“There, Vanderbilt, take all this property, and pay me for it as you make the money.”

This splendid offer he thankfully but firmly declined.  He did so chiefly because he knew, the men with whom he would have had to co-operate, and foresaw, that he and they could never work comfortably together.  He wanted a free field.

The little Caroline, seventy feet long, that afterward plunged over Niagara Falls, was the first steamboat ever built by him.  His progress as a steamboat owner was not rapid for some years.  The business was in the hands of powerful companies and wealthy individuals, and he, the new-comer, running a few small boats on short routes, labored under serious disadvantages.  Formidable attempts were made to run him off the river; but, prompt to retaliate, he made vigorous inroads into the enemy’s domain, and kept up an opposition so keen as to compel a compromise in every instance.  There was a time, during his famous contest with the Messrs. Stevens of Hoboken, when he had spent every dollar he possessed, and when a few days more of opposition would have compelled him to give up the strife.  Nothing saved him but the belief, on the part of his antagonists, that Gibbons was backing him.  It was not the case; he had no backer.  But this error, in the very nick of time, induced his opponents to treat for a compromise, and he was saved.

Gradually he made his way to the control of the steamboat interest.  He has owned, in whole or in part, a hundred steam vessels.  His various opposition lines have permanently reduced fares one half.  Superintending himself the construction of every boat, having a perfect practical knowledge of the business in its every detail, selecting his captains well and paying them justly, he has never lost a vessel by fire, explosion, or wreck.  He possesses, in a remarkable degree, the talent of selecting the right man for a place, and of inspiring him with zeal.  Every man who serves him knows that he will be sustained against all intrigue and all opposition, and that he has nothing to fear so long as he does his duty.

The later events in his career are, in some degree, known to the public.  Every one remembers his magnificent cruise in the North Star, and how, on returning to our harbor, his first salute was to the cottage of his venerable mother on the Staten Island shore.  To her, also, on landing, he first paid his respects.

Every one knows that he presented to the government the steamer that bears his name, at a time when she was earning him two thousand dollars a day.  He has given to the war something more precious than a ship:  his youngest son, Captain Vanderbilt, the most athletic youth that ever graduated at West Point, and one of the finest young men in the country.  His friends tell us that, on his twenty-second birthday he lifted nine hundred and eight pounds.  But his giant strength did not save him.  The fatigues and miasmas of the Corinth campaign planted in his magnificent frame the seeds of death.  He died a year ago, after a long struggle with disease, to the inexpressible grief of his family.