“A lie which is all a lie May be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is half a truth, Is a harder matter to fight.”
True, Blucher had been repulsed at Ligny. The Duke had an awkward squad, with the exception of the English, the Irish, and the Scotch Greys, to marshal in fighting order, but he “got there all the same.” Nathan’s secret point soon oozed out, and in less than an hour after the opening there was a perfect panic on the London Stock Exchange. Nathan had his brokers at work, first selling “short,” and then, when the market reached bed rock, buying on the long side. He bought everything that he could raise, borrow or beg the money for—consols, notes and bills. When the news of Wellington’s victory arrived, forty-eight hours after Nathan had begun to manipulate the market, and when he was “long” of everything that he had money or credit to purchase, securities went up with a boom. Nathan realized six million dollars, and it is said that a large number of the great operators flocked around him to congratulate him. It was lucky for Nathan that the scene of his operations was in London instead of Wall Street, otherwise Judge Lynch might have had something to say before the settlements had been made.
The career of Nathan Rothschild in England was remarkable, and his success from the very start phenomenal. He began his speculations and money-lending operations in Manchester with $500, being the limited amount which he was permitted to draw from the family treasury on taking his departure from Frankfort to seek his fortune in Great Britain. In five years he had augmented the $500 to a million. He then removed to London. There he married a daughter of Levi Cohen, one of the wealthiest Hebrews of the great metropolis, well known by the pseudonym of Pound-Adoring Cohen. His father-in-law was afraid that Nathan would soon ruin himself, so reckless did he seem in his speculations, estimated by the conservative standard of old Cohen.
Nathan was very fortunate in his speculative ventures in the public funds, and managed to get himself introduced so as to do considerable business for the Government in its transactions on the Continent. His first introduction to the Government was through the Duke of Wellington, who during his peninsular campaigns had made drafts that the Treasury of Great Britain was dilatory in meeting. Nathan purchased these drafts at a large discount. He afterwards renewed them to the Government, and they were eventually redeemed at par. This was the means of bringing him into confidential relations with the ministry of Great Britain, and he was entirely trusted as their chief agent in all their financial matters on the Continent. This gave him immense advantage in speculating, and enabled him to give his brothers in the other great capitals of Europe a large amount of valuable and inside information, which put them in a position to speculate with success in the funds of their respective Governments. Nathan had made arrangements to get the very latest information from Frankfort, then the centre of European financiering, by well trained carrier pigeons. He had also several boats of his own by which to send personal messages across the channel in cases where these were requisite, and a boat always in readiness at a moment’s notice in case his presence should be indispensable at the great money centre, and the central counting and clearing house of the family.
Nathan Rothschild was a strange and inconsistent compound of liberality, avariciousness, and penuriousness. He entertained his guests in a princely style, and often princes were mingled with those guests, but he was miserably mean with his clerks and employees generally. Unlike A. T. Stewart, who followed the very opposite rule, and had his place filled with bankrupt dry goods men as employees, the Rothschilds would never engage anybody who had been unfortunate in business. They had a superstitious feeling that misfortune is contagious, and they carefully avoided coming in contact with any of its victims. Nathan was even more precise than Wm. H. Vanderbilt in calculating the pennies in his lunch bill; but while Vanderbilt did this as a mere whim to illustrate his business precision and correctness, Rothschild really loved the pennies with ardent devotion. But Baron Nathan, even when he had accumulated $70,000,000 or $80,000,000, was not happy. He was tortured by the fear of enemies, who, he believed, intended to murder him. Like Vanderbilt, he received many threatening letters; but unlike the New York millionaire, who paid no attention to threats, but walked and drove out defiantly, Rothschild was still in mortal terror, and believed that the threats were intended to be executed. Nathan made one of his biggest piles out of the Almaden quicksilver mines in Spain. The Spanish Government wanted a loan, which he granted, receiving the mines as security for several years. He got up a “corner” in quicksilver, and raised the price 100 per cent. He realized almost $6,000,000 out of this transaction. It was as good for him as the Waterloo deal, only the returns did not come in so quickly. Nathan died in Frankfort, at the age of 59, in 1836. His last words were, “He is trying to kill me. Quick, quick, give me the gold.” His death created a panic on the London Stock Exchange, and the Continental Bourses were greatly embarrassed by the event. The news was conveyed by a carrier pigeon, which was shot by a boy near Brighton. The message was briefly, _Il est mort_-“He is dead.” The interests of the house of Rothschild are now scattered over the globe, and it is probable that the aggregate wealth of all the branches of the firm, including the possessions of the various members of their families, exceeds $1,000,000,000.
