormented by a feud between its angry stockholders and the Philadelphia bankers who held its bonds.2 Vanderbilt entered the 1840s with no particular plan to take advantage of the Stonington's weakness, despite his conference with McNeill. His enemies, on the other hand, embarked on a game of deep subterfuge and indirect pressure. It began in May 1841 with the appearance of Curtis Peck, the captain who had purchased the Citizen Citizen from Vanderbilt exactly a decade earlier. Peck advertised discounted fares from New York to Providence with the steamer from Vanderbilt exactly a decade earlier. Peck advertised discounted fares from New York to Providence with the steamer Belle Belle. This was now called the "outside" route; the Stonington and the Norwich were "inside" lines, since they cut inside Point Judith. Though the outside route was slower and rougher, pa.s.sengers readily switched to it when fares went low enough. "Knowing the Yankee character, & how highly they value the sixpence," Palmer, president of the Stonington, worried that the railroad's pa.s.sengers would start to take the Belle Belle-as indeed they did.3 Vanderbilt followed this gambit with intense suspicion. It was not like Peck to run on the outside route; he operated short lines from New York to Flushing, Long Island, and Norwalk, Connecticut. But Peck was something of a mercenary. In 1834, for example, he had sailed the Citizen Citizen to Sing Sing, New York, in opposition to Vanderbilt, at the behest of the Hudson River monopoly. Was he acting now as a front for someone else? to Sing Sing, New York, in opposition to Vanderbilt, at the behest of the Hudson River monopoly. Was he acting now as a front for someone else?

As Vanderbilt hunted out intelligence on the stinking docks and in gaslit offices, he had a very short list of suspects. There were three major forces controlling Long Island Sound's steamboat business: first was the Navigation Company, which dominated the outside route to Providence and the inside to Stonington; second was Vanderbilt himself, who ran to the Connecticut River and New Haven, where he connected with the Hartford & New Haven Railroad; and third was Menemon Sanford, who connected to the Norwich Railroad with his Charter Oak Charter Oak, along with W. W. Coit, who commanded the Worcester Worcester.

Clearly the Navigation Company was not backing Peck, since it suffered badly from this maneuver. Comstock, its outspoken agent, denounced Peck's attack as "the most outrageous and unprovoked on record." The culprit, then, was most likely Sanford. Vanderbilt had long been a deadly enemy of Sanford's, and had recently driven him off the Connecticut River route to Hartford; he could easily believe that his old foe was to blame. Comstock came to the same conclusion. "I believe Sanford has an understanding with Peck," he wrote to the Navigation Company president, Charles Handy. "I have been suspicious of Sanford since last winter." But what could Sanford possibly gain from a fare war on the outside route-one that pulled traffic away from his own Norwich line?

By the end of July, Vanderbilt believed he had the answer. Under the financial pressure of Peck's opposition, the Stonington and the Navigation Company agreed to a proposal by Sanford and the Norwich to pool all their revenue from the through travel between New York and Boston, and divide it according to a fixed formula. Ordinarily it would have been a foolish move for the Stonington, as it usually garnered the greatest share of traffic. But its executives concluded, as chief engineer McNeill wrote, that "it is better even to waive a portion of our advantages over the Norwich route... than continue to lose money." A few days after they sealed the deal, Peck took the Belle Belle off the outside route-and ran it instead to New Haven, in opposition to Vanderbilt. off the outside route-and ran it instead to New Haven, in opposition to Vanderbilt.4 Vanderbilt was incensed. Using Peck as a decoy, Sanford had played the Stonington and the Navigation Company for fools, arranging to skim their profits and build a united front that excluded Vanderbilt. Then Sanford pitted Peck against Vanderbilt's own line. It was a masterful piece of indirection that demanded retaliation.

Too late, Comstock realized that his corporation had been duped. "Sanford, etc., have cheated you into the Norwich contract by false means," he told Handy. But he seethed with fury at Vanderbilt's response-to run a small steamboat, the aptly named Gladiator Gladiator, to Providence at a very low fare. This struck Comstock as a flagrant violation of the verbal noncompet.i.tion agreement made when the Lexington Lexington changed hands. "I... expected it from Vanderbilt as he has avowed it more than once," he remarked bitterly. changed hands. "I... expected it from Vanderbilt as he has avowed it more than once," he remarked bitterly.

