of Richmond must soon fall, and the Confederacy with it. With no cable in operation there was a ten-day time gap between New York and London, and Fisk reasoned that if he could operate in the London market after he had learned of the capture of Richmond but before that news became known in London, he could make a killing.

So, Fisk hired a fast steamer and stationed her in Halifax, the nearest major port in North America to England. He strung fifty miles of private telegraph wire to assure instant communication with her. The ship’s captain had orders to keep steam up in her boilers, and his agents were on board. When Richmond finally fell, on April 3, 1865, Fisk sent a one-word message to Halifax: “ GO!”

The ship raced across the Atlantic to Liverpool, and Fisk’s agents hightailed it to London on the fast train. There, they sold massive amounts of Confederate bonds for future delivery, knowing the price would plummet. When the official news finally did reach the London Stock Exchange, three days after Fisk’s agents, Confederate bonds plunged from eighty to 28 in a few minutes and then tailed off into worthlessness a few days later. Fisk had made a fortune.

Or had he? When I first encountered the obituary relating this well-known story, I was writing a book about Wall Street in the 1860s and was delighted to have a nearly contemporary source to confirm it. Most legends, after all, take much longer than seven years to get into print. But something bothered me from the beginning, and the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.

First, Fisk arrived in Wall Street only in early 1865, and the first thing he did there was to lose every penny of the modest fortune he had made as a partner of the Boston textile firm of Jordan, Marsh. So, he could not possibly have financed the scheme on his own, and any partners he had would not have put a neophyte like Fisk in charge of their money in such a gamble. In other words, it seemed that Fisk could have undertaken this scheme only after he had made his reputation as a Wall Street plunger of genius. And that reputation was earned only in 1868 and 1869.

Second, some very large and non-refundable investments, in telegraph wires, ship, crew, et cetera, would have been needed to carry this off. From the moment that Fisk committed himself to these expenses until the moment his agents arrived in London, he would have been dependent on the London market for Confederate bond’s remaining steady, and his news of that market would never have been less than ten days old.

Now, for a speculator, ten days are an eternity. Being ten minutes behind the news can cost millions. It seemed to me that this scheme was impossibly risky even for someone like Fisk. Fisk, after

all, was a gambler not a fool.

Third, I was surprised that Confederate bonds were selling at 80 cents on the dollar in London so late in the war. Everybody knew that, if the rebellion was suppressed, the bonds would be worthless, and in the early days of 1865, one did not have to be Ulysses S. Grant to know that the Confederacy was doomed. The English business community, to be sure, had been strongly pro-Confederacy, but they weren't fools, any more than Fisk was.

So, I checked the London Times of 1865, and sure enough, Confederate bonds were not at eighty, and they hadn’t been in years. They were already trading at 28 when news of Richmond’s fall came. There was no sign of Fisk’s supposedly massive short sales. Nor were there any reports in the Times later of Fisk’s scheme, as there should have been. Nor did Fisk himself ever refer to this incident, as he certainly would have, for Jim Fisk was not one to hide his light under a bushel.

There was no alternative to accepting the fact that it was all a tall tale, and much to my disappointment, I couldn’t use it in the book. (I had to save it and use it in a column.)

But how did such a basically implausible story come into being in the first place? I suspect it came about like any folktale: as an expression of a fundamental aspect of the human condition.

Investors, like everyone else, are condemned to live their lives on the knife-edge between the future that can never be foreseen and the past that can never be revisited. But if they could revisit the past, what fortunes could be made! Selling short in early October 1929; loading up on Xerox in 1958; buying oil futures on the thinnest of margins the day before Iraq invaded Kuwait. With financial coups like those, making it to the Forbes Four Hundred list would be a morning’s work, with time left over for a couple of sets of tennis.

Today, it is all a pipe dream. But, before the transmission of information became instantaneous with the invention of the telegraph, it was sometimes actually possible, in effect, to revisit the past. A man learning of important news could ride a fast horse—or sail a swift ship—into the past, or at least into the parts of the world still in ignorance, and turn this knowledge into wealth. Nathan Rothschild, learning via carrier pigeon of the outcome of the Battle of Waterloo, made a bundle on the London Stock Exchange with his monopoly of the information.

Early in the 19th century, one of New York’s advantages over Philadelphia was the fact that it was two sailing days closer

to London. Chestnut Street brokers learned to dread the sudden arrival of a stagecoach full of Wall Streeters, for it invariably meant that important news from London had reached the New Yorkers, who were intent on making a killing while still in exclusive possession of it.

The domestic telegraph brought an end to such shenanigans in this country, and when the first successful Atlantic cable went into operation in 1866, the ten-day time gap between London and New York vanished as well. This had an immediate impact. Before the cable, the London and New York markets necessarily operated independently of each other because prices in one could not reflect current prices in the other.

Once the cable proved reliable, however, the two markets inevitably began to merge. A high price in New York for, say, gold, and a low one in London could now be arbitraged out of existence via the cable in short order. By 1870, Wall Streeters were spending a million dollars a year on cable charges to do exactly that. Fisk’s apocryphal scheme had become utterly impossible.

But Wall Streeters, like Monday-morning quarterbacks and armchair admirals, are fond of playing the game of “if only.” One can almost see a couple of top-hatted brokers having an after-work drink or two at a bar circa 1870, reminiscing about the good old days of the Civil War and how much money they could have made if only …

As they dreamed up the scheme over their third whiskeys, perhaps they realized it would have needed a man of genius and infinite financial courage to carry it out. “Jim Fisk could have done it” soon became “Jim Fisk did it.” The story spread, a folktale was born.