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Great Fortunes, and How They Were Made by James D. McCabe, Jr.

J >> James D. McCabe, Jr. >> Great Fortunes, and How They Were Made




Inclosed is an introductory letter to ----, which I request you to
deliver, after you have made the necessary arrangements with Mr.
----for the consignment of the ship and cargo, or after the
circumstance aforementioned has compelled you to look elsewhere for
a consignee. Then you are to call upon said Messrs. ----, deliver
them the aforesaid letter and the consignment of the ship ---- and
cargo, after having agreed with them in writing, which they will
sign and deliver to you, that they engage to transact the business
of the ship and cargo on the terms and conditions herein stated;
and when that business is well understood and finally closed, you
are to press them in a polite manner, so that they many give you a
quick dispatch, without giving too great a price for the coffee,
particularly at this present moment, when its price is declining
throughout those countries where it is consumed.

Indeed, on the subject of purchasing coffee for the ship ----, the
greatest caution and prudence should be exercised. Therefore, I
request that you will follow the plan of conduct laid down for you
throughout. Also, to keep to yourself the intention of the voyage,
and the amount of specie you have on board; and in view to satisfy
the curious, tell them that it is probable that the ship will take
in molasses, rice, and sugar, if the price of that produce is very
low, adding that the whole will depend on the success in selling
the small Liverpool cargo. The consignees of said cargo should
follow the same line of conduct, and if properly attended to by
yourself and them, I am convinced that the cargo of coffee can be
purchased ten per cent. cheaper than it would be if it is publicly
known there is a quantity of Spanish dollars on board, besides a
valuable cargo of British goods intended to be invested in coffee
for Stephen Girard, of Philadelphia.

During my long commercial experience, I have noticed that no
advantage results from telling one's business to others, except to
create jealousy or competitors when we are fortunate, and to
gratify our enemies when otherwise.

If my remarks are correct, I have no doubt they will show you the
necessity of being silent, and to attend with activity,
perseverance, and modesty, to the interests of your employer.

As my letters of instruction embrace several interesting objects, I
request you to peruse them in rotation, when at sea in fine
climates, during your voyage to Batavia, and to take correct
extracts, so as to render yourself master of the most essential
parts. I conclude by directing your attention to your health and
that of your crew.

I am yours, respectfully,

STEPHEN GIRARD.


Mr. Girard was not only rigidly precise in his instructions, but he
permitted no departure from them. He regarded it as dangerous to allow
discretion to any one in the execution of _his_ plans. Where a deviation
from his instructions might cause success in one case, it would cause
loss in ninety-nine others. It was understood among all his employes
that a rigid obedience to orders, in even the most trifling particulars,
was expected, and would be exacted. If loss came under such
circumstances, the merchant assumed the entire responsibility for it.

Upon one occasion one of his best captains was instructed to purchase
his cargo of teas at a certain port. Upon reaching home he was summoned
by the merchant to his presence.

"Captain ----," said Mr. Girard, sternly, "your instructions required
you to purchase your cargo at ----."

"That is true, Mr. Girard," replied the Captain, "but upon reaching that
port I found I could do so much better at ----, that I felt justified in
proceeding to the latter place."

"You should have obeyed your orders, sir," was the stern retort.

"I was influenced by a desire to serve your interests, sir. The result
ought to justify me in my act, since it puts many thousands more into
your pocket than if I had bought where I was instructed."

"Captain ----," said Girard, "I take care of my own interests. You
should have obeyed your orders if you had broken me. Nothing can excuse
your disobedience. You will hand in your accounts, sir, and consider
yourself discharged from my service."

He was as good as his word, and, though the captain's disobedience had
vastly increased the profit of the voyage, he dismissed him, nor would
he ever receive him into his service again.

To his knowledge of his business Mr. Girard joined an unusual capacity
for such ventures. He was, it must be said, hard and illiberal in his
bargains, and remorseless in exacting the last cent due him. He was
prompt and faithful in the execution of every contract, never departed
in the slightest from his plighted word, and never engaged in any
venture which he was not perfectly able to undertake. He was prudent and
cautious in the fullest sense of those terms, but his ventures were
always made with a boldness which was the sure forerunner of success.