Vanderbilt received a message from Courtlandt Palmer, asking him to come and explain his move. Vanderbilt only had to stalk a few blocks from his office through the crowded, narrow streets of the Wall Street district to reach the Stonington's door. As he sat down in Palmer's office, the tall, powerful Vanderbilt could hardly have concealed his contempt for the officious weakling who ran the Stonington. He explained what had really happened that summer, how Sanford had tricked them and thrown Peck against Vanderbilt's own New Haven line. "To punish Sanford for this he runs the Gladiator Gladiator, charging $2 fare to Providence and $3 to Boston to draw the long travel from the Norwich route, where (with us) they charge $5," Palmer wrote to the banker Lewis. "He states that the opposition is to the Norwich line, not ours."

Within the Navigation Company and the Stonington, this logic was angrily dismissed. "Vanderbilt's excuse is a miserable one indeed," Comstock thought. Palmer called the explanation "a mere pretext. He puts his boats on to make money, and a more outrageous violation of his pledged faith to us... could not be made." Vanderbilt, of course, had a different view-and, as usual, he was sure he was right. "Vanderbilt says he recognizes all his pledges to us," Palmer continued, "but says we have, in our arrangements with the Norwich Company, absolved him from them, and to satisfy us, he proposes to refer it to arbitration whether he shall pay us damages or we, him."5 As Palmer and Comstock dipped pens in inkwells and scratched out letters to their respective masters, their outrage soaked through the paper. They each took particular aim at Vanderbilt's reputation as a man of his word. Comstock sarcastically referred to him as "the Honourable Honourable Capt. C. Vanderbilt." Soon he simply abbreviated his views. "As to CV-you know my opinion of his word and honour," he told Handy. The humorless Palmer was more ornate: "I think Vanderbilt ought to be exposed to the public for the violation of his pledges to us, as nothing was ever more gross or unprovoked. This exposure would annoy him more than anything we could do, as he is very desirous of being considered a man of honor and integrity, and would be severely mortified to have his baseness trumpeted forth to the world." Capt. C. Vanderbilt." Soon he simply abbreviated his views. "As to CV-you know my opinion of his word and honour," he told Handy. The humorless Palmer was more ornate: "I think Vanderbilt ought to be exposed to the public for the violation of his pledges to us, as nothing was ever more gross or unprovoked. This exposure would annoy him more than anything we could do, as he is very desirous of being considered a man of honor and integrity, and would be severely mortified to have his baseness trumpeted forth to the world."

Wisely, the railroad did no such thing. As Vanderbilt surely knew, the public hardly would be upset because he ended an agreement that protected the Stonington and the Navigation Company ("that vast and overshadowing monopoly," in the words of the Brooklyn Eagle) Brooklyn Eagle). What is curious is that Palmer did not see that; it showed the persistence of an older elitism and Whiggish disdain for economic anarchy. McNeill, on the other hand, understood their precarious public position. "In our political climate," he sarcastically explained, "corporations "corporations must subsist on a very spare diet & practice very must subsist on a very spare diet & practice very fascinating fascinating manners, or the Sovereign People will crawl them all over." manners, or the Sovereign People will crawl them all over."6 In this conflict, both Vanderbilt's power and his self-righteousness would prevail. He forced Sanford and Coit to pay him one-third of their steamboat profits for as long as Peck competed with him. The dispute went to arbitration, and the panel (which included William Gibbons, at Vanderbilt's request) ruled against the Stonington and the Navigation Company, and awarded Vanderbilt $1,733.33 in damages. With the judgment of his peers to justify his aggression, Vanderbilt laid siege to the two corporations. Under the name "Vanderbilt's Independent Line," he sent his New Haven New Haven to Providence in December 1841. "That Vanderbilt," the prim Palmer exclaimed to Lewis, "is a great ______ (you must fill in the blank)" to Providence in December 1841. "That Vanderbilt," the prim Palmer exclaimed to Lewis, "is a great ______ (you must fill in the blank)"7 Now committed to full-scale warfare, Vanderbilt battered his opponents with his grasp of both tactics and strategy. His main strength was, in a word, everything; the attack was nothing less than an all-enveloping onslaught, omitting no possible compet.i.tive advantage. He was better capitalized than his opponents, which enabled him to absorb losses. But he also could make money even in a fare war, thanks to his ability to control costs. In part, this was a technical advantage: the Lexington' Lexington's engine and hull design had saved an estimated 50 percent in fuel expenses, by far the largest operating cost, and all his later boats followed its plan. He kept personnel expenses down by shifting them to his customers; pa.s.sengers began to complain that they were expected to tip for almost everything. And Comstock's letters to Handy bemoaned the way that Vanderbilt outmatched them in everything from pricing to renting office s.p.a.ce to distributing handbills. "Vanderbilt has several agents in Boston making great efforts to obtain freight and pa.s.sengers," he wrote. "The New Haven's New Haven's pa.s.sengers and freight increases daily," he noted on another occasion. "We are losing some of our regular freight customers." pa.s.sengers and freight increases daily," he noted on another occasion. "We are losing some of our regular freight customers."8 Vanderbilt reached an agreement with the Boston & Providence Railroad-the erstwhile ally of the Navigation Company-that gave him a 25 percent rebate on freight charges. He put the Cleopatra Cleopatra on the line, which became very popular. ("She proves to be very fast," Comstock admitted.) He even hired a lobbyist to pet.i.tion Rhode Island's legislature to stop the Navigation Company from having exclusive rights to its dock. "V is determined to put us to as much trouble and expense as possible," Comstock said. "There is a great disposition here [in Providence] to a.s.sist him." on the line, which became very popular. ("She proves to be very fast," Comstock admitted.) He even hired a lobbyist to pet.i.tion Rhode Island's legislature to stop the Navigation Company from having exclusive rights to its dock. "V is determined to put us to as much trouble and expense as possible," Comstock said. "There is a great disposition here [in Providence] to a.s.sist him."

