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E walked down Broadway next morning, and turned into Wall Street some
fifteen minutes before the market opened. Suddenly we heard a shouting
and the scamper of many feet behind us. A handsome man with a young
woman brilliantly gowned was approaching, followed by a crowd of
newsboys. The man, who had a reddish-blond mustache and a white
carnation in his buttonhole, was laughing as he flung handfuls of coin
into the air, which fell upon the scurrying crowd. The face and carriage
of the man were familiar, and I wondered where I had seen him before. We
entered a hallway and watched them as they passed, but my eyes saw only
the familiar figure of the handsome man.
“It was Maud Manning,” said the gentleman, when they passed, “and the
man was Jim Fisk, 'the Prince of Erie.'”
“Jim Fisk!” I exclaimed.
“Jim Fisk,” said he. “Used to peddle drygoods up North. Now he's a
millionaire broker, and the greatest rake and dandy of his time.”
Then it all came back to me--that summer day when I saw him drive into
Waterville with four white horses and a big red van, and the wonderful
lady at his side, and how, later, I sold my stock of goods to him.
“I think that my danger is passed,” said McCarthy; “she has found bigger
game.”
That historic day of February 19, 1868, had begun, and yet none of all
those who crowded the Street and its offices before eleven o'clock knew
what was going on, save two, and we had just seen one of them. Not even
the Commodore, who sat calmly smoking in his office on Fourth Street,
had any suspicion of the frightful snare that lay before him until
midday. We found him there at two o'clock. He had invested some five
million dollars in Erie stock that day, and held more, even, than was
authorized by the charter of the road.
“Mr. Vanderbilt, it seems to me that this Erie stock comes very easy,”
said the gentleman.
The Commodore was wearing his railroad look.
“Yes; they're up to their old tricks,” said he, with an oath. “They're
running a printingpress. They've been enjoined from issuing more stock,
but they've no fear of God or the courts.”
“I do not think that they are printing new stock,” said McCarthy, “nor
do I think that the Erie Company is technically disobeying the court.”
“What, then?” the Commodore demanded.
“Well, when the injunction was served there was probably a large amount
of stock all duly signed and sealed in the stock-books. I have reason to
think that Fisk has stolen the books and put the stock on the market.”
The Commodore ripped out an oath.
“I'll put 'em behind the bars--the suckers!” he exclaimed, with some
vehemence.
“I suppose you'll stop buying,” said the gentleman.
“Buying! How can I stop buying?” said Mr. Vanderbilt. “I've got to take
all the stock they offer.”
He turned away from us, and, as we were leaving, added:
“If you have information, put it in writing and let me have it
to-morrow.”
“I will,” said my friend.
“It's the most deadly trap I ever heard of,” said the gentleman, as we
hurried away. “He's got to keep buying the stock as fast as they offer,
it. If he doesn't, it will go to nothing and ruin about every one in the
Street, including himself, for probably he's borrowed millions on the
stock as collateral. And the lower it goes the richer Fisk and his party
will become, for they have sold it short; and if the Commodore holds it
even they will grow still richer, for they have only to tear it out of
the book and hand it over. They have got him between two fires, so that
he has to provide them with the weapons for his own destruction. His own
fortune is being hurled against him.”
“Why do they wish to ruin him?”'
“Why, their only hope of escape is in his ruin. Don't you see that if
they bring him to his knees they have nothing to fear? Otherwise they
may go to prison.”
We walked in silence for a moment.
“I tell you, it's a critical time,” McCarthy went on. “The future of our
country is involved in this battle.”
“How's that?”
“It will decide whether the work of progress shall be committed to
brigands or remain in the hands of honest men. Our best hopes are in
danger.”
He stopped, and looked at me out of troubled eyes.
“God!” he exclaimed, “suppose they cripple him and get control of the
Vanderbilt roads! I shall sell everything I can and put the money at his
disposal. Good-bye. I've got to hurry. Meet you at the St. Nicholas at
seven.”
So saying, he halted a cab and hurried away in it.
McCarthy was only one of many honest men who rallied to the support
of the Commodore that day. It seemed as if God himself took command of
their hearts, and, indeed, I love to think so, foolish as I may be. The
forces of decency and good faith hurried to the field of battle. The
game old fighting-man stood bravely counting out his treasure until ten
million dollars had been surrendered. Then the artillery of the courts
began firing, and on March 12th the president of the Erie Railway and
all his directors, including James Fisk, Jr., Jay Gould, and Daniel
Drew, fled from New York by night, taking with them all the books,
papers, securities, and funds of the company. They took refuge in a
hotel in Jersey City.
A well-known newspaper printed this paragraph next day:
In the suite of the Prince of Erie, who fled from this city last night,
was his friend, the well-known actress, Miss Maud Isabel Manning.
“Well, at last I'm free,” said McCarthy, as we read the item. “How do
you suppose I learned about the theft of the stock-books of the Erie
Company?”
“I've no idea.”
“It was through that somebody who has been sending me anonymous letters.
For a day or two the books were in the rooms of Miss Manning.”
The gentleman left me to return to his work while I went to Philadelphia
on a special mission. A week later I finished my task and returned to
Albany, arriving there about eight o'clock in the evening. To my great
surprise, I found McCarthy at our house. My sister was in her best gown,
and never looked lovelier. She ran to meet me, and put her arms around
my neck and gave me a hearty greeting.
“You shall not move another step until you have congratulated me,” she
said.
“On what--your looks? They were never better or happier,” I answered.
“But I'm happier than I look,” she went on, “for I am to be the wife of
the noblest gentleman in the land.”
“It must be McCarthy,” I said, as I turned to him.
“It is and it isn't,” said he. “But I'm glad to confirm the report that
she's consented to marry me.”
“I congratulate you both,” was my answer, and we were all so happy then
that we just sat down and looked at one another and laughed until there
were tears in our eyes.
“Well, after all, mother,” I said, presently, “some good has come of
that wretched journey of mine.”
“All things work together for good if we will let them,” said she.
“Then,” said the gentleman, “there _is_ a divinity that shapes our ends,
rough hew them how we may.”
“Yes,” said my mother; “and that divinity is in our own hearts--there's
the wonderful thing about it.”