His fidelity to his word is well shown by a circumstance which had
occurred long after he was one of the "money kings" of the land. He was
once engaged with his cashier in a discussion as to the length of time a
man would consume in counting a million of dollars, telling out each
dollar separately. The dispute became animated, and the cashier declared
that he could make a million of dots with ink in a few hours.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Girard, who was thoroughly vexed by
the opposition of the other, "I'll wager five hundred dollars that I can
ride in my gig from here to my farm, spend two hours there, and return
before you can make your million of dots with ink."

The cashier, after a moment's reflection, accepted the wager, and Mr.
Girard departed to his farm. He returned in a few hours, confident that
he had won. The cashier met him with a smile.

"Where is my money?" asked Girard, triumphantly.

"The money is mine," replied the cashier. "Come and see."

He led the merchant to an unused room of the bank, and there, to his
dismay, Girard saw the walls and ceiling covered with spots of ink,
which the cashier had dashed on them with a brush.

"Do you mean to say there are a million of dots here?" he cried,
angrily.

"Count them, and see," replied his subordinate, laughing. "You know the
wager was a million of dots with ink."

"But I expected you would make them with the pen."

"I did not undertake any thing of the kind."

The joke was too good, and the merchant not only paid the amount of the
wager, but the cost of cleaning the walls.

In 1810 the question of renewing the charter of the old Bank of the
United States was actively discussed. Girard was a warm friend of that
institution, which he believed had been the cause of a very great part
of the prosperity of the country, and was firmly convinced that Congress
would renew the charter. In this belief he ordered the Barings, of
London, to invest all his funds in their hands in shares of the Bank of
the United States, which was done, during the following year, to the
amount of half a million of dollars. When the charter expired, he was
the principal creditor of that institution, which Congress refused to
renew. Discovering that he could purchase the old Bank and the cashier's
house for one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, he at once secured
them, and on the 12th of May, 1812, opened the Girard Bank, with a
capital of one million two hundred thousand dollars, which he increased
the next year by one hundred thousand dollars more. He retained all the
old officers of the Bank of the United States, especially the cashier,
Mr. Simpson, to whose skill and experience he was greatly indebted for
his subsequent success.

Finding that the salaries which had been paid by the Government were
higher than those paid elsewhere, he cut them down to the rate given by
the other banks. The watchman had always received from the old Bank the
gift of an overcoat at Christmas, but Girard put a stop to this. He gave
no gratuities to any of his employes, but confined them to the
compensation for which they had bargained; yet he contrived to get out
of them service more devoted than was received by other men who paid
higher wages and made presents. Appeals to him for aid were unanswered.
No poor man ever came full-handed from his presence. He turned a deaf
ear to the entreaties of failing merchants to help them on their feet
again. He was neither generous nor charitable. When his faithful cashier
died, after long years spent in his service, he manifested the most
hardened indifference to the bereavement of the family of that
gentleman, and left them to struggle along as best they could.

Yet from the first he was liberal and sometimes magnificent in the
management of his bank. He would discount none but good paper, but it
was his policy to grant accommodations to small traders, and thus
encourage beginners, usually giving the preference to small notes, by
this system doing very much to avert the evils that would of necessity
have sprung from the suspension of the old Bank of the United States.
The Government credit was almost destroyed, and money was needed to
carry on the war. He made repeated advances to the treasury, unsolicited
by the authorities, and on more than one occasion kept the Government
supplied with the sinews of war. In 1814, when our prospects, both
military and financial, were at their lowest ebb, when the British
forces had burned Washington and the New England States were threatening
to withdraw from the Union, the Government asked for a loan of five
millions of dollars, with the most liberal inducements to subscribers.
Only twenty thousand dollars could be obtained, and the project seemed
doomed to failure, when it was announced that Stephen Girard had
subscribed for the whole amount. This announcement at once restored the
public confidence, and Mr. Girard was beset with requests from persons
anxious to take a part of the loan, even at an advanced rate. They were
allowed to do so upon the original terms. When the Government could not,
for want of funds, pay the interest on its debt to him, he wrote to the
Secretary of the Treasury:

"I am of opinion that those who have any claim for interest on public
stock, etc., should patiently wait for a more favorable moment, or at
least receive in payment treasury notes. Should you be under the
necessity of resorting to either of these plans, as one of the public
creditors, I shall not murmur."

