# Commodore Vanderbilt

All the incidents of this story are true. A young man, though not bearing the name of McCarthy, first suggested to Mr. Vanderbilt the idea of combining the railroads which form the New York Central system. . . .—The Editors.
Commodore Vanderbilt
And the Hand-Made Gentleman
By IRVING BACHELLER
AUTHOR OF "EBEN HOLDEN," "D'RI AND I," ETC.
The following story is printed from the manuscript of Mr. Irving Bachelor's new novel which is soon to be published. All the incidents of this story are true. A young man, though not bearing the name of McCarthy, first suggested to Mr. Vanderbilt the idea of combining the railroads which form the New York Central system. Mr. Bacheller obtained the details of the Vanderbilt episodes from the accurate recollections of men who had the story at first hand. Even the little picture of Andrew Carnegie in war time is authentic—The Editors.
THE Hand-Made Gentleman had built his factory in the thriving town of Rushwater on the Central railroad. It long summer day to get there, for the engine was fed with wood and we had now and then to load the tender with fuel, corded on the right of way, or drive cattle from the track, or water the locomotive or mend a coupling. We had also to wait at the junctions for other trains in equally bad luck. This, you must remember, was back in '65.
Early in the evening I found my friend McCarthy, otherwise known as the Hand-Made Gentleman, at the leading hotel in Rushwater where he boarded.
I left the inn with him for a walk, and soon we stopped in front of a building—large for that day and country—on the river shore.
"There it is," he remarked as we gazed for half a moment at the dim outlines of his building. "I am the most extensive shipper of small freight on the railroad."
We entered the building and he led me to his office and lighted a lamp. It was a large room elegantly furnished. The chairs and table were made of mahogany and a soft carpet covered the floor. A large portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte hung on the wall. Those days the face and story of "The Little Corporal" were a power in the land and not the most wholesome I have thought sometimes.
"This is grand," was my remark.
"I am making money," said the Hand-Made Gentleman, "and I propose to look as prosperous as I am. Sal is now the smallest part of my business. I spend twenty thousand a year advertising. My harp has four strings and one tune. Here it is:"
The Hand-Made Gentleman began to read from a newspaper as follows:
   SPEAKING OF SAL
   "Sal is willing: Sal can make the home shine; Sal is a worker—never cross and tired; the best and cheapest hired girl in the country. Cleans silver, glass, metal and woodwork. Give Sal a chance.
   SAL'S SISTERS
   "There are three of them: Sally, the Brick, who cleans knives, forks, pots and kettles; Sal's youngest sister, a wonderful laundry soap; also Salome, a clover-scented soap for the toilet. You will find them to all groceries.
"I began little—put it in a paper of five thousand circulation. I found that every dollar that I invested brought me four dollars and thirty-four and a half cents. The second ad brought me four dollars and thirty-seven cents; the third four dollars and forty-one and so it grew. I tried all the leading papers and got the rate of profit and learned the exact value of repetition for each. The return increased as my goods traveled and people began to talk about them. You see I make something that the people want and my first problem was to let them know it. That was easy. My next problem was to manufacture within a certain limit of cost and my next to deliver the goods, and that is the greatest problem of all. The railroads are slow and unreliable. They have no more system than a carrier pigeon. Your freight is transferred until the boxes are worn out; it is side-tracked and lost and forgotten. You see there are eleven railroads between here and Buffalo. They have been consolidated but not harmonized. They are like eleven horses in the hands of a poor teamster. They don't pull together. They waste their strength. I complained to the general manager.
"He says to me: 'We're doing our best and if you want a better service you'll have to show us how to give it.’"
"I gave him a few ideas and he liked 'em and what do you suppose happened?"
Mr. McCarthy paused, but I could only shake my head and await his revelation.
"Well, one day the manager called and said the chairman of the executive committee would like to see me," Mr. McCarthy went on. "I pulled up my check rein a little and went to Albany.
"It surprised him to see how young I was.
"‘Why,' says he, 'you're nothing but a boy.'
"‘I'm twenty-two,' I says, 'but they count double. I've done two years' work in every one that I've lived.'
"He asked me to dinner. It was grand. I didn't dare eat much, just sat and talked and listened and saw how they behaved themselves at his table. I learnt a number of things."
"What were they?"
"To keep my knife away from my face, for one thing," he answered. "The gentleman eats very slowly and throws out a little conversation now and then and washes the tips of his fingers when he gets through. We were an hour at the table. He liked me, I guess, for he offered me some of his stock at a low price and said he wanted me on the directory. I went in, and now I'm looking into the whole railroad problem."
