The thin, wiry Tobin turned to stock speculation during the war, and became a flamboyant broker at the Open Board. "He was known to be somehow mysteriously connected with Vanderbilt," William Fowler recalled. "His style of operating, too, was so bold and so dashing and even reckless... that it quite captivated 'the boys,' and they were all agog when Tobin got on his pins and commenced bidding."81 Tobin's connection to Vanderbilt remains just as mysterious now as it was then, but a connection they clearly had; so when Tobin had taken a seat on the Hudson River board on June 8, 1863, Vanderbilt had gained either a puppet or an ally inside the rival corporation. Tobin's connection to Vanderbilt remains just as mysterious now as it was then, but a connection they clearly had; so when Tobin had taken a seat on the Hudson River board on June 8, 1863, Vanderbilt had gained either a puppet or an ally inside the rival corporation.82 One of the canonical stories of Vanderbilt's life, enshrined in myth by the banker-memoirist Henry Clews, is that he had masterminded a famous corner in Hudson River stock almost simultaneously with the Harlem corner of 1863.83 There is no evidence for this tale, and it makes little sense. The leader of the Hudson River corner was Leonard Jerome, whom Vanderbilt simultaneously battled in the New York Central election. In December, the Commodore prepared to double-track the Harlem to Albany; why would he plan to pour money into a line with heavy grades if he was buying control of a parallel route, one better equipped and cheaper to operate? There is no evidence for this tale, and it makes little sense. The leader of the Hudson River corner was Leonard Jerome, whom Vanderbilt simultaneously battled in the New York Central election. In December, the Commodore prepared to double-track the Harlem to Albany; why would he plan to pour money into a line with heavy grades if he was buying control of a parallel route, one better equipped and cheaper to operate?

The best explanation of his real actions, and calculations, would come from the Commodore himself on February 5, 1867, in testimony before a legislative committee. As quoted before, he would state that he had been frustrated and irritated by the railroads' conflicts. "I said this is wrong; these roads should not clash," he would say. "Then, step by step, I went into the Hudson River." Having weakened it with his outflanking moves, he slowly purchased its stock, quietly maneuvering for control.84 IN 1864, AS VANDERBILT stepped-by-step into the Hudson River, he continued to direct the Harlem's affairs-none of which were more pressing than the Broadway streetcar line. Despite the munic.i.p.al grant (and the Harlem's plan to buy the Broadway stagecoach companies), no progress had been made. In October 1863, a judge had ruled that the city had no power to issue its grant. The Harlem would have to go to Albany stepped-by-step into the Hudson River, he continued to direct the Harlem's affairs-none of which were more pressing than the Broadway streetcar line. Despite the munic.i.p.al grant (and the Harlem's plan to buy the Broadway stagecoach companies), no progress had been made. In October 1863, a judge had ruled that the city had no power to issue its grant. The Harlem would have to go to Albany85 In early March, the railroad asked the state legislature for a bill to validate its rights to a railway in Broadway. Horace Clark led the lobbying effort, taking with him his fellow director, Daniel Drew. The committee seemed agreeable, and Senator John B. Dutcher, the Harlem's champion, prepared a report in favor of the bill. Harlem stock rose to 145. Then a vote was called. To Dutcher's (and Clark's and Vanderbilt's) surprise, the committee issued a negative report. Harlem plunged to 107.

Legislators on either side of the issue muttered charges of corruption against their foes. On March 25, Dutcher raised the issue openly on the Senate floor. "He... denied that those who were here urging this bill had been speculating in the stock, but the speculating in stock was on the other foot," the New York Herald New York Herald reported. "Those who had been trying to kill this bill had been in Wall Street, to his knowledge, betting great odds that the report would be unfavorable, and had also been selling the stock short." reported. "Those who had been trying to kill this bill had been in Wall Street, to his knowledge, betting great odds that the report would be unfavorable, and had also been selling the stock short."

So they were. In fact, the inside trading on the committee report marked only the start of a ma.s.sive attack by "a legislative clique" (as the Herald Herald called the conspirators) on the stock value of the New York & Harlem Railroad Company. Following the example of the city councilmen the year before, they plotted to use their lawmaking power to make money by shorting Harlem. The corrupt legislators likely had an inside partner. Pervasive reports circulated in the press that Drew was selling Harlem short. called the conspirators) on the stock value of the New York & Harlem Railroad Company. Following the example of the city councilmen the year before, they plotted to use their lawmaking power to make money by shorting Harlem. The corrupt legislators likely had an inside partner. Pervasive reports circulated in the press that Drew was selling Harlem short.86 Drew's betrayal of Vanderbilt marked a chilling turn in their relationship. Despite Drew's later reputation for treachery, there is no evidence that he ever double-crossed the Commodore over their decades of partnership and friendship. Indeed, they were so close that Drew named his own son after William H. Vanderbilt.87 So why now? Perhaps most perplexing, why did the famously shrewd Drew believe that he could drive down the price of the very stock that Vanderbilt had recently cornered? So why now? Perhaps most perplexing, why did the famously shrewd Drew believe that he could drive down the price of the very stock that Vanderbilt had recently cornered?

One motive is obvious: if he succeeded, there would be a great deal of money in it. But more telling is the fact that, for the first time in more than thirty years, the two men's strategic interests were diverging. As long as Vanderbilt controlled the Harlem alone, he and Drew had a common enemy-a common rival for the New York Central's through freight-in the Hudson River Railroad. But Vanderbilt's creep toward control of the Hudson River presaged a conflict with Drew's steamboat line.

As to why Drew thought he could succeed, there are four likely answers. First, he probably believed, like most of Wall Street, that the Harlem had no hope for prosperity without the Broadway line, and he knew that the legislature held the last hope for such a franchise. Second, the amount of Harlem stock had just increased, which would tend to depress the price. Third, the legislature was considering another bill to allow the Harlem to convert $3 million of its bonds into still more shares; this would cut its debt in half, but further add to the circulating stock.