On the strategic plane, Vanderbilt shifted the Sound's travel patterns as he drew thousands of pa.s.sengers away from the Norwich and Stonington railroads. Palmer was utterly flummoxed. "To the astonishment of everybody he has not lost money & it is supposed that he has made," he wrote to Lewis. "We have made every effort in our power during the winter to induce Vanderbilt to withdraw from the line but to this day have been entirely unsuccessful.... He is a very hard & troublesome customer."

As the spring of 1842 came and went, Palmer verged on a breakdown under the pressure. "His great wealth & tact in the management of steamboats renders him the most formidable opponent that could come in opposition," he moaned on March 6. A few weeks later he whimpered, "Vanderbilt's boat (the New Haven) New Haven) lessens our receipts nearly one half. We are barely paying expenses." In June, he wailed, "Vanderbilt is pushing his opposition against us with great vigor, & as you must have perceived by our weekly returns is ruining our business." McNeill put it more graphically. Vanderbilt, he warned, "is gnawing at our very vitals." lessens our receipts nearly one half. We are barely paying expenses." In June, he wailed, "Vanderbilt is pushing his opposition against us with great vigor, & as you must have perceived by our weekly returns is ruining our business." McNeill put it more graphically. Vanderbilt, he warned, "is gnawing at our very vitals."9 WHATEVER HUGH MCLAUGHLIN SAID OR DID, Cornelius Vanderbilt didn't like it. On Staten Island on December 1, 1843, Vanderbilt flared in rage at McLaughlin, and bashed him with his knuckles until he reduced him to a bleeding wreck. What's remarkable about the story is not the beating, but McLaughlin's nerve in then suing him for $1,000. Vanderbilt's reputation usually terrified people.10 On January 27, 1842, for instance, a committee from the Elizabethport & New York Ferry Company met him to discuss his proposal to sell them some waterfront land in Port Richmond, Staten Island. Coming from Vanderbilt, the most innocuous offer sounded like a threat. If they bought the land, they asked, would he sign an agreement to not compete with their ferry? "Capt. Vanderbilt would not agree to bind himself by any written agreement," the committee reported, "but said his word was better than his bond & that he has no intention of running an opposition to us any more than he should think of running a boat to Quebec." The delegation didn't believe him, but finalized the deal just the same, "believing that he will not interfere with us, if we make the purchase," as the committee put it. It was an offer they couldn't refuse.11 They did not have to look far for examples of Vanderbilt's ruthlessness. After taking over the Richmond Turnpike Company, he had pummeled his cousin Oliver-matching his fare cuts, filing lawsuits, even fencing in his dock and dumping gravel on it. And Vanderbilt insisted on a $20,000 bribe from the Navigation Company to leave the outside line. "Sooner than pay him one dollar tribute," Comstock sputtered, "I would die in a ditch.... In fact I protest as an owner to paying him one dollar, directly or indirectly." The company paid.