[Illustration:
_W R Travers_ ]
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CHAPTER XXXIX.
TRAVERS.
THE UNIQUE CHARACTER OF TRAVERS—HIS VERSATILE ATTAINMENTS—ALTHOUGH OF A GENIAL AND HUMOROUS DISPOSITION, HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN A BEAR—HOW HE WAS THE MEANS OF PRESERVING THE COMMERCIAL SUPREMACY OF NEW YORK—HE SQUASHES THE ENGLISH BRAVADO, AND SAVES THE ORATORICAL HONOR OF OUR COUNTRY—HAS THE OYSTER BRAINS?—IT MUST HAVE BRAINS. FOR IT KNOWS ENOUGH TO SH-SH-SHUT UP—THE DOG AND THE RAT—I D-D-DON’T WANT TO BUY THE D-D-DOG; I WILL BUY THE R-R-RAT—TRAVERS ON THE ROYAL STAND AT THE DERBY—HOW HE WAS EUCHRED BY THE POOL-SELLER—MY PROXY IN A SPEECH AT THE UNION CLUB.—IF YOU ARE A S-S-SELF-MADE MAN, WH-WH-Y THE D-DEVIL DIDN’T YOU PUT MORE H-HAIR ON THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD? OTHER WITTICISMS, &C.
Wm. R. Travers is one of the most notable men of Wall Street in our time.
His success in speculation has usually been on the bear side, which is rather singular, as he is a man of such a genial disposition, with a kind nature, an inexhaustible supply of sparkling wit, and always brimful of humor.
He is also fond of athletic sports of every description, and, in fact, is a kind of universal genius, so various and versatile are his attainments. Owing to his immense variety of qualities, tastes and pursuits, he has one of the most remarkable records in Wall Street; and the most singular thing about him, probably, is, that while having all the attributes usually inherent in a bull, he has always been a bear in his transactions.
This genial, benevolent and high spirited man has never been known to believe that there was any value in any property.
If he ever by chance happened to make any money on the bull side of the market, it must have made him feel very uncomfortable—in fact, conscientiously miserable—as he could not realize that by any possibility it belonged to him.
It is due to Mr. Travers, however, that New York has been so highly classified in the catalogue of cities, in fact, as occupying the highest position in public estimation, and that it has attained full credit for being the largest in wealth and population of any city in the Union. This fact, now generally admitted, seemed to have been suspended in doubt until Mr. Travers came from Baltimore to reside in our midst.
It will be remembered by many Wall Street men that prior to the advent of Mr. Travers the rivalry among several of the seaboard cities on the Atlantic coast was very keen. Boston, Philadelphia and Baltimore were each in turn disposed to claim pre-eminence. Thanks to this Wall Street magnate, the matter is now no longer in dispute. It was finally decided in this way:
One day after Mr. Travers became one of ourselves, an old friend from Baltimore met him in Wall Street. As it had been a long time since they saw each other, they had a considerable number of topics to talk over. They had been familiar friends in the Monumental City, and were not therefore restrained by the usual social formalities.
“I notice, Travers,” said the Baltimorean, “that you stutter a great deal more than when you were in Baltimore.”
“W-h-y, y-e-s,” replied Mr. Travers, darting a look of surprise at his friend; “of course I do. This is a d-d-damned sight b-b-bigger city.”
That settled it. Since this famous interview, and this scientific explanation given by Mr. Travers to his old friend, no skeptic has had sufficient temerity to entertain any doubt regarding the financial and commercial supremacy of New York; its leading position as the great emporium of the Continent has never since been questioned; and there are few cities outside of Ohio that can claim such power in politics.