Finally, in a reflection of the growing complexity of the financial markets, Drew had cunningly refined his method of operations. In addition to selling shares that he did not own, he sold calls calls on shares that he did not own. A call was a contract that gave the buyer the right to call on the seller and buy a certain stock at a certain price within a limited period of time. If Drew sold seven-day calls for Harlem at 125, but the price fell below that figure for the duration of the call, then the holder of the call was certain to forgo his right to demand the stock. Who would insist on buying stock for more than the prevailing price? Drew, then, could make money without having to provide anything. More important, short-sellers used calls as margins to protect themselves from an upturn in the market. (Should the price rise unexpectedly, they could limit their losses by buying in at a preset call price.) Drew's huge distribution of calls, in addition to his own short sales, added momentum to the downward movement in Harlem. on shares that he did not own. A call was a contract that gave the buyer the right to call on the seller and buy a certain stock at a certain price within a limited period of time. If Drew sold seven-day calls for Harlem at 125, but the price fell below that figure for the duration of the call, then the holder of the call was certain to forgo his right to demand the stock. Who would insist on buying stock for more than the prevailing price? Drew, then, could make money without having to provide anything. More important, short-sellers used calls as margins to protect themselves from an upturn in the market. (Should the price rise unexpectedly, they could limit their losses by buying in at a preset call price.) Drew's huge distribution of calls, in addition to his own short sales, added momentum to the downward movement in Harlem.88 Vanderbilt responded to Drew's campaign in characteristic fashion: he began to buy. With Tobin as his partner and agent, he took every offer of Harlem stock. Every day, Fowler recalled, Tobin could be seen at the Open Board or on the curb, "bidding for and buying thousands of shares, his face pale with excitement and his opalescent eyes blazing like a basilisk's. He grabbed at the stock with fury, for he had suffered by the decline." The market felt the weight of the Commodore's liquid millions pressing down on short-sellers, who were burdened also by the thousands risked by Clark, the Sch.e.l.ls, and Tobin himself. By March 29, Harlem had stabilized at 126. In a few days it climbed over 141, and it kept rising.89 The Commodore may have felt even richer than usual in the first week of April, when he was approached by members of the United States Sanitary Commission, a private charity devoted to the medical care of soldiers that had grown into an enormously important auxiliary to the Union army. The organization was about to hold a fund-raising fair in Union Square, and its leaders wanted a donation from the Commodore. Vanderbilt declined to make a pledge. Ever attuned to the marketplace, he said he would donate as much as any other man. The delegation later returned with a check for $100,000 from Alexander T. Stewart. "He found himself cornered," the press reported. "However, he was as good as his word. He covered Stewart's check with a check of his own for a like amount."

On April 4, the fair commenced with a military parade before perhaps half a million onlookers. Leonard W. Jerome contributed in his own way hosting plays at his private theater. "Tickets are in great demand at five dollars, the whole transaction being highly distinguished, aristocratic, and exclusive," Strong recorded. "House was full and everybody in the fullest tog, men in white chokers and women in ball costume."90 On Wall Street, all went well. A great upward tide lifted all shares. In the general financial frenzy of that year, brokers decided to open an evening exchange in a room at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, to keep on trading after dark. But Harlem led all others. Drew and his followers in the stock exchanges fought to drive down the price-the legislators prepared to obliterate the Broadway bill-all to no avail. "The Harlem corner goes up vigorously," the financial correspondent for the New York Times New York Times wrote on April 15. Already Vanderbilt made money from frightened bears. "Heavy differences are said to have been paid to the leading wrote on April 15. Already Vanderbilt made money from frightened bears. "Heavy differences are said to have been paid to the leading Bull Bull in the stock to close contracts," the in the stock to close contracts," the Times Times added. added.91 The next day, disaster struck, at the hands of Treasury Secretary Chase.

Over the preceding months, congressmen and cabinet secretaries had grown increasingly angry at the gold market, seeing it as a den of treason. Speculators whistled "Dixie" as they sold greenbacks short before major battles, gambling that the Union would be defeated and legal-tender paper currency would lose value against gold. Chase pushed a bill in Congress that, with a spectacular lack of realism, would ban the trade in gold. Then he took direct action. On April 16, in an attempt to drive down the gold premium and undercut speculation, he went into the market and sold a large amount of federal specie; he took the greenbacks thus received and withdrew them from circulation. This moralistic act was a sharply deflationary blow, one that hit Wall Street hard. "The stock market was struck with a panic to-day," the New York Herald New York Herald reported. Even as Chase "locked up" millions in currency, another $15 million was absorbed by a new loan by the banks to the federal government. The sudden drain on cash reserves caused prices to collapse across the board in what the reported. Even as Chase "locked up" millions in currency, another $15 million was absorbed by a new loan by the banks to the federal government. The sudden drain on cash reserves caused prices to collapse across the board in what the Evening Post Evening Post called "one of the severest panics recorded since 1857 on the annals of the Stock Exchange." Drew's hour, it seems, had come round at last; he had sold calls at 140, and now Harlem slouched to 133. The slide drove Vanderbilt to the brink, forcing him to put up more and more cash as margins for his millions of dollars' worth of purchases. called "one of the severest panics recorded since 1857 on the annals of the Stock Exchange." Drew's hour, it seems, had come round at last; he had sold calls at 140, and now Harlem slouched to 133. The slide drove Vanderbilt to the brink, forcing him to put up more and more cash as margins for his millions of dollars' worth of purchases.92 But Harlem rose again. Indeed, it rose relentlessly. On April 21, it reached 210. Five days later, it climbed to 235. Despite the immense strain on his resources-and the increasingly severe consequences should he fail-Vanderbilt kept up the pressure, buying still more. Short-sellers desperately waited out the terms of their contracts, hoping to buy in at a lower price before they ran out of time. They could not. Vanderbilt leaped every precipice (including a vicious attack on his management published in the Herald) Herald) in a splendid display of nerve, the most important virtue in a stock market battle. He carelessly attended the opening of the races at the Fashion Course while Tobin and his other brokers gambled his millions against the combined power of Daniel Drew, the New York State Legislature, and the desperate bears of Wall Street. On May 11, Harlem rose to 256. On May 14, it ascended to 275. Finally, it peaked at 285. One after another, the short-sellers crawled to the Commodore's myrmidons to buy their way out of their unfulfillable contracts. The legislators' attempted abuse of power cost them dearly in a splendid display of nerve, the most important virtue in a stock market battle. He carelessly attended the opening of the races at the Fashion Course while Tobin and his other brokers gambled his millions against the combined power of Daniel Drew, the New York State Legislature, and the desperate bears of Wall Street. On May 11, Harlem rose to 256. On May 14, it ascended to 275. Finally, it peaked at 285. One after another, the short-sellers crawled to the Commodore's myrmidons to buy their way out of their unfulfillable contracts. The legislators' attempted abuse of power cost them dearly93 Drew, according to the press, refused to settle. He faced staggering losses on the tens of thousands of calls and whatever short sales he had made, so he announced that he would "squat"-litigate his contracts, rather than pay. The news shocked Wall Street. Should losers in transactions resort to the courts, the markets would break down in short order. If Drew carried out his threat, he likely would be shunned; few brokers, not even his longtime partner David Groesbeck, would do business with a man who did not fulfill his agreements. Once barred from the exchange, Drew never would recover his losses in the future. So Vanderbilt remained cool in the face of this intransigence, and icy cold to the mercurial Drew's pleas for mercy. In the course of further negotiations, Drew finally agreed to pay his old partner perhaps $1 million, roughly half of what the Commodore is believed to have gained in this second corner.94 The tens of millions thrown about in this abstract battle on Wall Street captivated-and repulsed-the public. For one thing, the incident demonstrated that Civil War-era corruption was far more complicated than the historical cliche of the rich buying off lawmakers; in this case, as in the previous Harlem corner, the officeholders abused their power to profit from the deliberate destruction of the value of a major corporation. Time would show that extortion by legislators and their hangers-on was as serious a problem as bribery by the wealthy. Such graft only reinforced Vanderbilt's long-standing laissez-faire beliefs.