But this was not the usual sort of extortion. It formed part of a larger deal in August 1842 that forced Sanford off the Sound and gave Vanderbilt the right to connect to the Norwich Railroad. Sanford retreated to lines between Boston and Maine, and Coit sold his Worcester Worcester to Vanderbilt. Daniel Allen began to sell through tickets via the Norwich on the "New York and Boston Railroad Line" for the to Vanderbilt. Daniel Allen began to sell through tickets via the Norwich on the "New York and Boston Railroad Line" for the Worcester Worcester under Jacob Vanderbilt and the under Jacob Vanderbilt and the Cleopatra Cleopatra under Captain Isaac Dustan. under Captain Isaac Dustan.12 The Norwich maneuver was the first of a series of strategic moves that would transform Vanderbilt from a spoiler to the ultimate insider. He began to systematically seize power in the companies that provided transportation around New York. On November 20, 1843, he bought 490 shares (out of 998 total) in the Elizabethport Ferry Company, which effectively gave him control of the second major ferry service to Staten Island (the company's boats stopped at Port Richmond on their way to New Jersey). On March 1, 1844, Vanderbilt became a director and treasurer; in July, he had Allen named secretary, and moved its offices in with his own, now at 34 Broadway13 Also in March, another corporate delegation visited Vanderbilt-this one from the Long Island Railroad, now nearing completion to its eastern terminus, the village of Greenport. They had discovered, they told him, that the New England railroads across the Sound refused to supply a connection to Boston "without the concurrence of the steamboat proprietors connected with such railroads." As negotiations wound on, the corporation invited him to join the grand festivities that marked the opening of the line on July 29 and 30. Vanderbilt and some five hundred dignitaries, including the mayors of New York and Brooklyn, rode in the first set of trains to make the ninety-five-mile journey from Brooklyn to Greenport. In August, he closed a deal to sell the railroad the Cleopatra Cleopatra, the Worcester Worcester, and the New Haven New Haven for $120,000 in railroad stock and $125,000 in bonds. He joined the board of directors, and was named to the three-man committee that managed its steamboat affairs. for $120,000 in railroad stock and $125,000 in bonds. He joined the board of directors, and was named to the three-man committee that managed its steamboat affairs.14 In all these moves, Vanderbilt bracketed the Stonington with his attacks. First, as an individual proprietor he had drawn traffic to the outside route. Then his agreement not to compete with the Stonington and the Navigation Company in return for $20,000 had only bound him as an individual proprietor, not as a corporate director. So he operated through those corporations, undermining the Stonington through the railroads that ran parallel to it. He undercut it on both sides, by selling $2 tickets to Boston via the Norwich and, in 1845, arranging for the Long Island Railroad to switch its steamboat connection from Stonington to Providence.15 The Stonington, however, transformed from a bankrupt enterprise into a potential fountain of profits and dividends. It began with the rise of Elisha Peck to the board of directors in January 1843. This was a powerless position; with the Stonington in the hands of its bondholders, led by William Lewis of the Girard Bank, the stockholders had no influence. But Peck had a plan to reduce the crippling debt by half and regain control: the railroad would take back the existing bonds in exchange for new ones worth 50 percent less. He argued that it was better for the creditors to accept half than to hold t.i.tle to a whole that would never be paid. The deal would allow the company to resume its interest payments and therefore restore its financial health.