He began to unroll a great map which he had been making and which lay on a broad table. It was sixty feet long and showed a section of country some two hundred miles wide from Boston to Chicago.
"I won't bother you with details," he said. "But I have a great plan. It will cut down the distance from New York to Chicago by about one half. It will build up a chain of great cities. It will make a market for goods and quicken their delivery. It will furnish a model for the development of other parts of the Republic."
The eyes of the young man glowed with enthusiasm. Then he shook with laughter.
"That's pretty good for the boy with a bad leg that you met on road to Canaan, isn't it?" McCarthy asked. "You see the Hand-Made Gentleman is getting along. He's took his mind off himself—partly—and put it on to other things. I don't need so much looking after as I did. I can talk pretty well and know how to conduct myself in any company. Ye see practice makes perfect, and I've practised decency for a long time. It's like breathing. Of course I might be better inside, but outside I'll do for the time being."
"I'd like to hear more of your plan," I suggested.
"It's this in a nutshell," he said. "I want to combine all the railroads between Boston, New York and Chicago in one system. Now if you're going from New York to Chicago you change at Albany and stay all night; you change again at Syracuse and stay all night and again at Buffalo, and so on. I want a better roadbed and heavier rails and lighter cars and bigger engines and more power to handle 'em and a continuous trip. Of course you can change and keep going all night if you want to, but it would wear you out. Why shouldn't we have a kind of hotel car that goes right through with good beds in it?"
The Hand-Made Gentleman strode up and down the room and gestured like a man making a speech.
"Five men have twenty times the power of one. Did you ever think of that?" he asked. "When you put two and two together you get about sixteen, but they've got to be one before they can be sixteen. That suggests the value of combination."
He paused before me and added:
"Here's the trouble. The idea is bigger'n I am. There's only one man in the world who can carry it out."
"Who is that?" I inquired.
"Vanderbilt," said he. "There's the biggest man in the country. He's made ten million dollars with his brain—think of that. He's the Napoleon of this day."
After a while the Hand-Made Gentleman said: "I must have somebody to look after my business who is more than a mere writing machine. I want some gentleman who thinks as I do and will stand up for me like a brother. I want you."
It took me by surprise, and I thanked him and expressed doubts of my fitness.
"I know you and you know me," he said. "I like you, Mr. Heron, and believe in you, and if you feel the same let's pull together. I have some big things to do and you can help me and I'll double the pay you're getting."
Well, I accepted his offer and soon began my work in the shop at Rushwater along the lines he had outlined.
Mr. McCarthy secured for me a copy of Isaac Pitman's treatise and I spent all my leisure in the acquisition of "soundhand," or shorthand, as we now call it. Later he insisted that I spend a few months in a business college, as much in his interest as my own, he said to me, and so I went with him to New York to finish my education.
"I want you to get the pace o' the city," he said to me, "and learn how to score up in proper style. Get all the knowledge you can that a gentleman ought to have. There's a lot of very polished people down here. See how they dress and behave themselves morning, noon and night. It will be a help to both of us."
That day we were going to see Vanderbilt. Pearl had said to Mr. McCarthy at the depot in Rushwater:
"Don't let him scare ye. He's as full of power as my turbine. Has a good deal o' whir in him. Likes resistance; so does every great force. Used to row a boat all day an' every day. Fought the wind an' the tide. Stiffened his hands on the oar. Can't straighten 'em to this day. He's fought a thousand difficulties. He'll take you for another an' pitch into ye—like as not. Don't let him scare ye. If he jumps on ye—jump on him. He'll enjoy it an' begin to respect ye. It's like putting a belt on the turbine—you'll take off a bit of his power and ease him down."
We passed through two offices on our way to that of the Commodore.
"Walk right in," said a colored man who sat near an open door when Mr. McCarthy had claimed his right to an interview.
We entered and saw a large, handsome man sitting by a desk on the further side of a big room. He had a massive head and gray hair and side whiskers—the latter neatly trimmed—and sat with legs crossed in a big armchair. The elegance of his attire impressed me, especially the waistcoat of figured silk, the jewel in his shirt front and the spotless white choker, He looked up over his glasses. The skin began to wrinkle between his stern dark eyes.
"Well, what do you want?" he demanded sharply.
"My name is James Henry McCarthy, of Rushwater, New York," said my friend.
"I don't care what your name is—tell me your business," said the Commodore in a rising voice.
