CHAPTER XXXVI

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“YOUNG CORNEEL.”

THE ECCENTRICITIES OF CORNELIUS JEREMIAH VANDERBILT, AND HIS MARVELLOUS POWER FOR BORROWING MONEY.—HE EXERCISES WONDERFUL INFLUENCE OVER GREELEY AND COLFAX.—A DINNER AT THE CLUB WITH YOUNG “CORNEEL” AND THE “FAMOUS SMILER.”—“CORNEEL TRIES TO MAKE HIMSELF SOLID WITH JAY COOKE.—THE COMMODORE REFUSES TO PAY GREELEY.-“WHO THE DEVIL ASKED YOU?” RETORTED GREELEY.-“CORNEEL’S” MARRIAGE TO A CHARMING AND DEVOTED WOMAN.—HOW SHE SOFTENED THE OBDURATE HEART OF HER FATHER-IN-LAW.

Cornelius J. Vanderbilt, the brother of Wm. H., popularly known by the name of “Young Corneel,” is entitled to a place in this book, as he was prominent among the many financial friends I have had, in his own peculiar line.

“Corneel” was eccentric, and was possessed of some astonishing peculiarities that made him a genius in his way. He led a charmed and adventurous life in his own circles.

He had a wonderful facility for getting into scrapes, and “banked” on the Commodore to extricate him therefrom, which the latter did on many occasions. The mere fact, however, that he had such a father, was in itself sufficient, very often, to get him out of his troubles, without any effort on the part of the Commodore in that direction. “Corneel,” however, worked this “racket” for all it was worth, and in time it became almost exhausted. Still, he went on making new acquaintances without limit, and to many of them the name of the Commodore was a sufficient guarantee of security for sundry loans, that were promised to be paid on the fulfilment of certain expectations which only existed in the borrower’s imagination.

But it was not very safe for “Corneel” to rely upon his father, or to bank upon his credit in any case. If he had depended solely on the paternal security, he would often have found, when in his worst straits, that he had leaned upon a willow cane for support. “Corneel” had a peculiar fascination in his ability to catch the ear of prominent men, who would listen attentively to his tale of woe, and some of them were so thoroughly under the spell of his persuasive powers that they would “fork” out the required amount without hesitation, to relieve his pressing necessities.

It is sad to relate that the money thus sometimes piteously solicited, and really required to pay a board bill or room rent, was often thrown away in the first gambling den that the borrower happened to be passing, while the landlady and the washerwoman would be obliged to extend their bills of credit indefinitely.

Amongst the special friends upon whom he was in the habit of exercising his alluring magnetism were the Hon. Schuyler Colfax and Horace Greeley. Over both of these eminent gentlemen he seemed to have perfect control. So hopelessly were they under the charm of his occult power that they seldom said “no” to any request that he made, especially when he wanted to borrow money. No sorcerer ever had his helpless victims more completely at his mercy, nor had greater power by the touch of his mysterious wand, than “Corneel” had over these and certain other men, when he would entertain them with a list of imaginary wrongs which he had suffered at the hands of his father and brother. In their ears this story never seemed to become stale, though it was the same old story every time, with hardly any attempt at variation. To them and others, over whom he exercised this unaccountable influence, the thing did not seem to become monotonous like other twice-told tales, related by ordinary people.

To the man of average intellect and common business capacity “Corneel” was a shocking “bore” and a victim of morbid melancholia, but these men of genius were won by the impression which he had made upon them, and thoroughly imbued with the deepest sympathy for the wrongs which his strange hallucinations conjured up. Unlike most men who borrow money from friends and don’t pay, instead of exhausting his credit by this business delinquency, he made it the basis for increasing it, and it generally seemed to be a potent means of enabling him to borrow more. Hence his obligations to Mr. Greeley were persistently cumulative until they exceeded $50,000.

I have been told by a person familiarly acquainted with him that years after Greeley’s death he would sometimes sit in deep meditation, with the tears welling up in his eyes, especially when in a great financial strait, and sighingly say: “When Mr. Greeley died I lost the best friend in the world.” Be it said to his credit, however, in spite of all his shortcomings, he exhibited his honesty by paying every cent of the debt, with interest, to Mr. Greeley’s daughters. He also paid the greater part of all the other debts which he had contracted under similar circumstances, after making a settlement with Wm. H. and receiving a much larger amount than he had been left by the will of his father, who bequeathed him merely a decent competence for his rank and station in life, without any surplus for the policy shops and faro banks.