Elisha Peck (apparently of no relation to Curtis Peck) was an ill-educated, hardheaded man, much like Vanderbilt. The polished and aristocratic Lewis mocked his unorthodox grammar and the sharp scrawl of his handwriting. But Peck proved that he understood his business very well indeed. He a.s.sembled a block of stockholders dedicated to "the work of regeneration & reform," as broker Samuel Jaudon put it-a reform in administration as well as debt. Peck maneuvered to remove Courtlandt Palmer as president.16 Peck pulled off his coup-a.s.sisted by Lewis, who literally sold out Palmer. Lewis arranged to have the Girard Bank sell the old bonds to a consortium of speculators at twenty-five cents on the dollar. Then the consortium swapped them with the railroad for its new bonds, as Peck had proposed, at a rate of fifty of fifty cents on the dollar, doubling the speculators' money. That consortium of lucky men included Peck, his faction of stockholders, and Lewis himself, who blithely profited at his own bank's expense. Peck ascended to the Stonington's presidency, and the railroad, with its debt reduced by half, finally emerged out of bankruptcy cents on the dollar, doubling the speculators' money. That consortium of lucky men included Peck, his faction of stockholders, and Lewis himself, who blithely profited at his own bank's expense. Peck ascended to the Stonington's presidency, and the railroad, with its debt reduced by half, finally emerged out of bankruptcy17 But hardly had Peck a.s.sumed the presidency than he confronted the same problem that had wrecked Palmer. At the end of 1845, Peck wearily explained it in the railroad's annual report. "The receipts of the Company it will be seen, have fallen off materially, compared with those of the former years," he wrote. "This has been caused by the very low rate of fare produced by an active opposition."

That opposition came from Cornelius Vanderbilt, of course, in conjunction with an old friend. "It appears that Vanderbilt, Newton, & Drew are all connected in their steam boat operations," Comstock wrote Handy. (He was referring to Isaac Newton, Drew's partner in the People's Line on the Hudson.) "I have it from pretty good authority that Mr. Newton & Drew are both interested" in Vanderbilt's operations on the Sound.18 And so they were. In recent years, Drew and Vanderbilt each had done his best to keep the other, a potentially deadly enemy, as close as possible. When Drew and Newton (an expert in the field of steamboats, unlike Drew) reorganized the People's Line as a joint-stock a.s.sociation in July 1843, Vanderbilt bought $11,500 worth of shares in the business, out of a total capitalization of $360,000, and took a seat on the board as one of five directors. (Drew owned $108,500, and Newton $52,000.) In December 1844, Daniel Allen became a partner in Drew's banking and brokerage firm, Drew, Robinson & Co.19 When Allen entered Drew's office, he learned that the latter had concocted a scheme to buy control of the Mohawk & Hudson, New York State's pioneering steam railroad, which offered a shortcut between the Erie Ca.n.a.l at Schenectady and the Hudson River at Albany. Starting on September 16, 1844, Drew's partner Nelson Robinson, a man renowned for his cunning as a broker, set out to acquire the necessary shares. He regularly would pa.s.s under the colonnaded facade of the Merchants' Exchange, a large building between Wall and William streets, and between Exchange Place and Hanover Street, completed in 1842. The edifice housed the long room where mere handfuls of brokers gathered in front of a table where the few publicly traded stocks were called in a daily auction. By June 11, 1845, Robinson had purchased enough shares to elect Newton as the Mohawk & Hudson's president, and both Allen and Drew as directors.20 With a man inside Drew's firm, Vanderbilt came to understand these operations intimately. They offered a promising model for his own offensive on the Sound. Barred by agreement from competing personally with the Stonington Railroad, he arranged in 1845 for the People's Line to take a steamboat off the Hudson and throw it on the outside route to Providence. Meanwhile, he used his position within the Norwich and Long Island railroads to further slash fares to Boston.

"All of these lines are probably run for the pleasure of doing an active business," the Boston Advertiser Boston Advertiser joked, for it seemed impossible that they made enough money to pay expenses. joked, for it seemed impossible that they made enough money to pay expenses.21 This fare-cutting a.s.sault marked the final offensive of Vanderbilt's long war on the Stonington and the Navigation Company. This time, however, he had his eye not only on the movements of pa.s.sengers on the Sound, but on the movements on Wall Street. He did not want a bribe-he wanted possession. This fare-cutting a.s.sault marked the final offensive of Vanderbilt's long war on the Stonington and the Navigation Company. This time, however, he had his eye not only on the movements of pa.s.sengers on the Sound, but on the movements on Wall Street. He did not want a bribe-he wanted possession.

On July 4, 1845, the New York Herald New York Herald published a lengthy a.n.a.lysis of Vanderbilt's attack, without mentioning his name. "The parties engaged in the running of the opposition boat, are perfectly indifferent about its earnings-they do not look for a single cent in return for the outlawry in that quarter," the paper stated, using the revealing term "outlawry" for the ruthless reduction in prices. published a lengthy a.n.a.lysis of Vanderbilt's attack, without mentioning his name. "The parties engaged in the running of the opposition boat, are perfectly indifferent about its earnings-they do not look for a single cent in return for the outlawry in that quarter," the paper stated, using the revealing term "outlawry" for the ruthless reduction in prices.

