by Judith Pella
Biddle’s Portsmouth bank had shown undue favoritism to anti-Jackson men, and the President saw clear lines being drawn. Leland could still recall Jackson voicing doubts regarding the need for a national bank in his annual presidential messages. Thus, the fight was on. Now there were rumors that Biddle’s bank would be refused a renewed charter next year. If that happened, it was anyone’s guess as to where things would go from there.
Leland had tried to make the most of the new banking freedom. With taxation funds, custom house collections, and land office deposits being shared among a variety of private banks, Leland’s Democratic standing had caused him to prosper. But perhaps he had gone too far. In studying Biddle’s methods and mistakes, Baldwin had been lured by the possibilities of personal gain.
He had offered easy credit at low interest to his closest and most beneficial friends. He extended loan notes in return for favors, and he hoarded with a passion as many of Jackson’s “yellow-boys”— newly minted gold pieces—as he could. Gold could be spent any day, but the value of paper bank notes was questionable. Maybe he had already put too many bank notes into circulation.
By the look of the accounts Leland now studied, he immediately realized a major problem. Too many assets were frozen in long-term loans. The preferred loan form was short term at high interest. Thirty or sixty days at most and certainly no longer than ninety. But here, in the black and red of his ledgers, Leland saw how many low-interest notes he had issued to friends and business interests that would not pay back for one or more years. And though the notes were payable upon demand, Baldwin knew he would forever ruin his social standing to force money from his friends.
“Pure stupidity on my part,” he mumbled in disgust. He was simply too generous for a banker. However, generosity was probably not his major motive. He had an aversion against turning away business—any business—when it came his way.
He hated to think what might happen if a run on the bank occurred in the near future. Clearly he had more bank notes on the street than solid reserves to back them. It would take only one person issuing a panic, and the entire bank would collapse. There was also the fear that once Jackson’s administration came to an end, the Bank of the United States might once again find favor in the eyes of the government. If that happened, Leland’s bank might be required to turn over the government deposits in full, and that clearly wasn’t possible.
Taking out a handkerchief, Leland mopped great drops of sweat from his forehead. It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t. Jackson wanted the common man to have available cash and the benefits of bank loans. Westward expansion depended on it, and even Henry Clay wanted to see the West settled. Only people with money could accomplish such a feat, and Leland knew that land speculation demanded a ready supply of cash. He drew a deep breath. By the time Jackson was gone, it would be too late to change things. The banks would be committed to the brave souls who went west. The West would collapse without the common man’s bank, and the bank would collapse only if the government cashed in on their deposits.
“I simply mustn’t worry so,” Baldwin chided himself.
But he did worry.
The country was in the middle of questionable, but very enjoyable, prosperity. Still, Baldwin was no fool. There was bound to come a reckoning, and he was certain it would have Jackson’s name on it.
A knock at the door came as a welcome relief from his troubles.
“Come in,” he said, quickly closing the ledger.
“Hello, Father!”
A young man strode into the office. His long legs carried his lanky well-built frame with an easy confidence. At twenty-two, Leland Baldwin’s son appeared to have inherited none of his father’s portly expanse, nor the elder’s homely, nondescript features. Young James Baldwin’s thick wavy dark hair, bushy eyebrows, tanned ruddy complexion, and strong facial lines must surely have derived from his mother’s side. He was dressed in the highest fashion, gray frock coat, silk waistcoat and ascot, and in his hand he carried an elegant beaver top hat.
“This is a surprise,” said Leland without further greeting. “Didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“I took the locomotive. Very impressive, by the way. This is for you.” In his other hand James had been holding a leather satchel, which he now laid on his father’s desk. Then he dropped his lanky frame into one of the leather chairs facing the desk, and like an ill-bred ruffian, he threw a leg casually over the arm of the chair, absently toying with his hat.
With a disapproving shake of his head, Leland momentarily gave his attention to the satchel, opening it and looking inside without removing the contents. A smile broke the tension of his heavily jowled face, but it faded as he glanced up again at his son. “Did your uncle Samuel tell you anything about this?”
“Nothing, except that it was urgent bank business. And I certainly didn’t presume to open it myself.” James’ tone betrayed his defensiveness.
Leland carried the satchel to his private safe, opened the lock, and placed it inside, firmly closing the door afterward.
“I was about to have lunch,” said Leland. “You are welcome to join me.”
“I wouldn’t be an imposition?”
“Of course not. You’ve been away for weeks.” Leland studied his son again, trying not to be disturbed by the tension in the young man’s voice. He hardly realized his own tone equally mirrored his son’s. “Besides, your mother will be joining us, and she’ll be inconsolable if you decline.”
“Then, by all means, I will come.” James paused, as if searching for something more to say. “How is Mother?”
“You know your mother.” Leland relaxed a bit with this topic he knew would be safe from conflict with his son. “She is constantly involved in one good cause or another. Last week she was gathering up food items for the orphan home. This week I believe she is raising funds to decorate the graves of Revolutionary War heroes. At the pace she goes, no doubt she will have all Washington fed, clothed, or put to rest before the end of the week.”