One of the qualities possessed by “Corneel” in a remarkable degree, and which enabled him to be so successful a borrower, was his extreme earnestness. He bent his whole energies to the work in hand, and his requests usually met with ready response. If he had put the same energy and intense enthusiasm into legitimate speculation, he would have been as successful as his father or Jay Gould. He must have been an intuitive judge of character, for he showed that he generally knew his man in advance of making application for sundry little loans. In that respect he was not unlike the famous huntsman who was a dead shot every time.

My first acquaintance with “Corneel” was through one of his special friends, the Hon. Schuyler Colfax, whom he brought to my office for the purpose of having himself introduced by Mr. Colfax. He informed me that he had just then returned from Hartford, Conn., where he had taken his friend, Mr. Colfax, for a week’s visit at his house. It can be readily imagined, therefore, that at this time Mr. Colfax had but little control over his own bank account and for a long time afterwards.

I invited both these gentlemen to dinner at the Club that afternoon. Although Mr. Colfax was an extraordinarily good talker, he was left far in the distance and almost silenced by “Corneel.” Most of what the latter said, however, had very little in it of a tangible character, and was almost entirely made up of unstinted praise of his friend Colfax. If ever there was a man talked up to the skies, or if the thing were possible, Colfax must have been literally in that elevated position during our dinner.

There was no let-up to the unqualified adulation, yet I must say that there was none of the uninterrupted stream of fulsome flattery fell to the ground. Schuyler took it all in as he did his viands, and as if it were legitimately his due, a proof positive that “Young Corneel” was not mistaken in his man; and a further demonstration of his natural sagacity in striking the man upon whom he could successfully exercise his peculiar charms of persuasion.

When he got tired talking about Mr. Colfax, the object of his next theme was Mr. Greeley, on whom he was profusely prolific.

I met Mr. Greeley frequently afterwards, and told him what a good friend he had in young Cornelius Vanderbilt. “Yes,” he said, with a knowing smile, “I think he is a good friend of mine. I have heard of his frequently saying nice things about me. It is a great pity, however,” he added significantly, “that he is so frequently short of funds. If he had more money he would be a very good fellow.”

It was generally in the way above referred that he would steal a march on Mr. Greeley and impose on his good nature. He would say nice things about him to some one who would quote him to Mr. Greeley, and thus pave the way for an additional loan. In a few days afterward “Corneel” would call on his tried and trusty friend, and never fail to obtain the needed relief, or a large portion of it.

“Corneel” had great tact in utilizing his various advantages for borrowing, and was imbued with a thorough devotion to his object, worthy of a better cause. The day following his first visit to my office, he called again and told me that his friend Colfax had left by the early train for Washington and had urged him to go along, but as he had some matters to attend to he had postponed his departure until the night train.

He said to me, “By-the-bye, you know Jay Cooke very well.”

I said, “Yes.”

Then he replied, “I have some matters to look after in connection with the Treasury Department, and I think he could be of some service to me. Will you be good enough to oblige me with a letter of introduction to him? I may not need it,” he added with a business air of _sang froid_, “but I should like to have it in case of need.”

I wrote him a brief and non-committal introduction, somewhat as follows:

“This will introduce to you Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, Jr., son of the Commodore. I take the liberty of making you acquainted with him through this medium, at his own request.

“Truly yours, HENRY CLEWS.”

There was certainly nothing on the face of this document, except the Commodore’s name, to justify any person in utilizing it as a bill of credit.

Yet the financial genius of “Young Corneel” was equal to the task of an indirect negotiation of this character, and after the lapse of a few days his drafts from Jay Cooke began to pour into my office like April showers. None of them was very large, but when put together they aggregated a pretty fair amount, and were so cumulative in their character that, had I not wired Mr. Cooke to stop the supplies, it is difficult to say what figure the sum total would have reached.

The last time I saw “Young Corneel” was at Long Branch, where he took a drive with me one fine warm afternoon. He spoke feelingly about his wasted life, and concerning the many good friends who had come so often to his rescue, and had got him out of his numerous holes, into which, through misfortune, he had been thrown. He said all there was of life for him was to live long enough to pay up old scores. He had fully determined to do this, and then, he thought, a prolongation of existence would have no further charms for him. It must be said to his credit that he accomplished this work, and then laying himself sadly down, died by his own hand.