The support of the opposition is purely a Wall Street stock operation, and so long as it suits the interests of these brokers cornering Long Island, Norwich and Worcester, and Stonington Railroad stock, the boats will be regularly employed on the route.... The stock of the Stonington Railroad Company has thus far been more seriously affected than any other. That road having no local travel of consequence, depending almost entirely upon the receipts from through travel, its income has been badly reduced by the attraction of pa.s.sengers to other routes.

Perversely, the very reforms that Peck had carried out now made the Stonington a desirable property, and thus a target of attack. Vanderbilt waged his ferocious fare compet.i.tion in order to drive down its stock price, in order to gain control. With Drew's firm (and most likely Nelson Robinson personally) handling the trading, Vanderbilt bought up large blocks of shares. He convinced Drew and his partners to buy shares as well, on the promise of a large rise in price once he a.s.sumed control of the corporation. As the annual meeting approached, Vanderbilt tried to rally support among the other investors. "A meeting of the stockholders of the Stonington Railroad is to be held at the Astor [House hotel] this evening," the Herald Herald reported on September 26, 1845. "The late movements which have taken place in this Stock are said to be for the purpose of producing a change in the Direction." reported on September 26, 1845. "The late movements which have taken place in this Stock are said to be for the purpose of producing a change in the Direction."