Paradoxically, by punishing corrupt state legislators so thoroughly Vanderbilt made it appear that the balance of power in society was shifting away from democratic government and toward wealthy individuals and corporations. "Think of the one-man power that could accomplish this wonderful feat and prevail against a whole Legislature," Henry Clews admiringly wrote in his memoirs. "Think of this, and then you will have some conception of the astute mind that the Commodore possessed, without education to a.s.sist it, in the contest against this remarkable combination of well-trained mental forces. There can hardly be a doubt that the Commodore was a genius, probably without equal in the financial world."95 The second Harlem corner marked the culmination of his move from steamships to railroads, for it forced him to concentrate his resources in this t.i.tanic battle. With victory in hand, he consolidated his power in the Harlem by driving Drew out of the board at the election on May 17 and giving his seat to Senator Dutcher. Out of 105,873 shares represented, the Commodore voted 29,607, though he likely hid the rest of his stock under the names of Horace Clark, Augustus Sch.e.l.l, James Banker, John Tobin (who voted 31,900 shares alone), and others. The next day, Vanderbilt hired his son William as the Harlem's vice president to manage the road's operations.96 One month later, Vanderbilt made a second move to solidify his holdings, by displacing the Hudson River Railroad board in a disputed election. Out went Samuel Sloan, Moses H. Grinnell, Addison G. Jerome, and other giants. In came Vanderbilt's captains: Clark, Sch.e.l.l, Banker, and allies Oliver Charlick and Joseph Harker. John Tobin survived from the old board, of course, as did Leonard W. Jerome, who (according to rumor) had cooperated with Vanderbilt in the second Harlem corner. The new board elected Tobin president and created a standing executive committee-a common device, but typical of Vanderbilt's desire to centralize power-consisting of Clark, Sch.e.l.l, Banker, Jerome, and Charlick, in addition to Tobin. On July 6, the committee voted to end the compet.i.tion between the Hudson River and Harlem trains.97 Also in July, the Commodore sold his last sidewheelers to Atlantic Mail, which now supplanted the old Atlantic & Pacific Steamship Company. The step severed his business ties to his son-in-law Daniel Allen, who was a leading figure in Atlantic Mail alongside Cornelius Garrison. Curiously, Allen provided the only Vanderbilt to win glory in the war: his son Vanderbilt Allen, a West Point cadet appointed first lieutenant on June 13, 1864. The young officer soon found a place on General Philip H. Sheridan's staff.98 The second Harlem corner typified Vanderbilt's battles on Wall Street in the 1860s. It was a defensive campaign rather than a merely speculative maneuver, designed to avenge himself upon men who had betrayed him. But it proved to be far more than a personal affair. By the summer of 1864, the Commodore had definitively left the floating world behind to concentrate on railroads. In short order he had gained control of the only two steam railways that entered Manhattan and linked it to the world, and had ended their costly rivalry. This first year set the pattern for his long railroad career: diplomacy, defensive battle, acquisition, reform, consolidation. In pursuit of "a small thing," the bedraggled Harlem, he had begun to build an empire.

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL HIT A BRICK WALL as. .h.i.t that man on the head," Yankee Sullivan declared in 1853. He spoke through the dripping blood of a badly battered face, and he spoke about John Morrissey his burly foe in a fight for a $1,000 stake, after the brick-wall fellow had beaten him into submission in fifty-seven minutes. The triumphant Morrissey-a fellow Irishman by birth-was somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age at the time, yet already he had acquired a fearsome reputation. As a teenager he had led an Irish gang on the streets of Troy against nativist thugs, before setting up in the slums of New York as a prizefighter, Democratic Party enforcer, and saloon owner. Notably lucky with his games of chance, he expanded beyond Five Points. His gambling house on Fifth Avenue was considered one of the city's finest. as. .h.i.t that man on the head," Yankee Sullivan declared in 1853. He spoke through the dripping blood of a badly battered face, and he spoke about John Morrissey his burly foe in a fight for a $1,000 stake, after the brick-wall fellow had beaten him into submission in fifty-seven minutes. The triumphant Morrissey-a fellow Irishman by birth-was somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age at the time, yet already he had acquired a fearsome reputation. As a teenager he had led an Irish gang on the streets of Troy against nativist thugs, before setting up in the slums of New York as a prizefighter, Democratic Party enforcer, and saloon owner. Notably lucky with his games of chance, he expanded beyond Five Points. His gambling house on Fifth Avenue was considered one of the city's finest.99 Sullivan returned to San Francisco after his defeat, on a path toward ultimate suicide; the victor, on the other hand, went to Saratoga. Morrissey, the broken-nose prince of Paradise Square, aspired to fashion, and so he flowed with fashion's current to the Springs every summer. There his presence was unmistakeable, "in his white flannel suit, huge diamond rings, and pin containing brilliants of the first water," as Matthew Hale Smith described him. He was a man "of immense size; tall of stature, a powerful-looking fellow, walking quietly about the streets, or lounging at the hotels, but seldom speaking." During the Civil War he opened the Club House, a brick saloon on Saratoga's Matilda Street; as on Fifth Avenue, his place attained a reputation as the most elegant casino in town. But he remained a creature of the street, no matter how high he rose above it. In 1864, for instance, a crowd of con men from Manhattan-three-card-monte artists-stepped off the train at Saratoga. Morrissey sauntered up to them in his white flannel suit and quietly told them to leave town. They did.100 Morrissey himself had a taste for gambling, though he would never be seen at a roulette wheel; he understood that apparatus too well to risk his money there. Rather, he played the stock market. Rumor had it that he had joined with his Irish Democratic cohorts on the Common Council to short Harlem in 1863, forgetting the old rule that the house always wins. But he recovered his wits soon after. As the Chicago Tribune Chicago Tribune had observed, "no skull in the world" could absorb as much "pounding" as his and come back fighting. Poorer but wiser, he determined to join the house. For example, when the Commodore built a racetrack less than a mile outside of Saratoga, along with a group of Wall Street men (including his son-in-law George Osgood and William R. Travers) and a school of New York Central remoras (Erastus Corning Jr. and John M. Davidson, a partner of Erastus Corning Sr.), Morrissey agreed to serve as the track's manager. had observed, "no skull in the world" could absorb as much "pounding" as his and come back fighting. Poorer but wiser, he determined to join the house. For example, when the Commodore built a racetrack less than a mile outside of Saratoga, along with a group of Wall Street men (including his son-in-law George Osgood and William R. Travers) and a school of New York Central remoras (Erastus Corning Jr. and John M. Davidson, a partner of Erastus Corning Sr.), Morrissey agreed to serve as the track's manager.