It is due to Mr. Travers, also, that this country still retains the palm for oratory and volubility in speech, and has successfully resisted the intrusive and pretentious claims of Great Britain in regard to that great and somewhat limited accomplishment.
The destiny of this nation in that respect hung in the balance at one time.
A sort of go-as-you-please oratorical contest was being arranged to decide the question of championship between Great Britain and ourselves, and a vaunting and loquacious Britisher had appeared in our midst to dispute the claim of the national cup in oratory as Rowell had done for the belt in pedestrianism.
This English bravado had letters of introduction from Lord Randolph Churchill, Sir Charles Dilke, Lord Salisbury, Mr. Gladstone, and other British declaimers to Mr. Travers and other American gentlemen. It was in the yachting season, and the voluble champion was invited to accompany a party, of which Mr. Travers was the leading spirit, down the bay in Mr. Travers’ yacht. The orator had talked everybody within earshot of his voice almost deaf. When the party arrived at the dinner table it was hoped that he would cease for a short time; but when every other topic seemed exhausted, as well as the patience of his listeners, he started off with renewed fluency on the subject of oysters, which constituted the dish then at table.
“It is now a debatable point among scientists,” he began, “as to whether or not the oyster has brains.” Travers, who up to this time had endured the infliction of his loquacious guest, with the calmness of Job, said, “I think the oyster must have b-b-brains because it knows enough when to sh-sh-shut up.”
By this satiric stroke the English orator was dumbfounded and almost paralyzed; his fluent tongue ceased to wag with its usual volubility, and when requested to name his time for the international contest, he begged to be excused until cured of his cold. He took the next steamer for Liverpool, and has not been heard of since. Mr. Travers’ incisive remark about the mental attributes of the oyster thoroughly squashed him, and saved the oratorical honor of our country.
Mr. Travers started in life in the grocery business in Baltimore, but disaster overtaking him there, he came to New York, and soon thereafter formed a co-partnership with Leonard W. Jerome, the firm being Travers & Jerome. Mr. Travers met with fair prosperity from the start, and soon accumulated wealth. The worst set-back probably that he ever received during his residence in this city was on one occasion on his way home after the business day was over. Being attracted by the display in the window of a bird fancier and dog dealer, from curiosity he was tempted to enter the place. One of the conspicuous objects that met his eye was a very large sized parrot. Mr. Travers inquired of the proprietor of the establishment who was in attendance “i-i-if th-th-th-that p-p-parrot c-c-could t-t-talk?”
Its owner quickly replied, “If it couldn’t talk better than you, I’d cut its damned head off.”
Mr. Travers for a long time afterwards made up his mind some time or other to get even with this dealer in animals and birds, and succeeded most effectually. His coachman made a complaint to him that the stable was overrun with rats. Mr. Travers said, “Well, you m-m-must hunt for a r-r-rat dog.” The coachman made it known that Mr. Travers wanted a dog, and all those engaged dealing in dogs overran Mr. Travers’ house as ferociously as the rats had overrun the stable, to get him to buy a dog. Among the rest who responded was this identical man who kept the store where the parrot was. Mr. Travers recognized him at once, and told him, “I-i-if he w-w-would b-b-b-be d-d-down at the s-s-stable in the m-morning with t-th-the d-d-dog, he would g-g-give him a tr-tr-trial, and if he p-pr-proved to b-b-be a g-g-good r-rat c-c-catcher, would b-b-buy him.”
Mr. Travers sent for his coachman and told him to catch three or four rats and put them in the bin, and he would be down in the morning to try the dog. So, good and early next morning Mr. Travers was on hand at the stable, and also the dog man and his terrier. Three rats having already been put into the bin, Mr. Travers ordered the dog put inside, as the man said he was ready for the fray, and the rats were so ferocious, and showed such determined fight, that they kept the dog at bay, and he took to the corner of the bin for protection. By and by the owner pushed him right on the rats, and after a pretty fierce tussle he did secure one of them and shook him until dead. This success encouraged a tussle with another, which, after a long fight, shared the same fate. The third rat, however, was determined to resist the dog, and did so nobly and fiercely, making a prolonged fight, which resulted in a draw, and it was hard to tell which was the worst hurt, the dog or the rat.