James chuckled, relaxing too. “Then perhaps my absence wasn’t even noticed.”
“Oh, it was noticed. You are her only child.” Leland said nothing about whether he had noticed. He was not a man to express his feelings; in fact, he hardly even acknowledged them himself. He felt it was the man’s proper role to treat all aspects of his life in a businesslike manner.
Just then another knock signaled the arrival of Leland’s wife. Richly adorned in a green organdy summer dress, heavily beruffled, with a matching feathered bonnet and parasol, Edith Baldwin entered the room with all the grace and elegance of a practiced lady.
“I do declare! James!” She started toward her son.
James, already on his feet, flowed easily into her motherly embrace. She held nothing back in showing her delight at her son’s presence.
“How I have missed you, James! And I do believe you have grown.”
“I think I’m past all that, Mother.”
“He’s too tall already,” put in Leland.
“You are still a sight for a mother’s eyes,” Edith said, ignoring her husband’s critical comment and turning to James. “When did you get back?”
“Only a few minutes ago.”
“I do wish I would have known about the change in your plans,” she said with a petulant, almost childish pout. “I have next to nothing planned for dinner.”
“I will be happy with anything you have.”
“It’s all for the best, I suppose.” Edith took a seat in the chair adjacent to her son’s, and both men also resumed their seats as Edith arranged the flounces of her dress. “Now that you’re here, James, there is a matter—”
“Mrs. Baldwin,” put in Leland impatiently, “can’t this wait? I was expecting to be at the restaurant. I do have to get back to work today.”
“What about your fitting at the tailor’s, dear?” she asked, absently smoothing out her voluminous gigot sleeves.
“Oh yes, that. I think I’ll cancel it
. I’m perfectly content with my old formal suit.”
“But, dear,” cooed Edith in a sweet diminutive tone that nonetheless hinted at inflexibility, “you did promise you would get a new suit. And it is a special occasion.”
“What occasion is this?” asked James. “I don’t believe there are any birthdays or anniversaries coming up.”
“I wrote you about it. Don’t you remember?” She looked positively deflated, almost as if she would cry. “The dinner party we are giving in honor of your return. Goodness! If it’s not important to anyone but me—”
“No, Mother, I remember,” said James quickly.
Edith brightened. “I do so want this to be special for you, dear. I’ve put a lot of thought into the guest list.”
“I’m sure the company will be delightful.”
“I hope it will be more than that.”
“What do you mean?” James cocked a perplexed brow.
“Can’t we discuss this over lunch?” asked Leland.
“It will only take a minute, Mr. Baldwin,” said Edith. “And it is perhaps too delicate a subject to be discussed in public.”
Leland gave a noisy sigh, clearly registering his disapproval. Nevertheless, as hard a man as he might be, he did know when to appease his delicate wife. “Well, then, let’s get it over with.”
“I wanted to discuss the guest list. There are several young ladies—”
“Mother . . .”
“James, your father and I feel it is high time you settled down and stopped flitting about the country. Now that your education is complete, it is time you start a family and take up the banking business.”
James rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be disrespectful of your mother, boy!” growled Leland.
“I’m sorry.” James seemed contrite enough. “But I’ve hardly been ‘flitting around the country.’ A few trips—”
“Every holiday from school you are off somewhere,” countered Edith. “Your father has had precious little time to teach you the business. And as far as courtship goes—well, many of the families in the area hardly even know we have an eligible son. Sometimes I think there ought to be coming-out parties for young men as well as girls.”
“How positively ridiculous,” said Leland.
“Well . . . what else can we do?”
“And that’s what this dinner party is all about?” James asked warily.
“I have invited a handful of the best families, all of whom have perfectly delightful daughters of the marrying age. You may have your pick. See, I am willing to be flexible in this matter.”
“Do we need to discuss this now?” asked James. “The dust is still clinging to my traveling cloak.”
“No time like the present,” said Leland, moderating his impatience. He was no less anxious than his wife to have James settled and married, preferably to a wealthy debutante. It was a closely guarded secret—even James was unaware of it—but the Baldwin personal financial situation was even more precarious than the bank’s. For years Leland had been living way beyond his means, and it was now beginning to catch up to him. “Tell James about these families, wife.”
“There is the Milford girl, Kate,” said Edith, a hint of triumph in her eyes. “She’s seventeen and quite accomplished. True, her waist is a bit thick, but that could be remedied with a better corset. The family’s fortune easily makes one forget her minor imperfections. Next is Sarah Armstrong. She lacks a bit in refinement because the family money is rather new, but again there is enough of it so as to cause other considerations to dim.” Edith counted the young women off on her hand as she spoke. She was clearly in her element. “The secretary of the treasury has a charming ward, his niece, or is it cousin? I forget and it doesn’t matter. The girl is absolutely lovely and has the social standing and financial security to make a good wife. And lastly, but certainly far from being least worthy, is Virginia Adams of Oakbridge. Her credentials are impeccable, and though I mention her last, she is my first choice. As you well know, the family is old and well established, the fortune is old and sizable, and in spite of the distant ties to the presidential Adams, they are in quite tight with the present administration. The fact that they were close friends and neighbors before we moved to the capital makes them that much more appealing.”
