Revelations of fraud had been strengthened by the publication of the Eighth Census. In many election districts it appeared that the count was three, four, five, and even six times as large as an honest vote could be. Proofs existed, including in some instances a confession, that in 1868 the same men registered more than one hundred times under different names—one man one hundred and twenty-seven times. Instances were known and admitted in which the same man on the same day voted more than twenty times for John T. Hoffman. "To perpetuate this infamy," declared Conkling, "Mayor Hall has invented since the publication of the census new escapes for repeaters by changing the numbers and the boundaries of most of the election districts, in some cases bisecting blocks and buildings, so that rooms on the same premises are in different districts, thus enabling colonised repeaters to register and vote often, and to find doors of escape left open by officials who have sworn to keep them closed." The registration for 1870, although twenty thousand less than in 1868, he declared, contained seventeen thousand known fraudulent entries.[508] The newspapers strengthened his arguments. In one of Nast's cartoons Tweed as "Falstaff" reviews his army of repeaters, with Hoffman as sword-bearer, and Comptroller Sweeny, Mayor Hall, James Fisk, Jr., and Jay Gould as spectators.[509] Another pre-election cartoon, entitled "The Power behind the Throne," presented Governor Hoffman crowned and robed as king, with Tweed grasping the sword of power and Sweeny the axe of an headsman.[510]
Democrats resented these attacks. People, still indifferent to or ignorant of Tweed's misdeeds, rested undisturbed. The Citizens' Association of New York had memorialised the Legislature to pass the Tweed charter, men of wealth and character petitioned for its adoption, and the press in the main approved it.[511] Even the World, after its bitter attacks in the preceding winter upon the Ring officials, championed their cause.[512] "There is not another municipal government in the world," said Manton Marble, "which combines so much character, capacity, experience, and energy as are to be found in the city government of New York under the new charter."[513] The final Democratic rally of the campaign also contributed to Tammany's glory. Horatio Seymour was the guest of honor and August Belmont chairman. Conspicuous in the list of vice-presidents were Samuel J. Tilden, George Tichnor Curtis, Augustus Schell, and Charles O'Conor, while Tweed, with Hoffman and McClellan, reviewed thirty thousand marchers in the presence of one hundred thousand people who thronged Union Square, attracted by an entertainment as lavish as the fêtes of Napoleon III. To many this prodigal expenditure of money suggested as complete and sudden a collapse to Tweed as had befallen the French Emperor, then about to become the prisoner of Germany. In the midst of the noise Seymour, refraining from committing himself to Tammany's methods, read a carefully written essay on the canals.[514] It was noted, too, that Tilden did not speak.
The election resulted in the choice of all the Democratic candidates, with sixteen of the thirty-one congressmen and a majority in each branch of the Legislature. Hall was also re-elected mayor.[515] Republicans extracted a bit of comfort out of the reduced majority in New York City, but to all appearances Tammany had tightened its grip. Indeed, on New Year's Day, 1871, when Hoffman and Hall, with almost unlimited patronage to divide, were installed for a second time, the Boss had reason to feel that he could do as he liked. From a modest house on Henry Street he moved to Fifth Avenue. At his summer home in Greenwich he erected a stable with stalls of finest mahogany. His daughter's wedding became a prodigal exhibition of great wealth, and admittance to the Americus Club, his favourite retreat, required an initiation fee of one thousand dollars. To the poor he gave lavishly. In the winter of 1870-71 he donated one thousand dollars to each alderman to buy coal and food for the needy. His own ward received fifty thousand. Finally, in return for his gifts scattered broadcast to the press and to an army of protégés, it was proposed to erect a statue "in commemoration of his services to the Commonwealth of New York." His followers thought him invulnerable, and those who despised him feared his power. In New York he had come to occupy something of the position formerly accorded to Napoleon III by the public opinion of Europe.
Tweed's legislative achievements, increasing in boldness, climaxed in the session of 1871 by the passage of the Acts to widen Broadway and construct the Viaduct Railroad. The latter company had power to grade streets, to sell five millions of its stock to the municipality, and to have its property exempted from taxation,[516] while the Broadway swindle, estimated to cost the city between fifty and sixty millions,[517] enabled members of the Ring to enrich themselves in the purchase of real estate. To pass these measures Tweed required the entire Democratic vote, so that when one member resigned to avoid expulsion for having assaulted a colleague,[518] he found it necessary to purchase a Republican to break the deadlock. The character of Republican assemblymen had materially changed for the better, and the belief obtained that "none would be brazen enough to take the risk of selling out;"[519] but an offer of seventy-five thousand dollars secured the needed vote.[520] Thus did the power of evil seem more strongly intrenched than ever.