He steadily gained Vanderbilt's friendship in the course of the Commodore's summer residence in Saratoga, during his days at the track and evenings playing hands of whist in the rooms at the Congress Hall or the United States Hotel. And when Vanderbilt returned to the Springs in August 1864 on a train carrying his fastest horse, Post Boy (valued at $22,000), and four other expensive trotters, the knowing ones whispered that at least one of them was a gift from Morrissey. Vanderbilt's reward to the fighter, they said, had been a "point" or tip on the second Harlem corner.101 For Vanderbilt's son Corneil, all the world comprised the house, yet he still bet against it. His gambling addiction continued to grow worse. He filched a gold cup from Horace Clark's house in Murray Hill before descending Broadway to bet and lose the money it brought him. Penniless again, he went into a p.a.w.nshop with a pair of gold sleeve b.u.t.tons. They came from his dead brother George's dress uniform, and had been given to Corneil as a keepsake. When William learned they had been hocked, he redeemed them himself-and he never trusted Corneil with them again.102 Corneil responded by gambling on a far larger scale, on the gaming table of the war itself. As early as February 1864, he charmed his way into the confidence of Horace Greeley editor of the New York Tribune New York Tribune, with that gift for manipulation that so confounded his closemouthed father. He borrowed money from Greeley, which he did not repay. He issued drafts that descended upon the famous editor unexpectedly103 Then Corneil brashly declared that he had a scheme to set things right. A frequent traveler to New Orleans before the war, he returned in 1864 to trade cotton across Confederate lines. There he befriended and beguiled General Nathaniel P. Banks, whom Corneil p.r.o.nounced "a glorious fellow." Then Corneil brashly declared that he had a scheme to set things right. A frequent traveler to New Orleans before the war, he returned in 1864 to trade cotton across Confederate lines. There he befriended and beguiled General Nathaniel P. Banks, whom Corneil p.r.o.nounced "a glorious fellow."

"Matters with me are progressing very favorably," Corneil wrote to Greeley from New Orleans on September 7, "and through the friendship of Gen. Banks & [Edward R. S.] Canby & the especial favoritism shown myself & friend in connection with a certain cotton transaction I shall soon realize a very handsome profit. I do hope & feel that I shall shortly relieve myself of the heavy incubus hanging over me by reason of my former misdeeds." It is a cla.s.sic trait of the addict, of course, to admit his crimes and declare his intention to set them right just before a fresh round of lying and cheating. Corneil continued: I have been obliged to make use of some ready capital, & knowing of no earthly means to obtain it here I have drawn upon you for $1,700. I do beg that you will honor it, as a refusal to do so would of course involve me in dishonor & ruin. I shall leave here by the steamer of the 18th and shall bring home with me several thousands of greenbacks. I will call on you at once.... I beg Mr. Greeley that you will not desert me, just as my success is coming around.

Greeley never saw how transparently dishonest this was; he had been manipulated completely. But Corneil knew that not everyone would prove so gullible. He warned Greeley, "On no account give any information to Father or family in relation to the past & present."104 Greeley did his best to help. Corneil needed a permit to buy and sell cotton in occupied territory, so Greeley asked for one directly from Lincoln. "His father, the Commodore, is the largest individual holder of our Public Securities (to the extent of $4,000,000), has given outright more than any other man to invigorate the prosecution of the War, and his good will is still an element of our National strength," he wrote. "I know little of the business in question; but I feel confident that any favor shown to Mr. V. will redound to the advantage of the Union cause." For this reason, "as well as that of my personal regard for him," he begged that Corneil's application be approved.105 Lincoln, however, did not act on the request, so Greeley began to badger William P. Fessenden, the new secretary of the treasury. Lincoln, however, did not act on the request, so Greeley began to badger William P. Fessenden, the new secretary of the treasury.

On October 8, the New York Herald New York Herald reported a rumor that the Commodore stood behind the persistent lobbying on behalf of his son, which led him to write an angry letter that the paper published two days later. "I am at a loss to conceive how a report of this nature should have obtained currency," Vanderbilt declared. "I have remained perfectly pa.s.sive [in terms of recommending appointments], feeling that the present condition of the country requires of its citizens other and more patriotic endeavors than those of self-interest and personal aggrandizement." Greeley sent the clipping to the Treasury Department as yet another reason to make Corneil a cotton-trading agent! reported a rumor that the Commodore stood behind the persistent lobbying on behalf of his son, which led him to write an angry letter that the paper published two days later. "I am at a loss to conceive how a report of this nature should have obtained currency," Vanderbilt declared. "I have remained perfectly pa.s.sive [in terms of recommending appointments], feeling that the present condition of the country requires of its citizens other and more patriotic endeavors than those of self-interest and personal aggrandizement." Greeley sent the clipping to the Treasury Department as yet another reason to make Corneil a cotton-trading agent!106 Stymied, Greeley wrote to Lincoln on November 23 to recommend that Fessenden be replaced as treasury secretary by the Commodore. He listed five reasons why Vanderbilt deserved the position, beginning with "i. He is the ablest and most successful financier now living, and has the largest private fortune in America." He stressed Vanderbilt's knowledge, his reputation at home and abroad, and concluded, "He is utterly and notoriously unconnected with any clique, faction, or feud among the Unionists of our State or of any other." It was all true, but Greeley admitted that he was not intimate with the Commodore, "whom I scarcely know by sight."107 The Commodore would have been appalled at Greeley's lobbying on his behalf. He never begged for public office; and when he wanted a corporate position, he simply took it. On September 6, he forced the resignation of two members of the Hudson River board (one of them William R. Travers, his partner in the Saratoga racetrack). He took one of the directorships for himself, and gave the other to Dean Richmond, the new president of the New York Central. At a board meeting in October, Vanderbilt ordered that the Hudson River's tracks be opened to the Harlem's trains between a junction at Castleton (now Castleton-on-Hudson) and Albany108 So went the tale of dynastic struggles and railway statecraft. With his younger son conniving for petty favors, the Commodore brought the older into his new princ.i.p.ality. He eliminated one rival, the Hudson River, by taking it over through quiet purchases and persuasion; with regard to the powerful New York Central, he clearly hoped that diplomacy would suffice. With a little decency on both sides, a few negotiations conducted with honor and propriety, he might manage that fraught relationship successfully for perhaps the first time in the history of those companies. All he sought, it appears, was to give Tobin and his son William a chance to reform their respective charges.109 But Vanderbilt would closely watch his old friend Drew; after his unprecedented betrayal in the second Harlem corner, there was no telling what he might do next. But Vanderbilt would closely watch his old friend Drew; after his unprecedented betrayal in the second Harlem corner, there was no telling what he might do next.