The owner of the dog then turned to Mr. Travers and said: “Now you see what a fine dog that is, won’t you buy him?” Mr. Travers replied: “I d-d-don’t w-w-want t-t-to b-b-buy the d-d-dog, b-b-but I’ll b-b-b-buy the r-rat.”
Mr. Travers, when he first saw the owner of this dog, remembered him in connection with the parrot. Since the rat fight, however, this same man has never ceased to remember Mr. Travers, so that honors remain easy between them. Mr. Travers has never been known to be at a loss for wit to meet an emergency, and it is recognized that it flows as freely from his lips and in as perfectly natural a way, as ordinary conversation does from most people.
Early in the Spring of last year, on the advice of his physician, Mr. Travers took his maiden trip to Europe, and would not have gone but for the urgency of the case, always regarding that this country was big enough for him without leaving its shores. When he reached England, however, he found, when his arrival was announced through the medium of the papers, that he was as well known amongst the nobility, sporting world and other distinguished people there as he was in his own country, owing to his connection with the turf and athletic sports, together with his widely published witticisms which had preceded him. He consequently was overpowered by attention and hospitality, and participated to as full an extent as his health would permit. He attended the Derby, and took an interest in a pool which resulted in his favor. As soon as he ascertained his good fortune, he went to bag his money, but found that the pool man had decamped with the funds. This was a sad disappointment. He could scarcely believe his eyes or the various statements which went to corroborate this man’s disappearance, but it was evident that he was _non est_, as he was nowhere to be found about the stand or on the field. Travers made complaint to a policeman, who appeared perfectly indifferent to the charge. Mr. Travers said: “W-w-we d-don’t d-d-do th-th-that way in m-my c-c-c-country. I b-b-belong to America.” The policeman turned impertinently and said: “You had better go back to your own country, if that’s the case.” This was an indignity to which Mr. Travers did not feel inclined to submit, and he at once exhibited his badge, which admitted him to the royal stand. The policeman recognized it with affright, and almost fell on his knees in making profuse apologies and offers of service, showing the cringing spirit which prevails in England to royalty and nobility, by the people who occupy the position as servants to these high-born personages. Mr. Travers overlooked this official rudeness, and submitted to his loss as cheerfully as possible under the circumstances.
I met Mr. Travers on board the Newport boat immediately on his return, and he told me this story. I replied, “that I was surprised that a man of that character should have acted so villainously, as I had always supposed that such men were influenced by the recognized principle the world over, of honor among thieves.” Mr. Travers instantly replied: “No one could have t-t-told him that I was a th-th-thief.”
I remember another instance, which was during the war period. I had written a series of letters on national financial matters, which were then before the country for discussion, and they were published in the New York _Times_. Mr. Travers was met on his way down town by a Wall Street friend on the morning that one of these letters appeared in the paper, who asked Mr. Travers if he had seen Mr. Clews’ last letter. Mr. Travers said, “I h-h-hope so.”
Shortly after this I was a guest at a dinner party at the Union Club, and was late in presenting myself. When I reached the entertainment (which was a sort of mutual admiration gathering), the speeches had commenced, and I no sooner had taken my seat than Mr. Lawrence Jerome proposed my health. While it was being drank, Mr. Travers, who sat immediately opposite, came over and whispered in my ear, “Clews, you d-d-don’t w-want t-to speak so soon after c-c-oming in here, d-d-do you?” “No, I do not,” I replied. “I’ll t-t-tell th-th-them so, will I?” “Yes, I wish you would,” I said. He went back to his place and said, “Gentlemen, I have talked with Mr. Clews, and he d-d-desires me t-to ask you t-to excuse him f-from making a speech on th-th-this occasion and i-if you w-will d-d-do so, he w-will w-write you a l-letter.”