A few days later, the old board of directors won reelection.22 But the steady pressure Vanderbilt exerted on the railroad's business allowed him to acquire more and more shares. To that end, he next moved into the Hartford & New Haven Railroad. For its first few years, the line had staggered along with only local traffic; then, in December 1844, it completed a connection to Boston through an extension to the Western Railroad at Springfield, Ma.s.sachusetts. "The result has produced a complete renovation of the affairs of the company," the But the steady pressure Vanderbilt exerted on the railroad's business allowed him to acquire more and more shares. To that end, he next moved into the Hartford & New Haven Railroad. For its first few years, the line had staggered along with only local traffic; then, in December 1844, it completed a connection to Boston through an extension to the Western Railroad at Springfield, Ma.s.sachusetts. "The result has produced a complete renovation of the affairs of the company," the American Railroad Journal American Railroad Journal reported, as revenue more than doubled. On June 1, 1846, Vanderbilt sold to Hartford & New Haven three modest steamboats in return for $180,000 in stock at the par value of $100 per share (which paid a dividend of 7.5 percent, or $7.50 per share). This made him a major shareholder and a company director. It was another route on which he could cut fares to Boston-another finger in his grip on the Stonington's throat. reported, as revenue more than doubled. On June 1, 1846, Vanderbilt sold to Hartford & New Haven three modest steamboats in return for $180,000 in stock at the par value of $100 per share (which paid a dividend of 7.5 percent, or $7.50 per share). This made him a major shareholder and a company director. It was another route on which he could cut fares to Boston-another finger in his grip on the Stonington's throat.23 In September 1846, he seized Stonington directorships for himself, sons-in-law Allen and William Thorn, and Drew and his partner Eli Kelley. The Navigation Company succ.u.mbed as well, as Drew bought control of the old foe in early August 1846 (undoubtedly with Vanderbilt's a.s.sistance). Finally, in 1847, Vanderbilt and his partners forced Peck off the Stonington's board, replacing him with Nelson Robinson, and Vanderbilt a.s.sumed the presidency. "The road never was under better management or more prosperous condition," the Herald Herald reported. The monopolists' nemesis, the champion of the people, was now the prince of Long Island Sound. reported. The monopolists' nemesis, the champion of the people, was now the prince of Long Island Sound.24 "NO ONE WHO SAW IT WILL DENY that the Whig Procession yesterday surpa.s.sed anything of the kind ever seen in this country," the that the Whig Procession yesterday surpa.s.sed anything of the kind ever seen in this country," the New York Tribune New York Tribune exclaimed on October 31, 1844. "The Procession occupied two hours and a half in pa.s.sing Ca.n.a.l street, while it was half an hour longer in wheeling into Broadway from Marketfield st." Bra.s.s bands, columns of banner-wielding marchers, and formations of mounted men demonstrated in favor of Whig presidential candidate Henry Clay-and against Democrat James K. Polk, derided by the exclaimed on October 31, 1844. "The Procession occupied two hours and a half in pa.s.sing Ca.n.a.l street, while it was half an hour longer in wheeling into Broadway from Marketfield st." Bra.s.s bands, columns of banner-wielding marchers, and formations of mounted men demonstrated in favor of Whig presidential candidate Henry Clay-and against Democrat James K. Polk, derided by the Tribune Tribune as "the creature and heir of the Annexation Conspiracy!" as "the creature and heir of the Annexation Conspiracy!"25 The intended insult spoke of an ominous shift in American politics. The old political debates still smoldered, but had cooled somewhat. Many Whigs remained unhappy with cutthroat compet.i.tion, and many Democrats with banks and corporations, but they were learning to endure them. Policy makers from both parties often proved more pragmatic than ideological. In 1838, for example, New York's Whigs had introduced free banking, which allowed anyone who met certain requirements to obtain a charter for a bank; the Whigs had intended to end the political abuse of bank chartering by Martin Van Buren's Albany Regency, but the result was to open the field to all who wished to compete. And the Democrats generally embraced the largest and most active part of the federal government, the Post Office, which subsidized newspaper delivery and (until 1845) many stagecoach lines. Meanwhile a wave of defaults by state governments on their bonds after the Panic of 1837 had tempered the enthusiasm for internal improvements, and President Van Buren's creation of the independent treasury system (removing federal money from private banks) had settled the Democrats' gravest complaints with the banking system.26 But politics still generated searing heat, thanks to slavery. For the previous decade, abolitionists had been organizing and agitating, particularly in pious New England. On the other side, Democrats in particular wanted to annex Texas, where slave-owning settlers from the United States had won their independence from Mexico in 1836. Candidate Polk craved an expansion of the republic, hungrily eyeing Oregon, California, and New Mexico. But it was his enthusiasm for Texas that sparked the fury of many Northern Whigs. The idea of absorbing a territory where slavery actually existed upset even conservatives who frowned on the rabble-rousing abolitionists. And Mexico refused to accept Texas's independence, raising the danger of war. "It would ill become this nation, so boastful of its love of freedom," declared Horace Greeley the Tribune's Tribune's editor, "to embark in a foreign war, a.s.sume a foreign debt, and involve itself in a web of responsibilities the end whereof no man can predict, for the clearly discerned purpose of extending and fortifying slavery" editor, "to embark in a foreign war, a.s.sume a foreign debt, and involve itself in a web of responsibilities the end whereof no man can predict, for the clearly discerned purpose of extending and fortifying slavery"27 And so the mammoth parade proceeded through New York's streets on October 30, 1844. It is too simple to say that pa.s.sions ran high; the cliche conjures up none of the anger that vibrated between the watching crowds and the columned marchers, none of the hate in the eyes of the union members, the Irish immigrants who had flooded into the city since 1830, the expansionistic Democrats who saw the Whigs as aristocrats who conspired to hold them down. First came the shouts and insults, then pushing, and finally punching. All along the route, skirmishes erupted, in a daylong moving battle.28 Of all the Irish Democrats who smashed Whig cheeks and broke Whig teeth, perhaps the most feared was Yankee Sullivan. Born in Ireland in 1813, he had been transported by British authorities to Botany Bay, Australia, for an unknown felony. In 1839 he had stowed away on a ship to the United States, where he rose to fame as a bare-knuckle prizefighter. He had opened a tavern, the Sawdust House, in the infamous Five Points slum and became an enforcer for the Democratic Party in the city. Sullivan was flamboyant, crafty, and merciless. In one fight, he was losing badly until he broke his foe's arm; Sullivan then punched the broken arm relentlessly until the opponent gave up. In another, he got caught in a headlock, gasped that he was done for, and went limp. When the enemy let him go and turned toward his corner, Sullivan leaped up and hammered his head behind the ear.29 "Vanderbilt... was an ardent supporter of Henry Clay," an old Staten Islander told the New York Times New York Times in 1877, "and organized and commanded a magnificent troop of hors.e.m.e.n composed of about 500 of the finest men in the Whig Party on the Island. When the grand... procession took place in New-York, Commodore Vanderbilt and his troop of hors.e.m.e.n occupied a very conspicuous position in it." Yankee Sullivan, the man recalled, was drinking in his bar with "a gang of roughs" as Vanderbilt rode by. "Rushing out, he [Sullivan] seized the reins of his horse and tried to compel him to alight. The horse reared, the Commodore cut 'Yankee' Sullivan across the back with his whip, and then, leaping to the ground, so badly beat him that his friends took him [Sullivan] away in a nearly senseless condition." in 1877, "and organized and commanded a magnificent troop of hors.e.m.e.n composed of about 500 of the finest men in the Whig Party on the Island. When the grand... procession took place in New-York, Commodore Vanderbilt and his troop of hors.e.m.e.n occupied a very conspicuous position in it." Yankee Sullivan, the man recalled, was drinking in his bar with "a gang of roughs" as Vanderbilt rode by. "Rushing out, he [Sullivan] seized the reins of his horse and tried to compel him to alight. The horse reared, the Commodore cut 'Yankee' Sullivan across the back with his whip, and then, leaping to the ground, so badly beat him that his friends took him [Sullivan] away in a nearly senseless condition."