Unfortunately for Vanderbilt, betrayal, not friendship, would govern the future. What he had begun with diplomacy, he would bring to an end in a stunning act of revenge.

*1 A "trunk line" would later be defined as an integrated line, under one management, from the seaboard to Chicago or St. Louis. This book will use the contemporary meaning of the term, as explained here. A "trunk line" would later be defined as an integrated line, under one management, from the seaboard to Chicago or St. Louis. This book will use the contemporary meaning of the term, as explained here.*2 Leonard Jerome was to become the grandfather of Winston Churchill. Leonard Jerome was to become the grandfather of Winston Churchill.

Chapter Fifteen.

THE POWER TO PUNISH.

On September 5, 1864, abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison wrote a letter to his wife. He had just arrived in Albany by train, which caused him to reflect on how the locomotive had changed the country since their wedding thirty years earlier. "Then there was no railroad conveyance; now the whole country is covered in rails," he wrote. "And through what enormous expenditure of money, and what incredible efforts of the human brain and hand!" Like many, he saw that railroads already were bringing a revolution-one that, as it spread beyond the Northeast, would foster national cohesion after the Civil War. As a devout Christian, he welcomed the prospect. "So may the modes of communication and the ties of life continue to multiply, until all nations shall feel a common sympathy and worship of a common shrine!"1 In late 1864, Cornelius Vanderbilt entered the third and most critical phase of his conquest of a railroad empire. It would drag out over the course of three frustrating years, because he doggedly tried to avoid a climactic war with New York's most important railway: the New York Central. As master of the lines that penetrated Manhattan, he depended entirely on the Central; it was the trunk line that connected his tracks to western markets. Year after year he would practice patient diplomacy with the Central's presidents in an effort to settle their persistent conflicts. In the end he would fail. His response would be a shocking demonstration of the nation's vulnerabilty to the railroads'-to his his-power.

But what was that power? The importance of the railroad in the nineteenth century is a historical cliche; a cliche can be true, of course, but will have lost its force, its original meaning. Garrison's letter, on the other hand, speaks to the railroad's dramatic impact at the time of the Civil War. It was, one contemporary writer argued, "the most tremendous and far-reaching engine of social revolution which has ever either blessed or cursed the earth." It magnified the steamboat's impact, instilling a mobility in society that unraveled traditions, uprooted communities, and undercut old elites. It integrated markets, creating a truly national economy. It was so central to the development of the United States that this writer could reasonably claim (by including steamboats), "Our own country is the child of steam."2 In retrospect, this revolution had barely begun in 1864, yet already the railroad was central to American life. Everything went by rail, whether unmilled wheat or imported watches, an Irish immigrant or the president of the United States. Steamboats remained compet.i.tive for moving cheap, bulky goods (grain especially) or on particular pa.s.senger routes (notably the Hudson River), but even here trains gained rapidly on their aquatic compet.i.tors. The first all-rail shipments of grain from Chicago to Buffalo began in 1864; within a decade, they would surpa.s.s the volume carried by lake, river, and ca.n.a.l. The rise of cities that served as rail hubs was astounding. Kansas City was virtually nonexistent before the Civil War; afterward it rapidly sprouted as a cattle shipment center on the edge of the Great Plains, growing into a major city. The railroads had raised up Chicago even earlier, building on its status as a major lake port. Cook County, home to this midwestern metropolis, grew from 43,385 people in 1850 to 394,966 in 1870. Railways to the eastern seaboard allowed Pittsburgh to flourish as an iron and steel center; railways to the oil fields of Pennsylvania permitted Cleveland to emerge as a refining center; railways to the East brought farmers from Ohio to Nebraska into the global market. It is telling that the word "rail" was often dropped from "railroad;" the companies were, indeed, America's roads.3 The railroad sector surpa.s.sed all other industries combined, and individual railway corporations overshadowed any other kind of firm. Most manufacturing was still conducted in family-owned workshops and small mills; very few factories represented as much as $1 million of investment. (Historian Alfred D. Chandler Jr. counted only forty-one textile mills in the 1850s capitalized at $250,000 or more.) Even the largest commercial banks rarely boasted a capitalization of more than $1 million. By contrast, at least ten railroads had a capitalization of $10 million or more even before the war began. The stock of the New York Central alone stood on the books at about $25 million at par in 1865; even excluding its $14.6 million in outstanding bonds, this figure was equal to approximately one-quarter of all investment in manufacturing in the United States. Railroads connected American industries to sources of raw materials and to their markets-and were their most important customers, consuming vast quant.i.ties of products that ranged from coal, lumber, and iron to countless manufactured goods. Railroads were not simply the first big business, as Chandler famously called them; in Civil War America, they were the only big business.4 Size-geographical as well as financial-brought challenges faced by no other type of enterprise. The Hudson River Railroad, for example, was far smaller than any of the four trunk lines, yet it stretched 144 miles in length, with sixty-seven locomotives, twenty-nine baggage cars, 130 pa.s.senger cars, and 671 freight cars, not to mention twelve engine shops and numerous depots and stations; in 1864, it carried more than 2 million pa.s.sengers and 600,000 tons of freight. The technical demands of managing such businesses were unprecedented. The best-trained minds in the United States grappled with the problem, developing new systems of organization, control, and accounting.5 The Commodore was surprisingly well prepared to serve as a chief executive in this emerging new world. He previously had served as president of the Stonington, of course, and had sat on the boards of a number of railroads since the 1840s. Perhaps more important was his experience in running far-flung steamship lines, involving multiple ports, transit operations in Central America, and a base on the far side of the continent. Not surprisingly, from his earliest days in railroads he demonstrated a comprehensive grasp of how to delegate authority "Are you a practical railroad manager?" a state a.s.semblyman would ask him in early 1867. "No sir, I don't manage anything," he would reply. "We have our superintendents, etc., who attend to those matters. All those matters of detail are done by our officers."6 What Vanderbilt did was set general policies, as well as the overall tone of management. Any corporation has an internal culture shaped by the demands, directives, and expections that rain down from above. The Commodore created an atmosphere of efficiency, frugality and diligence, as well as swift retribution for dishonesty or sloth. As Lambert Wardell observed, "He thought every man could stand watching." Even though he disclaimed any interest in practical management, he tellingly remarked, "Now and then I get hold of a point that I have to look to. Smooth matters they never say anything to me about." Every employee knew he was watching.7 As the winter of 186465 set in, the end of the Civil War came into view-still a b.l.o.o.d.y distance away, but visible at last. Grant besieged Lee at Petersburg, and Sheridan had burned out the Shenandoah Valley. Railroads, which had grown little during the conflict, looked forward to peace with plans to lay new track, refurbish infrastructure, and generally reinvest their wartime profits. Lines short and long would soon burst out across the trans-Mississippi West, as seen in the famous example of the transcontinental Union Pacific. The Hudson River Railroad released its pent-up energies into the completion of a double track to the Albany bridge, an enormous span that it was building in conjunction with the New York Central and Western railroads.8 The railroads' ma.s.sive demand for capital for new construction, even for ordinary maintenance and operations, drove another, subtler revolution. The financial world had long been ruled by generalized merchant capitalists such as Vanderbilt himself, but the railroads' appet.i.te for money far outstripped the capacity of individuals to meet it. Financial inst.i.tutions-investment banks-now aggregated and channeled the capital of American and foreign investors. The wartime nationalization of the U.S. financial structure, with the introduction of greenbacks and the national bank system, contributed to this development. The frenzy on Wall Street, so notable in Vanderbilt's Harlem corners, centered almost entirely in railroads, which provided by far the largest number of securities actively traded on the exchanges. This, too, played a role in the inst.i.tutionalization of the economy. The identification of corporations with individuals, already waning when the war began, virtually disappeared in the 1860s, heightening the abstraction of the economic world. On the Pennsylvania Railroad, this process had gone one step further. This trunk line was managed by a professional staff rather than leading stockholders, with an engineer as president (J. Edgar Thomson) and a powerful vice president (Thomas A. Scott) who had risen through the ranks.9 Vanderbilt understood these financial changes; in part, that is why he relied so heavily on a vice president of the Bank of New York, James Banker. But he also represented a glaring exception to these trends. The Harlem was increasingly seen as his personal property, as the Hudson River would be before many months pa.s.sed. He wielded financial might that surpa.s.sed that of the largest banks. The Hudson River estimated the cost of completing its second track to Albany at $900,000; Vanderbilt personally provided at least two-thirds of it, purchasing $600,000 in bonds at 105. This was Vanderbilt summarized in one transaction: maker and exemplar of his times, yet always standing apart, unique in his wealth and power.10 "The influence of one earnest, energetic life upon the world is scarcely appreciated," Merchant's Magazine Merchant's Magazine declared in January 1865, in a frontpage profile of the Commodore. His name was "inseparably connected with our commercial history.... Perhaps there are two or three men wealthier than he in New York city-but no more; and all of his vast wealth is the product of his own labor." The theme that ran through the article was the intersection of the broad current of history and the individuality of this man. The journal observed, just as Courtlandt Palmer had back in 1841, that the Commodore valued his reputation for honor, and rewarded "frankness and honesty of speech." His courtesy toward men worthy of respect was matched by mercilessness toward those who were not. "Deceit and underhand dealing," the magazine added, "he has ever quickly detected and thoroughly hated." declared in January 1865, in a frontpage profile of the Commodore. His name was "inseparably connected with our commercial history.... Perhaps there are two or three men wealthier than he in New York city-but no more; and all of his vast wealth is the product of his own labor." The theme that ran through the article was the intersection of the broad current of history and the individuality of this man. The journal observed, just as Courtlandt Palmer had back in 1841, that the Commodore valued his reputation for honor, and rewarded "frankness and honesty of speech." His courtesy toward men worthy of respect was matched by mercilessness toward those who were not. "Deceit and underhand dealing," the magazine added, "he has ever quickly detected and thoroughly hated."11 ON DECEMBER 8, 1864, VANDERBILT AND HIS WIFE attended the wedding of their granddaughter, Sophia Cross, to Rev. J. B. Morse, at the home of the bride's parents, Phebe and James M. Cross. attended the wedding of their granddaughter, Sophia Cross, to Rev. J. B. Morse, at the home of the bride's parents, Phebe and James M. Cross.12 As the saying goes, their granddaughter had her entire life in front of her, yet she would never witness changes as sweeping as those the Commodore had both experienced and helped to bring about. The biggest had been the advent of change itself-change as a nearly constant state in American society. As the saying goes, their granddaughter had her entire life in front of her, yet she would never witness changes as sweeping as those the Commodore had both experienced and helped to bring about. The biggest had been the advent of change itself-change as a nearly constant state in American society.