"It's a railroad project referred to by my friend H. M. Pearl, Esq., in his talk with you."
"My heavens!" said Mr. Vanderbilt, as he flung a paper on the desk before him. "I've got projects enough now. Will you please get out of here?"
"No, I will not," said the Hand-Made Gentleman decisively. "I've traveled over two hundred miles to keep an appointment with you and I insist that you show me proper respect."
The Commodore changed his tone. "Young man," said he, "I won't talk with you, I can't talk with you. Come to my house to-night. I'll see you at half-past seven."
"Thank you, sir," said the Hand-Made Gentleman as we left the room.
Mr. McCarthy's feelings had been hurt and his confidence began to leave him. He had gone there with good deal of honest pride in his heart—[perhaps] even a little too much—and I think h would rather I had not seen his embarrassed.
"I am (illegible text)ed," he said to me as we were going down the stairs together. "He cannot have read the Letters of Lord Chesterfield."
"Hasn't had the time probably," I answered.
Our inn was near, and no word passed between us after that until we got to our room. My friend strode the floor in silence and tears stood in his eyes for a moment. I felt for him but could think of nothing to say.
"I think one gentleman ought to be careful of the feelings of another," said Mr. McCarthy. "He made me feel like a dog."
"He was out of sorts," I remarked.
"I have learned this," said the Hand-Made Gentleman. "Business is war. I see it clearer every day. If you want respect you've got to fight for it."
We recovered our composure by and by, and spent the rest of the day among tradesmen extending the acquaintance of Sal and the Sisters of Sal.
At half-past seven we presented ourselves at the home of the Commodore at 10 Washington Square.
Mr. McCarthy carried his map under his arm and it was about half the diameter of a piece of stove pipe.
A servant showed us into a large parlor. We could see Mr. Vanderbilt in a room back of it sitting by a table in his shirt sleeves reading a newspaper. We observed him, fearfully, as he took our cards from the tray—plain written cards they were, save that Mr. McCarthy's had a bird on it drawn by his secretary. He flung his paper aside and rose—a splendid figure of a man, full chest, broad shoulders and the six feet of him straight as an arrow—and came slowly into the parlor where we sat.
"Well, sonny, what can I do for you?" he asked.
"I have a map to show you," said McCarthy, with a little quaver in his voice. That word "sonny" had cut like a spur and his brain was ready for its trial.
"Well, where is it?" was the sharp query of the Commodore.
My friend began to unroll his map and said: "Here it is."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed the steamboat king. "It's bigger'n a bill board. Unfurl it on the floor there. Run it down into the back parlor."
In a moment Mr. McCarthy had spread his map and begun talking.
"Here's Albany," he said, pointing with his cane. "Here's eleven railroads reaching west to Buffalo called the Central system. Here are others that go on to Chicago and others that run east to Boston. Here is a steamer line from New York to Albany out of business about half the year. Here are two lines of railroad that run north from New York to the capital—the Harlem and Hudson River. The Harlem road can be bought for less than six cents on the dollar. I want you to buy it."
"What the deuce do I want of it?" the Commodore demanded.
"It's the key o' the future—and you need it," said McCarthy. "It's the beginning of a great plan. First buy the Harlem and then buy the Hudson River road, and do you not see that all these railroads that run east and west up here can't reach the metropolis without your help? Did you ever see a small boy lead a big bull? It's surprising how easy he does it when he has a ring in the bull's nose."
The Commodore was now leaning over the map and looking down upon it.
"These two railroads will give you command of the whole situation," my friend continued, "and that's important."
Mr. McCarthy paused for half a moment.
"Go on, go on," said the Commodore. "Let's have your argument."
"You can whip 'em all into one system can give us a continuous trip between these from New York and Boston to Chicago. You can give us a continuous trip between these cities. You can run freight to any point in the system without rehandling on through cars to pay each railroad according to the mileage it supplies. You would make it possible for me to sell my goods in Chicago and other distant cities and deliver 'em on time. You would quicken the pace of business. Every factory on the line would double its output in two years. It means growth and a new Republic and a string of great cities and streams of traffic flowing east and west like rivers. There are not so many tons in the St. Lawrence as your wheels would carry and they would roll on like the waterfloods, never stopping. They would enrich you beyond the dreams of avarice."
The Hand-Made Gentleman saw the truth clearly and flashed the torch of his enthusiasm on all sides of it. He shook his cane over the map; his eyes glowed like a prophet's. After all this time I can but dimly suggest the quaint dignity and the singular power of his appeal. I felt it and have tried to remember all, since these years have complimented his insight by making history of his dreams. I recall how his ardor thrilled me and how the Commodore rose from his knees and looked at him.
