by Ron Carter
Matthew drew a deep breath. “We’ll see.”
The three men settled into the routine of their work. Talk was scant as they concentrated on the detail of contracts, insurance claims, payments received, payments made, crewmen gone, crewmen to be hired, food for the commissaries of their ships, tariffs, ships logs to be stored, records of ship repairs, schedules for dry-docking the ships to scrape the barnacles and crustaceans from the hulls.
The heat inside the closed office built. At midmorning Tom opened the jar of cider and they stopped for five minutes to share a tepid drink from wooden cups. Billy walked to the front of the office while Matthew went to the back, to leave both doors standing open. The familiar sounds of the waterfront came strong, and a light easterly wind moved through, hot and sultry. It did not cool the office but it cleared out the stagnant air.
The three men loosened their collars and rolled their shirtsleeves back two turns and had settled back into the paperwork when the sound of footsteps at the door brought their heads up to see two men enter. For a moment all three in the office sat transfixed, and then Matthew jerked to his feet, voice rising as he exclaimed, “Adam! Caleb! You’re back!”
Matthew came up the aisle at a trot with Billy and Tom behind. Matthew seized Adam by the shoulders to study him, head to toe. “You’re all right?”
Adam grinned. “I’m fine.”
Matthew reached to grasp Caleb’s hand. “You’re all right?”
“No,” Caleb said. “I’m dead. Got killed in the fight down there.”
Matthew chuckled and Caleb grinned and the others laughed. Never in his life had relief flooded through Matthew as it did at that moment. In that instant of having his two brothers before him, safe, unharmed, his only thought was Thank the Almighty.
Billy seized Adam roughly and hugged him for a moment as a little brother, and then shook Caleb’s hand. Tom shook their hands, and for a moment they stood there, not knowing where to start or what to say.
Matthew brought it to a focus. “The Zephyr?”
Adam hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tied up at our dock. She’s sound. And we brought another.”
“The Belle?”
Adam shook his head. “Not the Belle. She’s gone. Wrecked. Pirates.”
Matthew and Tom and Billy sobered. “The crew?”
“Lost all but nine. They’re with us.”
“Captain Stengard?”
“Dead. Cannon fire. We were hit by pirates,” Adam said.
The three men fell silent for a little time as they accepted the loss of their men and the ship. Matthew went on. “You said you brought another ship?”
Caleb answered. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “We got one down there with the Zephyr. French. Named Angelique. We, uh, we . . . took her.”
Matthew’s face drew down. “Took her? Piracy?”
Caleb shifted his feet. “Not exactly. Well, matter of fact, yes. We took her like pirates. She was a slaver, and we found these dead bodies in the sea, and we tracked her down and boarded her. Turned out she had already been taken by pirates, so we took her away from the pirates.”
Billy shook his head, fighting a grin. “Here we go. You’re holding back something.”
Adam took over. “We still have the slaves. And most of the pirate crew. We lost a few in the fight.”
Matthew threw up his hands. “You pirated a slave ship that had already been seized by pirates, and you brought the slaves here with the pirate crew?”
Caleb pondered for a moment. “I think you got it.”
Matthew pointed a finger. His eyes were pinpoints, and his voice too high. “Can you tell me what you expect to do with pirates and slaves in Boston?”
Caleb shrugged. “Young and Tunstall said you three would figure that out.” He looked into Matthew’s face with eyes innocent and trusting. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”
Tom burst into laughter.
Matthew ordered his thoughts and asked, “Where did you find Adam?”
“In a prison. British prison.”
“Where?”
“Port Royal. Jamaica.”
Matthew was incredulous. “You got him out of a British prison in Port Royal? How? How did you get him out?”
Caleb shrugged and answered nonchalantly, “Blew up the prison.”
“You what!?”
“Well,” Caleb said, searching for words, “it was an old prison. They needed a new one anyway.”
Tom was holding his sides. Billy was shaking in silent laughter.
Matthew went on. “How did you get close enough to a British prison to blow it up?”
“Big storm. Bad night. We went over the walls with gunpowder. We got Adam and what was left of his crew out, and seven more of another crew.”
“You . . . if you blew the prison, how did you get the Zephyr out of the harbor? They have a whole garrison of infantry down there, and gunboats at the harbor entrance.”
Caleb continued in a calm, matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Blew about half the British infantry sliding in the mud—big storm, mud everywhere—and got to the longboats before they did. Blew up fourteen of their longboats and got our men into ours and two of theirs and out to the Zephyr before they figured out what was happening. We made a run for the harbor entrance and nearly rammed one of those big gunboats. Fired all six of our starboard cannon at one time. One of the balls touched off a budge barrel and others caught and blew out her second deck. I think she was sinking when we cleared the harbor.” He paused, deciding if he had said it all, then finished. “Not much to it.”
Matthew nearly foundered trying to stay with the speed of the story Caleb was spewing. “You sank a British man-o’-war? With that tiny little schooner out there?”
“Yes, I think that gunboat sank. Lucky shot, I guess.”
Matthew’s shoulders slumped. “You trying to start another war?”