"A circumstance soon occurred, however, which was a source of no little
discomfiture to the financial arrangements of his individual
institution. This fact was the suspension of specie payments by the
State banks, resulting from the non-intercourse act, the suspension of
the old bank, and the combined causes tending to produce a derangement
of the currency of the country. It was then a matter of great doubt with
him how he should preserve the integrity of his own institution, while
the other banks were suspending their payments; but the credit of his
own bank was effectually secured by the suggestion of his cashier, Mr.
Simpson, who advised the recalling of his own notes by redeeming them
with specie, and by paying out the notes of the State banks. In this
mode not a single note of his own was suffered to be depreciated, and he
was thus enabled, in 1817, to contribute effectually to the restoration
of specie payments."

He was instrumental in securing the establishment of the new Bank of the
United States, and was its largest stockholder and one of its directors.
He even offered to unite his own institution with it upon certain
liberal conditions, which were refused. Yet he was always a firm friend
to it.

"One of the characteristics of Mr. Girard was his public spirit. At one
time he freely subscribed one hundred and ten thousand dollars for the
navigation of the Schuylkill; at another time he loaned the company two
hundred and sixty-five thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars. When
the credit of the State of Pennsylvania was prostrated by what was
believed to have been an injudicious system of internal improvement, and
it was found expedient for the Governor to resort to its metropolis in
order to replenish its coffers, he made a voluntary loan to Governor
Shultz of one hundred thousand dollars. So far was his disposition to
promote the fiscal prosperity of the country manifested, that, as late
as 1831, when the country was placed in extreme embarrassment from the
scarcity of money, he perceived the cause in the fact that the balance
of trade was against us to a considerable extent, and he accordingly
drew upon the house of Baring Brothers & Co. for bills of exchange to
the amount of twelve thousand pounds sterling, which he disposed of to
the Bank of the United States at an advance of ten per cent., which
draft was followed up by another for ten thousand, which was disposed of
in like manner to other institutions. This act tended to reduce the
value of bills, and the rate of exchange suddenly fell. The same spirit
which he manifested toward the national currency he exhibited to the
corporation of Philadelphia, by erecting new blocks of buildings, and
beautifying and adorning its streets; less, apparently, from a desire of
profit than from a wish to improve the place which was his adopted home,
and where he had reaped his fortunes. His subscription of two hundred
thousand dollars to the Danville and Pottsville Railroad, in 1831, was
an action in keeping with the whole tenor of his life; and his
subscription of ten thousand dollars toward the erection of an exchange
looked to the same result."

The war of 1812, which brought financial ruin to so many others, simply
increased Girard's wealth. He never lost a ship, and as war prices
prevailed, his profits were in accordance with them. One of his ships
was taken by a British cruiser at the mouth of the Delaware, in the
spring of 1813. Fearing that his prize would be recaptured by an
American ship of war if he attempted to send her into port, the English
admiral dispatched a flag of truce to Mr. Girard, and proposed to him to
ransom the vessel for one hundred and eighty thousand dollars in coin.
Girard consented, paid the money, and the ship was allowed to come up to
the city. Her cargo consisted of silks, nankeens, and teas, and afforded
her owner a profit of half a million of dollars.

Yet in the midst of all his wealth, which in 1828 was estimated at ten
millions of dollars, he was a solitary old man.

He lived in a dingy little house in Water Street. His wife had died in
an insane asylum, and he was childless. He was repulsive in person. He
was feared by his subordinates--by all who had dealings with him--and
liked by none. He was mean and close in his personal habits, living on
less, perhaps, than any of his clerks, and deriving little or no benefit
from his vast wealth, so far as his individual comfort was concerned. He
gave nothing in charity. Lazarus would have lain at his doors a
life-time without being noticed by him. He was solitary, soured, cold,
with a heart of stone, and fully conscious of his personal unpopularity.
Yet he valued wealth--valued it for the power it gave him over men.
Under that cold, hardened exterior reigned an ambition as profound as
that which moved Napoleon. He was ambitious of regulating the financial
operations of the land, and proud of his power in this respect, and it
should be remembered in his favor that he did not abuse that power after
it had passed into his hands.