"When I was a boy," George Templeton Strong reflected in early 1865, "the aristocracy lived around the Battery, on Bowling Green." So it had been since New York was named New Amsterdam, two centuries earlier. Young Cornelius and Sophia Vanderbilt had lived on Broad and Stone streets, in buildings and circ.u.mstances that might have been recognizable to Pieter Stuyvesant himself. Then, in the 1820s, the transformation of New York began, as immigrants swarmed in from Germany, Ireland, and the American countryside. The elite relocated, and kept on relocating every decade or so. In 1864, Strong declined to serve as president of Columbia College, since it would require him to move from Murray Hill (the current center of fashion) "to a frontier settlement... on Forty-ninth Street." He little realized how quickly the city's center of gravity would shift to that very area.13 Each generation flatters itself with the thought that it is the vanguard of the new, sweeping away the stodgy ways of the past. Henry Clews imagined that he and his peers had introduced real cunning to the stock exchange in 1857-unaware that they could never surpa.s.s Nelson Robinson's skill at sharp dealing. The brokers who arrived on Wall Street during the Civil War told themselves that the aged Vanderbilt snorted at trains as "these steam contrivances that you tell us will run on dry land," until he finally bought the Harlem.14 Much of it was nonsense, of course; but once upon a time the old had indeed been new for Vanderbilt and such contemporaries as Erastus Corning and Dean Richmond. These elder statesmen had grown up with the country, with the securities markets and corporations and mechanized transportation and rapid growth that were beginning to define the United States. Small wonder the venerable Commodore remained so quick to grasp possibilities, to accommodate change. Yet the world that they had created trapped them in an intractable conflict that defied even their most well-meaning attempts at compromise. Much of it was nonsense, of course; but once upon a time the old had indeed been new for Vanderbilt and such contemporaries as Erastus Corning and Dean Richmond. These elder statesmen had grown up with the country, with the securities markets and corporations and mechanized transportation and rapid growth that were beginning to define the United States. Small wonder the venerable Commodore remained so quick to grasp possibilities, to accommodate change. Yet the world that they had created trapped them in an intractable conflict that defied even their most well-meaning attempts at compromise.