The story is too good not to repeat: one of the richest men in the city now fifty years old, bludgeoning the greatest boxer of the day in a street brawl. Vanderbilt loomed over six feet tall, and he was a seasoned fighter; he suffered none of the hesitation, the muscle-tensing slowness, that an inexperienced man feels when an exchange of blows is imminent. Less than a year earlier, he had beaten a man down on Staten Island. And the details the old Staten Islander provided fit perfectly with the events of the day. Unfortunately, there is no evidence for the fight beyond this anecdote, which first appeared decades later. Yankee Sullivan was a celebrity and the newspapers covered him closely. A beating at the hands of a prominent capitalist surely would have found some mention in the press. There were none. It most likely never happened.30 But the symbolism of the story says more than the facts. Despite ten years of lavishing Jacksonian rhetoric on the public, Vanderbilt would be remembered as a Whig. Long the darling of the Democratic press, he would be depicted as thrashing a working-cla.s.s Irishman of Five Points-a Tammany Hall operative, no less. In memory, at least, the champion of sc.r.a.pping, compet.i.tive individualism ascended into Whiggery into the party of social prejudice and Wall Street insiders. It is not an accurate portrait (in no other case was Vanderbilt portrayed as seriously engaged with either party), but this anecdote can be seen as a reflection of his slowly changing social status.

In later years it would often be said that New York's social elite snubbed Vanderbilt. Not only is this biographical cliche misleading, it also oversimplifies the extreme instability of fashionable society at this time. In the eighteenth-century culture of deference, the differentiations of rank could not have been more clear: wealth, social status, and political power had been wrapped in a bundle as tight as the leases that bound tenant farmers to manorial lords. But the destruction of that culture wiped out the rules of hierarchy, replacing them with a mad scramble for standing. The compet.i.tive individualism of the economy found its reflection even in Sara toga Springs.

"In this country, where a democracy on the broadest scale is supposed to exist, we discover at our watering places an eternal struggle for ascendancy," the Herald Herald observed in 1845. observed in 1845.

Exquisites in broad-cloth and patent leather, and female miracles of elegance and taste-the posterity of some Irish washerwoman, turn up their noses at Mrs. Smith and Misses Smith, because their papa keeps a hardware store in Pearl street; and an effeminate and deteriorated specimen of humanity, descended from the loins of some poor porter, p.r.o.nounces the whole company "decidedly vulgar, and shockingly low."

The phenomenon of the newly rich caught the attention of many observers, as those who came into fortunes fought for social respect. Francis Grund derided them as "the mushroom aristocracy of New York" to underscore their lack of lineage, their reliance on mere wealth and pretension. "Do you observe that gentleman in tights, with large black whiskers?" he snidely asked. "He is one of the most fashionable and aristocratic gentlemen in the city. I believe he served his apprenticeship in a baker's shop, then went into an auction-room, then became a partner in the firm, and lastly took a house in Broadway, set up a carriage, and declared himself a gentleman."

The Herald Herald mocked these rivals in sn.o.bbery, who "calculated to a nicety the number of dollars which may enable them to 'astonish the Browns' at the Springs." Few of the striving new toffs were truly self-made, despite the rhetoric of these observers; the point, rather, is that they struggled to inve