He had no vices, no dissipations; his whole soul was in his business. He
was conscious that his only hope of distinction above his fellow-men was
in his wealth, and he was resolved that nothing should make him swerve
from his endeavor to accumulate a fortune which should make him all
powerful in life and remembered in death. He sought no friends, and was
reticent as to his career, saying to those who questioned him about it,
"Wait till I am dead; my deeds will show what I was."

Religion had no place in his heart. He was an avowed unbeliever, making
a boast of his disbelief. He always worked on Sunday, in order that he
might show his disapproval of the observance of it as a day of rest.
Rest, he said, made a man rusty, and attendance upon the worship of God
he denounced as worse than folly. His favorite books were the works of
Voltaire, and he named his best ships after the most celebrated French
infidels.

Yet this man, so unloved, so undeserving of love, is said to have once
had a warm heart. His early troubles and his domestic griefs are said to
have soured and estranged him from mankind.

"No one who has had access to his private papers can fail to be
impressed with the belief that these early disappointments furnish the
key to his entire character. Originally of warm and generous impulses,
the belief in childhood that he had not been given his share of the love
and kindness which were extended to others, changed the natural current
of his feelings, and, acting on a warm and passionate temperament,
alienated him from his home, his parents, and his friends. And when in
after time there were superadded years of bitter anguish, resulting from
his unfortunate and ill-adapted marriage, rendered even more poignant by
the necessity of concealment, and the consequent injustice of public
sentiment, marring all his cherished expectations, it may be readily
understood why constant occupation became a necessity and labor a
pleasure."

This is the testimony of Mr. Henry W. Arey, the distinguished secretary
of Girard College, in whose keeping are the papers of the subject of
this memoir, and it must be confessed that his view of Girard's
character is sustained by the following incidents, the narration of
which I have passed over until now, in order that the history of his
commercial career might not be interrupted:

In the summer of 1793 the yellow fever broke out with fearful violence
in Philadelphia. The citizens fled in dismay, leaving the plague-smitten
city to its fate. Houses were left tenantless, and the streets were
deserted. It was a season of horror and dread. Those who could not get
away avoided each other, and the sufferers were left to languish and
die. Money could not buy nurses in sufficient numbers, and often the
victims lay unburied for days in the places where they had died. So
terrible was the panic that it seemed that nothing could stay it.

On the 10th of September the _Federal Gazette_, the only paper which had
not suspended its publication, contained an anonymous card, stating that
of the visitors of the poor all but three had succumbed to the disease
or fled from the city, and begging assistance from such benevolent
citizens as would consent to render their aid. On the 12th and 14th,
meetings were held at the City Hall, at the last of which a volunteer
committee was appointed to superintend the measures to be taken for
checking the pestilence. Twenty-seven men volunteered to serve, but only
twelve had the courage to fulfill their promise. They set to work
promptly. The hospital at Bush Hill was reported by the physician to be
in a deplorable state--without order, dirty and foul, and in need of
nurses. The last, he stated, could not be had for any price. Two of the
committee now stepped forward and nobly offered themselves as managers
of the hospital. They were Stephen Girard and Peter Helm.

Girard was now a man of wealth and influence, and with a brilliant
commercial career opening before him. Above all, he was a foreigner, and
unpopular in the city. Yet he did not hesitate to take the post from
which others shrank. He and Helm were regarded as doomed men, but they
did not falter from their self-imposed task. They went to work at once.
Girard chose the post of honor, which was the post of danger--the
management of the interior of the hospital. His decisive character was
at once felt. Order began to appear, medicines and nurses were procured,
and the very next day the committee were informed that the hospital had
been cleaned and reorganized, and was prepared to receive patients.