To show the rapid fluctuations that take place in Wall Street, and how even the best judges of the market are often mistaken in their prognostications, I will note an instance in connection with Mr. Travers. On his return from Europe, which was early in July, 1885, when the market on this side was weak, cables prior to his departure evidently indicated to him that much lower figures were in order. Just prior to the arrival of the steamer, in conversing with an associate member of the Exchange, he said, “B-b-barnes, I’ll make a l-l-little b-b-bet with you; I’ll b-b-bet you L-l-lackawanna will b-b-be under six-ty when we r-reach New Y-York.” Barnes was not willing to make the bet, however, but on their arrival, which was two days after, nothing surprised Mr. Travers so much as to find Lackawanna 110 instead of the figure 60 or less which he had predicted, especially as its advance did not cease thereafter until it sold at 130.
It has been justly said, that if a man will wear a good looking hat, and good, well polished boots, the head and feet being the parts which first catch the eye of an observer, it matters very little what kind of material the coat, vest and trousers may be made of, if they are whole and kept clean. Though they may be threadbare the man will appear to be fairly dressed, and will look much younger than if he were careless regarding the covering of his extremities. If the latter are fairly adorned he can pass muster.
Knowing this fact, I had always been in the habit of posing before the public as a youth. In this I was materially assisted by having no hair on the top of my head, in the place where other people’s hair usually grows. I had been this way for twenty years, just presenting about the same appearance as when I was born, and it has always been a matter of remark how youthful I looked.
I have often been asked what I did to keep myself looking so young. My truthful answer always has been that, “Virtue is its own reward.” This theory invariably passed as sound in my case until it was knocked into a cocked hat by Travers. One unlucky day he removed the mask, and changed the current of public opinion against me on the much cherished subject of my perpetual bloom of youth.
It occurred in this way. Frank Leslie’s _Illustrated Weekly_ had published a number of pictures of the active business men of New York, who were known in the community as self-made men, and mine was among them.
A few days after the appearance of my picture in this paper, I happened, one afternoon, on my way uptown, to drop into the Union Club, and as usual, went into the main room. It was full of members, largely composed of a scattering of Wall Street bankers and brokers.
Travers was present, and when he is on hand on such occasions, it always means laughter for the multitude at some one’s expense. In this instance it happened to be at mine.
As I entered the room, Travers said, in an audible voice: “Hallo, boys! here comes Clews, the self-made man.” Then, addressing himself to me, he said: “I s-s-say, Cl-Cl-Clews, as you are a s-s-self-made man, wh-wh-why the d-d-devil didn’t you p-put more h-h-hair on the top of your head?”
This story having gone the rounds, as it soon did, drew attention to my summer-appareled head, which before that time had enabled me to pass myself off as a youngster just striking out at the commencement of life. That stroke of Travers’ wit, however, has been the cause of consigning me ever since to the ranks of the old “fogies.” Now, everybody is convinced that my hair, now _non est_, had already come and gone, and that my head represents the work of ages.
This is another vivid instance illustrating the saying that “many a truth is spoken in jest.”
When Travers thus removed my mask of adolescence, it made me feel unhappy for some time, as it really transformed my entire identity, and deprived me of that luxury so dear to all the fair sex, and to many of my own, of sailing under false colors in reference to my age.
Still, as Travers is such a righteous, good fellow, I have had to forgive him, notwithstanding the gravity of the offense in having hurt the most tender part of my sensitive nature. So we can make up and become friends again, as I value the renewal of his friendship even at the cost of such a great personal sacrifice as the deprivation of my supposed youthfulness.
On the principle that misery loves company, and as Mr. Travers had brought misery to my lot by drawing public attention to my bare head, I found consolation, shortly afterwards, in a huge joke that the same facetious individual perpetrated upon another member of the Club, who happened to be one of New York’s most celebrated lawyers. This gentleman, it is well known, has been connected with some of the largest and most remunerative railroad cases in our courts for many years, and being considered a great authority in that branch of legal lore, he was accustomed to exact his own terms from his wealthy clients, which meant, in most instances, a very fat fee. This gentleman was standing on the side of the street opposite the Club one afternoon, while Travers was surrounded by a cluster of club men on the other side. “Look across the way, boys,” observed Travers, “th-th-there’s B-B-Barlow with his hands in his own p-p-pockets at last.”