Let us, therefore, throw the mantle of charity over that tragic scene in the Glenham Hotel, and hope that his soul may elsewhere have found the rest which in its poor, afflicted body it vainly sought for here.

That portion of the Commodore’s will in which he makes provision for Cornelius J. is thoroughly characteristic of the old man, in its iron-clad provisions. It says: “I direct that $200,000 be set apart, the interest thereof to be applied to the maintenance and support of my son, Cornelius J. Vanderbilt, during his natural life. And I authorize said trustees, in their discretion, instead of themselves making the application of said interest money to his support, to pay over from time to time, to my said son, for his support, such portions as they may deem advisable, or the whole of the interest of said bonds. But no part of the interest is to be paid to any assignee of my said son, or to any creditor who may seek by legal proceedings to obtain the same; and in case my said son should make any transfer or assignment of is beneficial interest in said bonds or the interest thereof, or encumber the same, or attempt so to do, the said interest of said bonds shall thereupon cease to be applicable to his use, and shall thenceforth, during the residue of his natural life, belong to my residuary legatee. Upon the decease of my said son, Cornelius J., I give and bequeath the last mentioned $200,000 of bonds to my residuary legatee.”

Though a portion of this provision is rather whimsical, yet it was ably designed to force “Corneel” to desist from his besetting sin, the gaming table.

If the trustees were permitted to pay him the whole of the interest at whatever period they should choose, it seems harsh that the beneficiary should forfeit it entirely, if he should seek to relieve present and pressing necessities, by borrowing on his future income. It showed that the Commodore, even at the hour of his death, thought that “Corneel” was not fit to be treated otherwise than as a child, and that it was necessary he should be kept under the guardianship of his brother.

This circumstance hurt “Corneel’s” feelings greatly, as he imagined himself a bigger man, mentally, than Wm. H. This opinion, however, no other man could conscientiously endorse, except it might have been Greeley or Colfax.

“Corneel,” though always exclaiming against the old man’s hard-heartedness, had an intense admiration for his father’s abilities, and he was as sensitive as a sunflower when any other person would say a word to disparage the Commodore. While railing constantly at the parsimony of his father, he was as devoted a hero-worshipper of the Commodore as Thomas Carlyle ever was of the greatest of his heroes, and he never grew tired talking of his achievements, with the history of which he was thoroughly familiar. He had even a more intense hatred against Gould than his father had, and solemnly believed that Gould and Fisk had, during the manipulation of the Erie “corner,” conspired to assassinate the Commodore.

Of course this was one of his many hallucinations, and there was not the least ground for it, but he had got it indelibly on the brain, and he would not tolerate contradiction in that notion any more than in any other opinion which he had got fixed in his morbid mind. He once went into an epileptic fit in the presence of a friend of mine who attempted to reason with him on the improbability of such a man as Gould contemplating murder.

He never forgave his father for having him arrested and incarcerated in Bloomingdale Lunatic Asylum. He had run off to California the time of the gold fever, and shipped as a sailor. He was then in his eighteenth year. When he returned, which was pretty soon, as he had no ability to enter into the terrible mental and physical struggle for wealth on the gold coast, his father had him arrested. It was soon discovered that he was no lunatic, however eccentric he might be, and he was released, but he took the matter dreadfully to heart, and it had a melancholy and demoralizing effect upon all his future life. He was petulant, and still complaining, and often acted like a crazy man in that the more any of his intimate friends tried to please him he seemed the more dissatisfied; yet it was impossible to get along with him without humoring him, and it was almost next to impossible to humor him. In this way he could work on the minds of the strongest of his friends, so as almost to put them into a fit as bad as one of his own.

Dr. Swazy’s patience was often put to a very severe test in his attempt to please this eccentric invalid.

“Corneel” was a miser everywhere except at the gaming table, and would cling to a cent with greater tenacity than ordinary people display in holding on to a ten-dollar bill. But among the gamblers either a ten-dollar bill or a hundred-dollar bill was less valuable in his eyes than a cent in the common transactions of every day life. “Faro” and “keno” had terrific power over him. He has often been known to have had an epileptic fit at the gaming-table, get a doze afterwards which seemed like the sleep of death, so cadaverous did he look on those occasions, and then awake up and go on with the play, whose fascination he appeared utterly powerless to resist.