"Young man," he said, "the dreams of avarice do not bother me. I have money enough."
The tone of his voice made it clear to me, even, that Mr. McCarthy's talk had impressed him.
"True," said the Hand-Made Gentleman. "But you have power composed of brains, money and public confidence. You're the only man who can do this thing and it ought to be done. You must do it for the sake of the country. Patriotism and not avarice will inspire you."
The Commodore smiled.
"Boy, how old are you?" he queried.
"Twenty-two years, but they count double."
"They tell me you've made some money."
"I'm getting along very well."
"Sit down a minute."
A man about thirty years of age had just entered the room. Mr. Vanderbilt turned to him.
"I want you to come over and keep my books," he said brusquely.
"But, uncle, I'm not a bookkeeper," said the young man. "I don't know how."
"You know enough to take the money that comes in?"
"Yes."
"And add up the expenses?"
"Yes."
"And give me the difference?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's all I want, and any fool could do that. You may begin Monday. Good night."
The thoughts of the Commodore went straight to their mark and his words followed them. He was like a general giving orders.
He put his right hand on the arm of Mr. McCarthy. I saw then how the grip of the oar had stiffened his fingers.
"Young man, I'll think it over," said he. "You go home and don't talk too much. I make it a rule never to tell what I'm going to do until I've done it."
We left the house and walked slowly in the direction of Broadway.
"He'll do it," said the Hand-Made Gentleman. "He caught my point on the fly. His brain is quick as lightning and he had the whole thing in a second. He let me go on make sure that I knew what I was talking about."
"Suppose he does what you want him to—how are you going to make by it?" I asked.
"I'll trust him for that," said Mr. McCarthy. "However, I can take care o' myself. As soon as he makes a move I'll buy stock—that's what I'll do. James Henry McCarthy will not be left behind."
After a moment's reflection he added:
"I'm surprised at one thing—he swears like a trooper, and did you see that he came out in a pair of carpet slippers?"
"Yes," I answered.
"He would have shocked Lord Chesterfield," Mr. McCarthy went on. "A gentleman ought to be more careful."
It may have been a month afterward that our evening paper contained this announcement:
"Vanderbilt Has Control of the Harlem Road.
"Will the Steamboat King Lead the Iron Horse Cavalry in Its Westward Charge?"
We were in New York on our way to Pittsburg to talk with the Western superintendent of the Pennsylvania system about the rail problem. We had an appointment with the Commodore and went to his house about eight o'clock in the evening.
"Hello, young man," said Mr. Vanderbilt as he took the hand of McCarthy. "Going out to the stable to look at a sick horse; come along."
He donned his overcoat, which had a collar of gray fur of about the shade of his hair, and it put a wonderful finish on him. I never saw, in all my life, a better figure of a man.
We went with him to a large stable back of the house. I recall my wonder at its size and comfort and cleanliness, and the splendor of its many vehicles and trappings. Yet it was not fine enough for the Commodore, who, seeing a wisp of straw on the floor of the carriage room, larruped the coachman with high words. Then a quick spoken command:
"Bring out the mare."
Out came the mare in a jiffy, and Mr. Vanderbilt looked into her mouth and felt her throat and legs, and said presently: "Take her back and have her bled in the morning."
He let down the shafts of a light road wagon and rolled it to the middle of the floor.
"There's a good wagon," said he; "take hold of the axle and heft it."
We did so and were surprised at the lightness of the graceful thing.
"Not much heavier than a tomcat," said to the Commodore, "and it cost me ten thousand dollars."
"Ten thousand dollars. Why it costs as much as a house," said Mr. McCarthy.
"As much as some houses," the Commodore went on. "I sent for a good carriage builder and told him to plan the lightest wagon that would safely carry my weight. He brought the plan for a fifty-eight-pound wagon at fifteen hundred dollars. '’Twon't do,' says I. 'Make it just as strong and five pounds lighter, and I'll double your pay.' Well, he came back by and by with a plan for a fifty-three pound wagon for three thousand dollars. 'That's the best you can do—is it?' says I. 'Well,' says he, 'I might get it down a few ounces if I had time to study the problem.' 'Take time,' says I, 'and I'll pay you a hundred dollars an ounce for all the weight you can take out of the wagon, but you must keep it as strong as it is now.' He took four pounds off the weight of it, and the saving cost me sixteen hundred dollars a pound. Money is quite a stimulant if it's used right."
