[Warning: The following column, published in 1882, contains an ethnic slur in common use at that time in the United States, reflecting the racist attitudes held by the majority of the populace.]
The world has heard all about the rows in the Vanderbilt family; but it is not generally known that there was at least one instance of devoted family affection in the Vanderbilt history, and at least one Vanderbilt who was a splendid man, outside of the old Commodore. It is commonly supposed that the old Commodore’s favorite son was his eldest, William H. This is a mistake. He never liked William personally–only “in the way of business.” The old man’s favorite son was his youngest, Captain Vanderbilt, who was the pet of the whole family.
This young Vanderbilt was really a tip-top fellow, in mind and body, handsome (like his father), smart (like his father), amiable and good (like his mother), and very athletic and powerful.
He delighted in all sorts of manly exercises, and in trials of strength distanced all competitors. He was considered the athlete of West Point and was pronounced “the finest man” that ever graduated.
On his twenty-second birthday the family gave a fete in his honor, and to show what he could do in the line of strength he took hold of and lifted nearly one thousand pounds–nine hundred and eight the exact number was. How proud the old Commodore was of his giant son that day, and his mother dubbed him “her good giant.”
But, alas! his giant strength couldn’t save him. Havin’ been educated at the expense of his country he entered into its service when the war began and fell in its service.
He was in the field all through the Corinth campaign, and for months lived in an atmosphere of malaria and a life of over-fatigue. The end was death.
His splendid constitution struggled long with disease, but succumbed at last, and the pet of the Vanderbilts died.
All his family loved him and mourned him, and even the cranky uncle, who lately killed himself, wept genuine tears over the dead body of the best of the Vanderbilts.
As for the old Commodore, he never wholly recovered from the blow inflicted by the loss of his pet son.
By the by, writin’ of the Vanderbilts, I heard a story about the early days of the Commodore which strikes me as bein’ both rich and characteristic.
Once at the foot of Rector street a ship was frozen in so that she couldn’t sail out. It was one of those memorable cold years I have alluded to particularly, and navigation was almost suspended.
Now there were several special reasons why this ship should get out of New York harbor as quick as she could, for she was freighted with human bein’s. It was the ship Elizabeth, laden with negroes, who were sent, under the auspices of the old Colonization Society, to Africa. But for a while the darkies were all stuck fast in the ice, and did nothin’ but eat and chatter and shiver, while the agent of the old Colonization Society tried in vain to get the Elizabeth started.
Day after day her crew and the crew of the frigate Siam, which was to accompany her, had been cuttin’ away at the ice, but no matter how much ice they got rid of by day more than that amount of ice would be formed again by night, so they didn’t get ahead any.
After a while it got to be one of the regular city sights to see the sailors cuttin’ away the ice at the foot of Rector street for no good, and one afternoon Cornelius Vanderbilt, then a steamboat captain, happened to be one of the crowd looking on.
Vanderbilt was with a friend, and who asked him what his opinion of the affair was. “Oh,” said Vanderbilt, carelessly, “those fellows (the sailors) are goin’ the wrong way to work.” And then he continued, confidentially, “Why, I could get the ship out of the ice inside of twenty-four hours.”
Now, the agent of the Colonization Society happened to be standin’ behind Vanderbilt and heard this remark. The agent agent knew Vanderbilt already by reputation as a practical man of his word, so, steppin’ up to him, he asked Vanderbilt if he meant what he said just then.
“I generally mean about what I say,” answered Vanderbilt.
“Well, will you undertake the job of gettin’ the Elizabeth out of the ice before or by this time to-morrow?” asked the agent.
“I will,” answered Vanderbilt, “for money.”
“How much?” asked the agent.
“Two hundred dollars,” answered Vanderbilt.
“Done,” said the agent.
“Done,” said Vanderbilt.
And before twenty-four hours had elapsed the job was “done.”
Vanderbilt set to work with some men at once, and the next mornin’ he told the agent to have a steamer ready by twelve o’clock to tow the Elizabeth out–for she would be all clear by that time–and she was.
That evening at six o’clock Vanderbilt was at Rector street with six men he could depend on, three sound pine boards and one anchor. By means of his boards he and his men got a chance to work along the thin ice around the ship, ice too thin itself to bear a man’s weight and which had been the great obstacle hitherto to the progress in the work. Then at last the anchor broke through the thin ice just at the edge, and then the anchor sunk and held. then he pulled a boat along to the edge of the thin ice by a rope attached to this anchor, and so worked a passageway through. It didn’t take so very long, and was an easy and cheap way of makin’ two hundred dollars, but it was worth it to the owners of the Elizabeth, and to Vanderbilt.
It is not generally known, but I am assured that it is a fact, that at one time the Commodore was experimentin’ with balloons a good deal, thinkin’ that just as railroads had taken the place with him of steamboats, so, perhaps, balloons would take the place of railroads, if there was anythin’ in ‘em.
But after careful investigation the old Commodore came to the wise conclusion that a balloon might be very swift and economical but was decidedly unmanageable. “There is no use in investin’ in a thing until you can steer it,” he remarked, and until a balloon could have a rudder and mind it, and could be depended upon to go whichever way it was wanted, old Vanderbilt wouldn’t have anything’ to do with it, at all.
As everybody knows, Vanderbilt was fond of horses, but few people know that he rode a race horse, and rode him well, too, when he was only eight years old. Few people know, too, that a horse played an important part once in his early fortunes. It was by pawnin’ a horse once that he got out of a serious scrape he was in. He had taken a contract to get the cargo out of a vessel stranded near Sandy Hook, and to transport it to New York in lighters. But the job cost him more than he had calculated on, and he found himself at last at South Amboy without a cent.
But goin’ at once up to the landlord of the chief inn at the place, young Corneel put one of his horses in pawn and thus got himself and the rest through, redeemin’ the horse within forty-eight hours.
It is a curious fact that at one time Vanderbilt saved every dollar he had in the world by simply sayin’ nothin’ and looking everythin’. He was in a fight with Stevens, of Hoboken, about some ferry matters, and Stevens was gettin’ the best of the fight, and altho’ he was losin’ money, Vanderbilt was losin’ more, while he had much less to lose. “One more month of this fight will bust me,” was what Vanderbilt felt just then, but it wasn’t what Vanderbilt said, by a large majority.
He said nothin’, but looked very bold and defiant, and rich, and every now and then made it a point to be seen with Gibbons, the steamboat man, in whose employ Vanderbilt had been for some years. He didn’t say much to Gibbons, and didn’t say a word to Gibbons about his row with Stevens, for it wouldn’t have been of any use–Gibbons wouldn’t have helped him any. But he just as good as helped him. People thought he was helpin’ him–backing him–and that was just as good as if he had backed him in reality.
“Damn it,” said old Stevens, one day, “we can drive that fellow Vanderbilt off the water easily enough, but what can we do against Gibbon’s long purse in Vanderbilt’s pocket?”
So Stevens threw up the sponge, and it wasn’t until the fight was over and Vanderbilt was ahead that Stevens found out that Gibbons had not backed Vanderbilt.
[Editor’s notes: The Colonization Society, prior to the Civil War, attempted to transport free blacks to settlements in Liberia. The motivations behind this effort were definitely mixed, and included some well-meaning abolitionists, but also white supremacists. Another column of Harry Hill’s Gotham mentioned it further.]