When it came to the ears of the Commodore that Greeley was lending his son hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars at a time, he visited the office of the _Tribune_. He rushed without ceremony into the sanctum, where Greeley was busy at his high desk, grinding out a tirade against some political or social abuse, and thus addressed the Sage of Chappaqua: “Greeley, I hear yer lendin’ ‘Corneel’ money.” “Yes,” said Greeley, eyeing the monarch of steamboat men through his glasses, with an air of philosophic contempt mixed with commiseration; “I have let him have some.” “I give you fair warning,” replied the Commodore, “that you need not look to me; I won’t pay you.” “Who the devil asked you?” retorted Greeley. “Have I?”

This closed the interview. The Commodore retraced his steps down the rickety stairs into Spruce street, and Greeley continued to grind out his illegible chirography for the profane printers. There is no record, I believe, that the subject was ever reverted to between them. Soon after the death of Greeley the Commodore sent a check for $10,000 each to his two daughters.

The Commodore was well satisfied with the marriage of young “Corneel” to Miss Williams, of Hartford, Connecticut, and he had hoped that his son would begin then to lead a new life, but he was doomed to disappointment.

There is a good story told about an interview between the Commodore and Mr. Williams prior to the marriage.

Mr. Williams called upon the Commodore at his office in Fourth street, near Broadway, and informed him that his son, Cornelius Jeremiah, had asked his daughter in marriage, and she was willing if the Commodore had no objection to the union.

“Has your daughter plenty of silk dresses?” asked the Commodore, sententiously.

“Well,” replied Mr. Williams, showing some sensitiveness at what he at first considered assumption of superiority and purse-pride on the part of the Commodore, “my daughter, as I told you, is not wealthy. She has a few dresses like other young ladies in her station, but her wardrobe is not very extensive nor costly.”

“Has your daughter plenty of jewelry?” continued the Commodore, without appearing to take much notice of Mr. Williams’ explanation.

“No, sir,” replied Mr. Williams, becoming slightly nettled, and showing a laudable pride in opposition to what he considered a slur on account of his moderate means, “I have attempted to explain to you that I am in comparatively humble circumstances, and my daughter cannot afford jewelry.”

“The reason I ask you,” pursued the Commodore, “is, that if she did possess these articles of value, my son would take them and either pawn or sell them, and throw away the proceeds at the gaming table. So I forewarn you and your daughter that I can’t take any responsibility in this matter.”

The nuptials were duly consummated, however, in spite of the Commodore’s constructive remonstrance.

After the marriage “Corneel” asked his father for some money to build a house. “No, Corneel,” he said emphatically, “you have got to show that you can be trusted before I trust you.”

His wife made application to her father-in-law with better success, however. He gave her a check for $10,000. In a few months afterward she paid another visit to the Commodore, who received her cordially, but expected she had come for another loan, and he was attempting to work up his courage to the point of refusal; for, strong and almost invincibly obdurate as he was in the general affairs of life, in the presence of the fair sex, like Samson when he got his hair cut, he was weak and like another man.

“Well,” said the Commodore, addressing his daughter-in-law with a kindly smile, “what can I do for you now?”

“Well, papa,” she replied in her exceedingly candid and agreeable manner, “we did not need all the money, so I brought you back $1,500.”

The Commodore could hardly believe his ears and eyes, and thought for a moment that he must be under some mysterious delusion, superinduced by the spiritual seances which he then was in the habit of attending. But when the cash was put in his hand he found it was a material reality. This sealed a warm friendship between him and his worthy and economical daughter-in-law, which was only severed by her premature death about ten years before that of her unfortunate husband.

The sympathy that some people manifested for “Young Corneel” was, like his own maladies, of the most morbid or delusive character. He had $200 a week from his father all the time that he was whining to the public about his pinching poverty and denouncing the old man’s niggardliness. This would have been ample, with fair economy, not only for all the necessaries of life, but, under judicious management, would have afforded the recipient many of its luxuries.

With his irresistible propensity for gambling, he would not have been any better off physically, but worse, with the entire income from his father’s 75 or 100 millions. The only difference that should have arisen was that he would have been instrumental in carrying out in part the socialistic and communistic idea of a wider distribution of private property, amassed by thrift, privation and industry, among the drones, lazy “loafers” and criminals of society.

The Commodore’s judgment, therefore, in limiting his prodigal son to $200 a week, was not only comprehensive, but beneficent in its results both to his son and to society at large.

[Illustration:

_C. Vanderbilt._ ]

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