The Hand-Made Gentleman stood looking thoughtfully at the Commodore. When the story was finished he struck the air with his hand, saying:
"Mr. Vanderbilt, that wagon is worth its weight in diamonds."
We looked into his glowing eyes, and he went on:
"Let me tell you why. If brains, rightly stimulated, can reduce the weight of a road wagon without any loss of strength, let's see what they can do with freight and passenger cars. If we could take a hundred pounds off every car in the country, think what it would mean. That weight could be turned from expense into income. Think of the saving in power and fuel. It would mean millions of dollars."
"Well, boy, go to work on that proposition," said the Commodore. "I'll give you a dollar for every pound you save on every car that runs over my track. I wish to God that my boy Bill had your brains."
"You are very kind, sir," said Mr. McCarthy.
"Look out for the weight of your head," Mr. Vanderbilt continued; "it's your freight car—remember that, and you don't want to carry any sap in it. Let me tell you a story. Bill is a fat good-natured cuss and wants to take it easy because he has a rich father. I told him that I wouldn't have him loafing around, and I sent him down on the farm and put him to work there, and Bill is getting along. He played a good joke on me and I've made up my mind that he'll do for the railroad business.
"He says to me the other day: 'Father, I need some manure for the farm.'
"‘Well, boy, how much do you want?' I says.
"‘Seven or eight loads,' says he.
"‘How much'll you pay a load?' says I.
"‘A dollar a load,' says he.
"‘All right,' I says to him; 'come over to the car stables and get all you need at that figure.'
"What do you suppose the cuss done to me? He come over and got eight schooner loads."
Mr. Vanderbilt roared with laughter.
"‘You're no farmer,' I says to him; 'come right over and learn the railroad business.’"
The Commodore pushed the road wagon back into its corner.
"On your way to Pittsburg?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir," Mr. McCarthy answered with a sly wink at me.
"Anything more to say?"
"No, sir."
"That's good. It's a wise man that knows when he's said enough. Good night."
Mr. McCarthy and I left to go to our inn.
"‘On your way to Pittsburg?’" said the Hand-Made Gentleman, repeating the query of the Commodore. "How did he know that I was going to Pittsburg?"
"He's been at work on your program, perhaps," I suggested.
"And has a hand in the affairs of the Central system," my friend went on. "That's his way of telling me. He has bought the Harlem and Hudson River roads and has the ring in the bull's nose, and the continuous route is now a certainty. But we are not to talk too much. You can make up your mind that the Commodore knows all about us. I probably don't say or do much that isn't reported to him. A foolish word or two and he would be done with me."
At midnight we were on our way to Philadelphia in a drafty coach. We had brought a couple of shawls with us, and used them for pillows, and lay half reclining on the hard seats beneath our overcoats. We slept a little in spite of the roaring wheels and rattling windows and the shriek of the trainman at all stops, and the snore streaked, chilly silences that followed, and rose stiff and sore at day-break to wait for the westbound train. It was hard travel, but far easier than that of the stage-coach of which my mother had told me, and in those days it seemed like the height of luxury. All next day and another night we traveled before we reached Pittsburg.
We were met at the depot by Mr. Carnegie, the iron-master. He was a man of about twenty-seven years, with a full brown beard and keen, gray eyes, and an alert and kindly manner.
"Thank God, the war is over," said Mr. Carnegie, as we walked down the street; "but the military spirit is everywhere and it will die slowly. I feel it more and more in business. Do you know that business itself is beginning to be a kind of warfare in which victory is the chief end and all is well that leads to it?"
"I have felt the spirit you complain of," said the Hand-Made Gentleman. "In my business there are scouts and spies, and I have had trouble in which violence and threats of murder were resorted to."
"It's the teaching of war, and battles of business are coming in which blood will flow and the gun and torch will play their part."
We spent most of the day looking over the Union Iron Mills and discussing railroad matters with Mr. Carnegie. He said that rails would soon be made of Bessemer steel and that cars were coming which would be as comfortable as a hotel. Soon we began talking of war again and of Lincoln.
"He is the modern, democratic gentleman," said Mr. Carnegie. "He has shown us how little dress and manners have to do with it."
Mr. Carnegie stopped, for suddenly a man had rushed in upon us.
"My God!" he groaned as he sank into a chair, "Lincoln has been assassinated."
Outside, bells had begun tolling, and we could hear the running of many feet.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1950, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 73 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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