Meanwhile the constant and unsparing denunciation of the New York Times, coupled with Nast's cartoons in Harper's Weekly, excited increasing attention to the Ring. As early as 1869 Nast began satirising the partnership of Tweed, Sweeny, Connolly, and Hall, and in 1870 the Times opened its battery with an energy and sureness of aim that greatly disturbed the conspirators. To silence its suggestive and relentless attacks Tweed sought to bribe its editor, making an offer of one million dollars.[521] A little later he sent word to Nast that he could have half a million.[522] Failing in these attempts the Ring, in November, 1870, secured an indorsement from Marshall O. Roberts, Moses Taylor, John Jacob Astor, and three others of like position, that the financial affairs of the city, as shown by the comptroller's books, were administered correctly. It subsequently transpired that some of these men were associated with Tweed in the notorious Viaduct job,[523] but for the time their certificate re-established the Ring's credit more firmly than ever. "There is absolutely nothing in the city," said the Times, "which is beyond the reach of the insatiable gang who have obtained possession of it."[524]
While Roberts and his associates were certifying to the correctness of Connolly's books, William Copeland, a clerk in the office, was making a transcript of the Ring's fraudulent disbursements. Copeland was a protégé of ex-sheriff James O'Brien, who had quarrelled with Connolly because the latter refused to allow his exorbitant bills, and with the Copeland transcript he tried to extort the money from Tweed. Failing in this he offered the evidence to the Times. A little later the same journal obtained a transcript of fraudulent armoury accounts through Matthew J. O'Rourke, a county bookkeeper. When knowledge of the Times' possessions reached the Ring, Connolly offered George Jones, the proprietor, five million dollars to keep silent. "I cannot consider your proposition," said Jones.[525]
The Times' publication of the armoury expenses furnished by O'Rourke created a sensation, but the excitement over the Copeland evidence grew into a fierce tempest. These figures, carefully tabulated and printed in large type, showed that the new courthouse, incomplete and miserably furnished, involved a steal of $8,000,000. One plasterer received $38,187 for two days' work. Another, during a part of two months, drew nearly $1,000,000. A carpenter received $350,000 for a month's labour. A single item of stationery aggregated $186,495, while forty chairs and three tables cost $179,729. In supplying aldermen with carriages, mostly for funerals, two liverymen earned $50,000 in a few days. Advertising in city newspapers amounted to $2,703,308. Carpets purchased at five dollars per yard would cover City Hall Park three times over. As these disclosures appeared in successive issues the people realised that a gang of very common thieves had been at work. It was a favourite method to refuse payment for want of money until a claimant, weary of waiting, accepted the suggestion of Connolly's agent to increase the amount of his bill. This turned an honest man into a conspirator and gave the Ring the benefit of the raise.[526]
On September 4, 1871, a mass meeting of indignant citizens, held in Cooper Union, created the Committee of Seventy, and charged it with the conduct of investigations and prosecutions. Before it could act vouchers and cancelled warrants, covering the courthouse work for 1869 and 1870, had been stolen from the comptroller's office.[527] This increased the excitement. At last Connolly, to escape becoming a scape-goat, appointed Andrew H. Green deputy comptroller, and the Governor designated Charles O'Conor to act in behalf of the Attorney-General. Thus the Committee of Seventy passed into complete control of the situation, and under the pressure of suits and arrests the Ring rapidly lost its power and finally its existence. On October 26, 1871, Tweed was arrested and held to bail in the sum of $1,000,000, Jay Gould becoming his chief bondsman. Soon after Sweeny retired from the Board of Park Commissioners, Connolly resigned as comptroller, and Tweed gave up the offices of grand sachem of Tammany, director of the Erie Railway, and commissioner of public works. Of all his associates Mayor Hall alone continued in office, serving until the end of 1872, the close of his term.[528]
Having anticipated a little it may not be improper to anticipate a little more, and say what became of other members of this historic Ring. When the public prosecutor began his work Sweeny and Connolly fled to Europe.[529] After one mistrial, Tweed, found guilty on fifty-one counts, was sent to prison for twelve years on Blackwell's Island, but at the end of a year the Court of Appeals reversed the sentence, holding it cumulative. Being immediately rearrested Tweed, in default of bail fixed at $3,000,000, remained in jail until his escape in December, 1875. Disguised by cutting his beard and wearing a wig and gold spectacles, he concealed his whereabouts for nearly a year, going to Florida in a schooner, thence to Cuba in a fishing smack, and finally to Spain, where he was recognised and returned to New York on a United States man-of-war. He re-entered confinement on November 23, 1876, and died friendless and moneyless in Ludlow Street jail on April 12, 1878.
Meantime the Legislature of 1871 had ordered the impeachment of Barnard and Cardozo of the Supreme Court, and McCunn of the Superior Court. Their offences extended beyond the sphere of Tweed's operations, indicating the greed of a Sweeny and the disregard of all honorable obligations. Cardozo, the most infamous of the trio, called the Machiavelli of the Bench, weakened under investigation and resigned to avoid dismissal. Barnard and McCunn, being summarily removed, were forever disqualified from holding any office of trust in the State. McCunn died three days after sentence, while Barnard, although living for seven years, went to his grave at the early age of fifty.