An end, however, was soon coming to his prolonged life. A few more
years of money heaping, and then, on May 10, 1876, he was taken
mortally ill. For eight months he lay in bed, his powerful vitality
making a vigorous battle for life; two physicians died while in the
course of attendance on him; it was not until the morning of January
4, 1877, that the final symptoms of approaching death came over him.
When this was seen the group about his bed emotionally sang: "Come,
Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy," "Nearer, My God, To Thee," and "Show Ye
Pity, Lord." He died with a conventional religious end of which the
world made much; all of the property sanctities and ceremonials were
duly observed; nothing was lacking in the piety of that affecting
deathbed scene. It furnished the text for many a sermon, but while
ministerial and journalistic attention was thus eulogistically
concentrated upon the loss of America's greatest capitalist, not a
reference was made in church or newspaper to the deaths every year of
a host of the lowly, slain in the industrial vortex by injury and
disease, and too often by suicide and starvation. Except among the
lowly themselves this slaughter passed unprotested and unnoticed.

Even as Vanderbilt lay moribund, speculation was busy as to the
disposition of his fortune. Who would inherit his aggregation of
wealth? The probating of his will soon disclosed that he had
virtually entailed it. About $90,000,000 was left to his eldest son,
William H., and one-half of the remaining $15,000,000 was bequeathed
to the chief heir's four sons. [Footnote: To Cornelius J. Vanderbilt,
the Commodore's "wayward" son, only the income derived from $200,000
was bequeathed, upon the condition that he should forfeit even this
legacy if he contested the will. Nevertheless, he brought a contest
suit. William H. Vanderbilt compromised the suit by giving to his
brother the income on $1,000,000. On April 2, 1882, Cornelius J.