In April 1864, an exhausted Corning had resigned the presidency of the New York Central, pa.s.sing the office on to his vice president, Dean Richmond.15 A burly man, more than six feet in height, the sixty-year-old Richmond exuded power. He combed a layer of dark hair across his large, round pate, and peered at his (smaller) fellow directors through heavy-lidded eyes set between arching eyebrows and above a fat, mushroom nose and the permanently pursed lower lip so common to jowly faces. He had the look of a man who never moved quickly, for anyone. He, too, had risen from a poor childhood, having moved from Vermont to Syracuse to Buffalo, from clerk to salt manufacturer to commission merchant, before entering the business of railroads. A man of volatile temper, he had little education, with handwriting so abominable that even Corning regularly ordered a clerk to transcribe his letters. He had worked closely with Corning in Democratic Party politics as well as business. The two were recognized as heirs to Martin Van Buren's Albany Regency-though Richmond, unlike Corning, refused to stand for elected office, exerting influence instead as chairman of the Democratic State Central Committee. A burly man, more than six feet in height, the sixty-year-old Richmond exuded power. He combed a layer of dark hair across his large, round pate, and peered at his (smaller) fellow directors through heavy-lidded eyes set between arching eyebrows and above a fat, mushroom nose and the permanently pursed lower lip so common to jowly faces. He had the look of a man who never moved quickly, for anyone. He, too, had risen from a poor childhood, having moved from Vermont to Syracuse to Buffalo, from clerk to salt manufacturer to commission merchant, before entering the business of railroads. A man of volatile temper, he had little education, with handwriting so abominable that even Corning regularly ordered a clerk to transcribe his letters. He had worked closely with Corning in Democratic Party politics as well as business. The two were recognized as heirs to Martin Van Buren's Albany Regency-though Richmond, unlike Corning, refused to stand for elected office, exerting influence instead as chairman of the Democratic State Central Committee.16 Politics remained uppermost on Richmond's agenda-not electoral but railroad politics. The lucrative business provided by the federal government had muted compet.i.tion among the trunk lines, but peace threatened to break out. On December 15 and 16, the Union army under General George H. Thomas annihilated the rebel Army of Tennessee at Nashville. At the end of the same month, Sherman completed his March to the Sea. "I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift," he wired to Lincoln, "the city of Savannah." And on January 15, 1865, a division led by General Adelbert Ames stormed into Fort Fisher, North Carolina; its capture effectively closed Wilmington, the last rebel seaport. Richmond worried that victory in the South would mean war in the North between the trunk lines.17 As Richmond embarked on his presidency in these troubling times, he spent many of his dinner hours with James Banker, the special representative of Commodore Vanderbilt. Though the Harlem and the Hudson River were minor powers on the railroad landscape, they occupied a strategic position. They provided the Central with a direct rail link to New York, and Richmond had no choice but to pay heed to Vanderbilt (who was, in any case, a major Central stockholder, with some four thousand shares). Still, Richmond saw no reason to cease the practice of shifting the Central's pa.s.sengers and freight to the People's Line steamboats from spring through fall, when the Hudson was clear of ice and navigable all the way to Albany18 That infuriated John M. Tobin, the Hudson River Railroad president. "It was unjust to insist that the Hudson R.R.R. should form part of its [the Central's] trunk line during three months of the year and be excluded from the advantages of that traffic during nine months of the year," Horace Clark later explained. "There never has been a man connected with the Hudson River Railroad Company who has not protested against and felt the wrong that such a state of things brought about."19 This was the issue that brought Vanderbilt's and Richmond's railroads into conflict-the result of the fragmentation of the railroad network, which forced long-distance traffic to pa.s.s through the hands of successive companies, each with its own needs and agendas. This was the issue that brought Vanderbilt's and Richmond's railroads into conflict-the result of the fragmentation of the railroad network, which forced long-distance traffic to pa.s.s through the hands of successive companies, each with its own needs and agendas.

The problem came down to a central feature of railroad economics: the difference between through traffic from "compet.i.tive points" and purely local traffic from stations where a railway had a monopoly. For freight shipped to New York, the Central could charge higher local rates in Syracuse or Rochester, where it faced no compet.i.tion, than it could in Buffalo or Chicago, where rival trunk lines fought for the business (especially exports, which theoretically could be shipped from Philadelphia or Baltimore as easily as New York). The Central set the rates for this through freight, and prorated its revenue with the Hudson River on a mileage basis. Daniel Drew's People's Line, on the other hand, operated more cheaply than the Hudson River Railroad, so it accepted less than a pro-rata percentage. Why wouldn't the Central give its business to the steamboats? As Clark admitted, "Before the [Albany] bridge was built, and bulk had to be broken, it might as well be broken and the freight go by river, as the other way." For the Hudson River, however, this state of affairs brought "all the disadvantages of consolidation without any of its advantages."20 Tobin wanted compensation-to receive the higher local rates on through freight during the winter.21 For Richmond, this was a frightening prospect. It would cripple the Central's ability to compete with the other trunk lines during the season of ice and snow. He anxiously asked Clark to arrange a meeting with Vanderbilt. For Richmond, this was a frightening prospect. It would cripple the Central's ability to compete with the other trunk lines during the season of ice and snow. He anxiously asked Clark to arrange a meeting with Vanderbilt.

"Commodore Vanderbilt had a great admiration for Dean Richmond," attorney Chauncey Depew later remarked. "The Commodore disliked boasters and braggarts intensely. Those who wished to gain his favor made the mistake, as a rule, of boasting about what they had done, and were generally met with the remark: 'That amounts to nothing.'" As Depew's juxtaposition of these observations implies, the Central's president was much like Vanderbilt himself: authentic, honest, and direct. Vanderbilt agreed to intervene on his behalf. "After a severe struggle, Mr. Tobin's policy was overruled," Clark recalled, "and an agreement was made for that winter through Mr. Richmond and through Mr. Vanderbilt. That winter... the N.Y Central R.R. Co. should fix rates such as they might see fit to fix, in accordance with their policy in compet.i.tion with the other great trunk lines, and the Hudson R.R.R. Co. should carry them out."22 Vanderbilt had other interests that impelled him to cooperate with Richmond-particularly the Athens railroad. He had helped Drew create it as a weapon against the Hudson River Railroad; now he needed Richmond's help to prevent it from being turned against himself. Nevertheless, he demanded a price for overriding Tobin: once the ice cleared from the river, the Central would make a permanent arrangement to either give the Hudson River a larger share of freight or pay it compensation.23 Time and again, Vanderbilt showed himself to be patient and diplomatic in his dealings with Corning and Richmond, as he sacrificed short-term profits in return for long-term stability. But the structural conflict between these lines would only get worse.