“My, my, Mother,” James said in sarcastic wonder. His father threw him a cautionary glance, but James continued anyway. “Have you picked us a house, as well, and named our children?”
Leland wasn’t surprised when his wife went on, undaunted. “Dear James, do be sensible. A good wife is an important asset.”
“You’ve been around banking too much,” said James.
“Would you rather make a poor choice you would regret the rest of your days?”
“I’m not looking for a wife at all right now,” said James. “And I have no desire to settle down.”
“You will have to settle down in order to properly run the bank,” said Edith.
“I don’t plan on running the bank,” James said in an even, barely controlled tone.
Leland scowled. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard this. James had been scoffing at the banking business for years. Yet it was the first time Leland heard it declared with such assertive resolve.
“Don’t talk nonsense, young man,” said Leland. “What other means of support do you have? You wasted your college on ridiculous courses in science and history.”
“Because I have no interest in business and banking.”
“Pray tell, what do you have an interest in?” asked Edith, horrified at the turn of the conversation.
“Railroads,” said James flatly, but with assurance.
“Railroads!” mother and father exclaimed in unison.
“Yes.” James smiled almost defiantly. “I had the opportunity to spend time with the president of the B&O—that’s Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. I learned a great deal about their operations and found it quite fascinating. Mr. Thomas is looking for good engineers to help design the rail line. And he believes my science courses, far from being frivolous, are perfectly tailored for his needs.”
“Oh, James . . .” Edith laid a hand weakly across her forehead. “We had such high hopes for you. I do believe I’m feeling faint.”
“Mother, the railroad business is quite respectable.”
“Bah!” spat Leland. “It’s filled with risks and pitfalls. And I have no doubt half those railroad people are criminals to boot. They’ve approached me for loans—which I’ve refused handily. I’ve read their financial reports and can only say the entire venture is pure madness.”
“Perhaps it is risky, but only those willing to risk greatly will reap in kind,” James countered with a determined set to his jaw. His blue eyes burned with conviction. “You took a few risks yourself, Father, when you opened this bank.”
“Banking is a reputable business.”
James chuckled. “Half the people in this country won’t put their money in a bank. I believe even the President keeps his personal income tucked under his mattress.”
“But, son,” said Edith, “the railroad is so dirty and noisy.”
“Mother, can’t you see all the promise it holds? I have seen the plans for a rail line from Baltimore to Ohio. Imagine that!” His excitement grew, oblivious of his parents’ clear disapproval. “And from Ohio it could well stretch the distance to Chicago.”
“Chicago?” smirked Leland. “Who cares about that mudhole except the three thousand people who live there?”
“Why don’t you just open your mind for a minute, Father?”
“So you can drive a locomotive through it?” Leland’s jowls shook in his fury as he continued. “My mind is open, James, and I’m tired of your insolence. I’ve paid for your education, and I will dictate how it is used. You are going into the banking business, and you are going to marry well. I’ll hear no more of it. It is about time you acted like a man instead of an irresponsible boy.”
Leland pushed back his
chair and lurched angrily to his feet. Lunch, of course, was ruined now, but for Edith’s sake they would have to muddle through.
7
Railroad Man
James walked along the banks of the Potomac. It was enough away from the hubbub of the capital to allow him a small respite. The waters were sluggish now as summer drew to a close. He paused, stooped down, and picked up a small flat rock, which he flung mightily into the water. The rock skimmed the surface. But it hardly reached the other side as George Washington’s famed toss was reputed to have done.
James stripped off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. His mother would chide him for looking like a vagabond, but he didn’t care. The afternoon was stifling. The thought of his mother made him recall the events earlier in the day—not that they had been very far from him since leaving his parents after lunch. The meal had been terribly stilted and awkward. His father was unbending in his demands on James. His mother, in her sweet delicate way, was also quite inflexible.
Sometimes James wanted desperately to throw aside all the family constraints. They weighed him down like chains. He longed to break free, perhaps be a real vagabond, or a mountain man, or an explorer. But duty and responsibility held him back. His father called him irresponsible, and maybe he was to some extent, but where his family was concerned, he felt the weight of his sense of duty could almost break him. Perhaps if he were truly a man he’d throw aside those bonds entirely. Maybe it would have been different if his parents had had other children, other sons. But he was alone, and all the family hopes were pinned on him. His father was overbearing, his mother overprotective, yet they had only him to carry on the name and all the things his father had worked so hard to build.
But what of his own dreams? It was hardly fair that he should be expected to sacrifice those for a life he disdained. But his mother would weep and his father would bellow. James didn’t want to hurt his mother or disappoint his father.