Girard opened his purse liberally, and spared no expense where money
would avail. But this was not all. Besides personally superintending the
interior of the hospital, he went about through the city seeking the
sick and conveying them to the hospital.

"In the great scarcity of help, he used frequently to receive the sick
and dying at the gate, assist in carrying them to their beds, nurse
them, receive their last messages, watch for their last breath, and
then, wrapping them in the sheet on which they had died, carry them out
to the burial ground and place them in the trench. He had a vivid
recollection of the difficulty of finding any kind of fabric in which to
wrap the dead, when the vast number of interments had exhausted the
supply of sheets. 'I would put them,' he would say, 'in any old rag I
could find.'"

[Illustration: GIRARD'S HEROISM.]

"If he ever left the hospital, it was to visit the infected districts,
and assist in removing the sick from the houses in which they were dying
without help. One scene of this kind, witnessed by a merchant who was
hurrying past with camphored handkerchief pressed to his mouth, affords
us a vivid glimpse of this heroic man engaged in his sublime vocation. A
carriage, rapidly driven by a black man, broke the silence of the
deserted and grass-grown street. It stopped before a frame house, and
the driver, first having bound a handkerchief over his mouth, opened the
door of the carriage, and quickly remounted to the box. A short,
thick-set man stepped from the coach and entered the house. In a minute
or two the observer, who stood at a safe distance watching the
proceedings, heard a shuffling noise in the entry, and soon saw the
stout little man supporting with extreme difficulty a tall, gaunt,
yellow-visaged victim of the pestilence. Girard held round the waist the
sick man, whose yellow face rested against his own; his long, damp,
tangled hair mingled with Girard's; his feet dragging helpless upon the
pavement. Thus he drew him to the carriage door, the driver averting his
face from the spectacle, far from offering to assist. Partly dragging,
partly lifting, Girard succeeded, after long and severe exertion, in
getting him into the vehicle. He then entered it himself, closed the
door, and the carriage drove away toward the hospital."[A]

For sixty days Mr. Girard continued to discharge his duties, never
absenting himself from his post, being nobly sustained by Peter Helm.

Again, in 1797 and 1798, when the city was scourged a second and a third
time with the fever, he volunteered his services, and more than earned
the gratitude of his fellow-citizens. In the absence of physicians, he
took upon himself the office of prescribing for the sick, and as his
treatment involved careful nursing and the use of simple remedies only,
he was very successful. In 1799 he wrote to his friend Devize, then in
France, but who had been the physician at the Bush Hill Hospital in
1793:

"During all this frightful time I have constantly remained in the city,
and, without neglecting any public duties, I have played a part which
will make you smile. Would you believe it, my friend, that I have
visited as many as fifteen sick people in a day, and what will surprise
you still more, I have lost only one patient, an Irishman, who would
drink a little. I do not flatter myself that I have cured one single
person, but you will think with me that in my quality of Philadelphia
physician I have been very moderate, and that not one of my confreres
have killed fewer than myself."

[Footnote A: James Parton.]

Such acts as these should go far in his favor in estimating his
character, for they are the very height of true heroism.

Mr. Girard was never idle. Work, as has before been said, was a
necessity with him. Nothing would draw him from his labors. His only
recreation was to drive to his little farm, which lay a few miles out of
the city, and engage with his own hands in the work of tilling it. He
was very proud of the vegetables and fruits he raised himself, and took
great interest in improving their growth. During the visit of the
present head of the house of Baring Bros, (then a young man) to this
country, that gentleman supposed he would give Mr. Girard pleasure by
informing him of the safe arrival of one of his ships, the Voltaire,
from India. Engaging a carriage, he drove to the banker's farm, and
inquired for Mr. Girard.

"He is in the hay-loft," was the answer.

"Inform him that I wish to see him," said Mr. Baring; but almost before
the words had left his lips Girard was before him.

"I came to inform you," he said, addressing the banker, "that your ship,
the Voltaire, has arrived safely."

"I knew that she would reach port safely," said Girard; "my ships always
arrive safe. She is a good ship. Mr. Baring, you must excuse me; I am
much engaged in my hay." And so saying, he ascended to the loft again.

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