ON THE AFTERNOON OF February 6, 1865, a Wednesday, Vanderbilt climbed into his wagon outside his office on Bowling Green. He whipped his team of horses up Broadway until he reached Fulton Street, a block below City Hall Park. There he bowled over a woman named Caroline Walter; her fright and the ensuing confusion can only be imagined. An Officer Dodge arrested the Commodore and took him to the glowering, neo-Egyptian Tombs, the police court and city jail. Mrs. Walter did not appear to make a complaint, so the judge released Vanderbilt. The victim had not been seriously injured, and perhaps she thought it best to let the powerful man go about his business. February 6, 1865, a Wednesday, Vanderbilt climbed into his wagon outside his office on Bowling Green. He whipped his team of horses up Broadway until he reached Fulton Street, a block below City Hall Park. There he bowled over a woman named Caroline Walter; her fright and the ensuing confusion can only be imagined. An Officer Dodge arrested the Commodore and took him to the glowering, neo-Egyptian Tombs, the police court and city jail. Mrs. Walter did not appear to make a complaint, so the judge released Vanderbilt. The victim had not been seriously injured, and perhaps she thought it best to let the powerful man go about his business.24 One week prior to his brief imprisonment, the House of Representatives had voted to abolish slavery, by sending the Thirteenth Amendment to the states for ratification. It was both a revolutionary act and a practical recognition that the war had destroyed slavery as a functioning inst.i.tution. In both senses, it demonstrated how thoroughly America's most costly conflict remade the nation.

But the war itself approached an end. In fighting that began on March 24, the Confederate position at Petersburg crumbled. On April 2, Grant launched a decisive attack that sent Lee's army fleeing to the west. The next day, Lincoln (who had been visiting the Army of the Potomac) entered the fallen Confederate capital.25 When the news reached Wall Street, the rector of Trinity Church began to ring the bell, over and over, joining a symphony of church bells that chimed all over New York. Crowds crowded the pavement. "All the cheers I ever listened to were tame in comparison," Strong wrote. The ma.s.sed men-for they were all men on Wall Street-sang "John Brown's Body" and "The Star-Spangled Banner," and waved their hats in ecstasy now that the long nightmare had ended, and ended in victory. "I walked about on the outskirts of the crowd," Strong added, "shaking hands with everybody, congratulating and being congratulated by scores of men I hardly know even by sight. Men embraced and hugged each other, kissed kissed each other, retreated into doorways to dry their eyes and came out again to flourish their hats and hurrah. There will be many sore throats in New York tomorrow." each other, retreated into doorways to dry their eyes and came out again to flourish their hats and hurrah. There will be many sore throats in New York tomorrow."26 The war was not over yet. On April 7, Grant's troops caught Lee's army at Appomattox Courthouse, where a truce was called. Sheridan rode to meet Confederate general John B. Gordon, and complained that a South Carolina unit was firing on General Wesley Merritt's men. He asked Gordon to dispatch orders to cease fire. "He answered, 'I have no staff-officer to send,'" Sheridan wrote in his memoirs.

Whereupon I said that I would let him have one of mine, and calling for Lieutenant Vanderbilt Allen, I directed him to carry General Gordon's orders to General Geary, commanding a small brigade of South Carolina cavalry, to discontinue firing. Allen dashed off with the message and soon delivered it, but was made a prisoner, Geary saying, "I do not care for white flags; South Carolinians never surrender." By this time Merritt's patience being exhausted, he ordered an attack, and this in short order put an end to General Geary's "last ditch" absurdity, and extricated Allen from his predicament.

The Commodore's grandson was one of the last prisoners of the Civil War, and, ironically, carried one of the last Confederate orders. On April 9, Lee surrendered.27 "We have the astounding intelligence of the a.s.sa.s.sination of President Lincoln & the attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate Mr. Seward," New York Central director John V. L. Pruyn wrote in his diary on April 15. "The whole community has been stirred to its deepest depths by these events. Their results cannot be predicted.... Every face bears evidence of emotion. It is a terrible, a fearful tragedy." At the moment of victory, the great emanc.i.p.ator had been shot dead by John Wilkes Booth-on Good Friday, no less. Three days later, Pruyn observed in Albany, "All buildings in the city almost without exception, are hanging emblems of mourning for the death of President Lincoln. Accounts from every part of the country show this to be the case everywhere. The grief seems to be universal & profound."28 Lincoln's death was one of an estimated 620,000 in the Civil War: 360,000 from the North and 260,000 from the South, not including civilian casualties. Statistics cannot do justice to the extent of this loss, but they are devastating enough. In perhaps the most commonly cited comparison, this figure, in absolute numbers, surpa.s.ses the combined combined toll in American lives from all of the nation's other wars, up to and including the Korean War. toll in American lives from all of the nation's other wars, up to and including the Korean War.29 The death count represented almost 2 percent of the nation's entire population as measured in the 1860 census. Nearly every family suffered. The death count represented almost 2 percent of the nation's entire population as measured in the 1860 census. Nearly every family suffered.

Long after the Commodore had pa.s.sed, this generation of the dead would continue to haunt the survivors. Statues would be erected, monuments built, and parades conducted through the end of the century. But for many veterans who lived through the fighting, the encomiums for their fallen comrades sounded bitterly empty. Unquestionably, the war accomplished profound good: it resolved a long-building conflict, freed 4 million slaves, and destroyed the peculiar inst.i.tution of slavery forever. Yet the personal experience of the Civil War was often as dehumanizing, as poisoned by pettiness, random brutality, and stupidity, as in any other war.30 Out of the war emerged a corps of public intellectuals-Ambrose Bierce, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Charles Francis Adams Jr., to name a few-with a dark sensibility shaped by such horrors. After Appomattox, these men would view the world with a grim realism that often overflowed into cynicism, stark and sometimes overblown. The outlook of this generation of writers and thinkers would influence historians, many of whom would picture the postwar years as a time of unrelenting self-aggrandizement, when vulgar, amoral tyc.o.o.ns and carpetbaggers corrupted a political process barely worthy of the name democracy.

There was another, more instinctive response to the war's death and destruction. It was a resurgence of a superst.i.tion that owed its modern origin to a pair of toe-cracking girls from Rochester, New York. With so many spirits to contact, Spiritualism became more popular than ever, attended by a general faith in the unseen. As Strong observed in 1865, "The tough, shrewd, unbelieving Yankee generally develops a taste for marvels-for infinitesimal homeopathy, magnetism, spiritualism." It was a cultural current that moved even the toughest, shrewdest, most unbelieving Yankee of all, Cornelius Vanderbilt. Mrs. Mary Augusta Smett would later claim that she visited the Commodore in his office, apparently during the second Harlem corner, to ask him to spare a friend who faced ruin. As she was about to leave, Vanderbilt asked her, "Did you ever see my son George?" He pointed out a picture and said, "That poor fellow is dead. Would to G.o.d he had lived." As Mrs. Smett recalled the moment, "His eyes filled with tears." For a man who had grown accustomed to controlling the world around him, the possibility of mastering even death itself must have been appealing.31 A few yea