Fifty years in Wall Street

by Henry Clews

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.”