Such a legal pandemonium has never been seen before or since. The courts ran riot and law became another name for plunder. In this scene--the blackest in the history of American jurisprudence--the notorious Judge Barnard loomed up conspicuously, and a little later Judge Cardoza, shrewd, learned, crafty and venal--the modern Lord Bacon--appeared on the scene. At first Barnard was Vanderbilt’s judge. Later, when Vanderbilt had no further use for him, he became Gould’s judge. His other master was Tweed. In the meantime, regardless of injunctions, Drew and his aides calmly proceeded to carry out their carefully matured plans to issue new stock. It was agreed that fifty thousand shares of new stock should be delivered to the Wall street firms of which Gould and Fisk were members. Without going into the details of the intrigue, it is sufficient to say that it was, at least for the time being, successful. When the fifty thousand shares were thrown on the market the price of Erie fell from eighty-three to seventy-one. Vanderbilt found that he had bought at high figures a lot of Erie stock, but that he was no nearer control than ever. Drew raked in about seven million dollars of Vanderbilt’s money, and Gould and Fisk shared in the profits. Then orders were issued to arrest the Drew directors for contempt of court. Receiving intelligence of this, they hastily packed up their papers and securities, and thrusting them into their pockets and valises, they beat a hasty retreat to Jersey City. Over six million dollars in securities were carried in one coach. Among this precious company, of course, were Gould and Fisk. In Jersey they were safe from the operation of New York law. They calmly proceeded to have the Erie incorporated as a New Jersey institution, at the same time laboring to get the New York legislature to pass a bill to legalize the issue of fifty thousand shares of stock, a transaction which some one at that time likened to an attempt “to legalize counterfeit money.” It was not conscientious scruples which caused the legislature to hesitate to pass this bill; it was simply a question of cash. Vanderbilt was still in the fight to protect his interests, and it was a question of who had the biggest purse. Meanwhile, Peter B. Sweeny--the brains of the Tweed ring--had been made, temporarily, receiver of the road, and though he never actually did anything in that position, Judge Barnard ordered that he be paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for his services. Poor Erie had to foot the bill.