On another occasion, when Travers, who resides at Newport in the summer, and is the possessor of a small-sized yacht there, which he obtained some years ago in lieu of a debt, was taking a refreshing sail on his yacht in the bay one morning, it happened that a squadron of yachts appeared in his vicinity, and there was going to be a race. Travers having been made acquainted with the fact, invited a party of friends to go to see the race. As soon as it became known to the yachtsmen that the renowned Travers had appeared on the deck of his yacht, a committee was assigned to convey to him the respects of the members of the squadron. When they came alongside his craft he invited them on board, and saw at a glance that they nearly all happened to be bankers and brokers. Casting his eyes across the glittering water, he beheld a number of beautiful white-winged yachts in the distance, and finding, by inquiry, that they all belonged to Wall Street well known brokers, he appeared thereby to be thrown momentarily into a deep reverie, and, without turning his gaze from the handsome squadron, finally asked his distinguished visitors, “wh-wh-where are the cu-cu-customers’ yachts?”
Comment would be entirely superfluous.
A. T. Stewart, the world renowned retail dry goods merchant, was elected, on one occasion, to preside at a meeting of citizens during the war period, Travers being amongst the number present. When Mr. Stewart took his gold pencil case from his pocket and rapped with its head on the table for the meeting to come to order, Travers called out, in an audible tone, “C-cash!” which brought down the house, and no one laughed more heartily than Mr. Stewart, although it was a severe thrust at himself.
As it is sometimes said of a stranger who comes from a foreign country, Travers came to New York well recommended, bringing letters of introduction with him from the first families of Baltimore, and credentials which at once established his status and reputation. So it was not necessary for him to remain long on probation in New York. Coming here was not a new birth to him, although, in some measure, he may be said to have risen, Phœnix-like, from the ashes of his former self, as business misfortunes had overtaken him in Baltimore.
Travers had not only to start in a new place and in a new business when he came here, but he had to begin the ascent of his prosperous career at the very bottom of the financial ladder. Owing to his incomparable geniality he met with hosts of friends from the very start, and he prospered from the word “go.”
Travers formed several partnerships at various times. After making considerable money in the one above alluded to with Mr. Jerome, the partnership was dissolved, and Travers then continued business alone as a Wall Street operator, and as I have formerly stated, usually acted on the bear side of the market, which was remarkable for a person of such a buoyant and hopeful disposition.
In his business operations Mr. Travers has always shown great sagacity, mingled with caution, and his prestige as a leader became so great that he soon attracted a numerous following of operators, who, with their eminent leader, formed a set widely known in speculative circles all over this country as the “Twenty-third Street Party.” Of this party, Mr. Addison Cammack, the celebrated bear, was a prominent member, and a great admirer of Mr. Travers.
Mr. Travers was well-born and received a good education, with an excellent training for a business career. He married a daughter of the Hon. Reverdy Johnson, who was United States Minister to England during the administration of Andrew Johnson, and who was one of the most prominent members of the Bar.
Mr. Travers has always been famous for his attachment to out-door sports and amusements, and on the principle that water finds its level, so did Mr. Travers in the sporting world. He soon became President of the Jerome Jockey Club, President of the Racquet Club, President of the Athletic Club, and was thoroughly identified as a leader in the large majority of manly and out-door sports, in which the youth of New York city and its suburbs were interested.
It is due both to Mr. Travers and his quondam partner, the renowned Leonard W. Jerome, to state that the efforts of these two men have been chiefly instrumental in elevating the social and moral tone of the race-course in this part of the country, and raising it to a standard of respectability, to which before their reformatory efforts it was partially a stranger. It was, in a great measure, through their exertions that the race-track became a fashionable resort, in the North, for ladies, as it had been in the South for many years, especially in Kentucky. The ladies of the present day can now talk horse at Jerome Park, Sheepshead Bay and Long Branch with a volubility that twenty years ago would have shocked their mothers, and would still cause their grandmothers to have epileptic fits. So the ladies of the present generation are greatly indebted to these two gentlemen for having removed the social stigma from the turf, in this section, thus enabling the fair sex to enjoy, in common with the lords of creation, and without compunction and loss of dignity, one of the greatest pleasures in the whole range of out-door recreations.