Caleb pursed his mouth for a moment. “Well, no. I just went down to get my brother.”
“You blew up a British garrison, along with some of their infantry, fourteen of their longboats, and sank a man-o’-war! Wars have been fought over less than that.”
Caleb raised a hand in self defense. “Now, calm down, calm down. If they get mean about it, I’ll tell them I’m sorry.”
Tom guffawed. Billy leaned on his desk, face red as he fought for air.
Matthew went on. “How many men have you got out there, all told?”
“Well, let’s see. Eighteen we left with, sixteen from the prison, and around twenty pirates in chains down in the hold of that slave ship. Somewhere near a hundred slaves.”
“You got back with everyone safe?”
“That was the general idea, wasn’t it?”
Matthew stopped, mind staggering with the wild story. He said quietly, “Caleb, you’re insane.”
Caleb shrugged. “It helps, when you work for Dunson & Weems.”
Adam interrupted. “Matthew, we’d have died in that prison. Most of those slaves would have been dead if we hadn’t taken that ship. Caleb did the right thing. I know there will be problems, but he did the right thing.”
Tom brought himself under control and broke in. “You find the war chest on that slaver?”
Adam said, “Yes. We have it.”
“What’s her home port?”
“Bordeaux.”
“Is her owner listed in the papers?”
“Yes.”
“You took her from pirates?”
“We have about twenty out there in chains.”
“Don’t worry about it. You rescued a ship and a cargo from pirates. By the rules of the sea, if you return the ship to the owner, you have a legitimate claim for compensation. We can settle for delivering those slaves back to Africa where they came from, if that’s what you want. Insurance will help cover the cost. The owner won’t get all he bargained for in the sale of the slaves, but he’ll get a lot more than he’d have gotten from the pirates and the insurance.”
Caleb c
losed his eyes and rolled his head back. “I thought I was going to have to leave the country.”
Matthew sobered and looked Caleb in the eye. “Adam’s right. You did the right thing. Thank you.”
For one moment something passed between the brothers, and the others stood in silent respect of it. Then Matthew glanced at Billy, and in that instant hope swelled in both their hearts as the unspoken acknowledgment came clear and strong, Something’s happened to Caleb . . . he’s changing . . . coming back . . . coming home.
Matthew broke it off and turned back to Caleb. “We’ll take care of the ships. You two go home. Mother’s frantic with worry.”
Billy broke in. “You go with them. Kathleen needs to know.”
Matthew looked at Tom.
Tom muttered, “Get out of here.”
Matthew said, “I’ll be back.”
Tom answered, “Not today.”
Matthew responded, “Tom, you come to Mother’s tonight for supper. Billy, you bring Dorothy and Trudy. If I know Mother, she’s going to prepare the fatted calf. Two of her sons were gone, and they have returned.”
Caleb sighed. “More beef? I been eating salt beef for a month. Do you think Mother would consider cooking up some mutton?”
Note
All characters and events in this chapter are fictional.
Philadelphia
July 17, 1787
Chapter XXIV
* * *
The razor-thin, five-to-four vote on the floor of the Grand Convention in Philadelphia on July sixteenth, which gave each state equal representation in the Senate, had been enough to keep the small states from walking out as they had threatened if the vote had gone against them, and saved the United States from self-destruction. But that was only the beginning of the earthshaking changes brought on by that pivotal event.
The delegates who were irrevocably sworn to the support of the large states—Madison, King, Wilson, and others—were rocked to their foundations. Their great dream of a new nation whose foundation was the popular vote of all the people was gone forever. If the new congress was not elected by the popular vote of all the people, regardless of their home state, could the new nation truly claim to be built on the foundation of equality for all its citizens? The value of having the House of Representatives elected by the vote of the people at large, and thus favoring the larger states, became meaningless when all states, large and small, had equal power in the Senate, and could stalemate the House at will. The large-state faction stood in silent shock the night of July sixteenth, unable to invent a way to recover from what they saw as a loss that was fatal to their very presence at the Grand Convention.
The loyal small-state supporters—Paterson, Dayton, Bedford—realized they had survived total annihilation by the five-to-four vote, the slimmest margin possible. Though the vote could be seen as a victory for the small states, the thinking men realized it was not. It was just as devastating to the small states as to the large ones. If the small states had powers in the Senate equal to the large states, any advantage to the small states was utterly lost in the House of Representatives, where the large states had the greater power and could stalemate the Senate.
Both factions recognized that the thing they had created had no parallel in the history of the world. No country, no nation, had ever created a government on a split foundation, one-half controlled by the people, the other by states. The delegates had just taken the longest single step in nation-making, in the history of mankind, by creating a new kind of compound nation.
With both sides bewildered, groping, the voice of William Samuel Johnson joined with that of George Mason to clarify and soften what had been done. They reminded Paterson that America was, for many purposes, one political society composed of individuals, each of whom had the right to a voice in the government. They reminded Madison that the states, too, were political societies, each with their own interests to protect, and had an equal right to a voice in the government. And they concluded their advice with a summary that only slightly mollified both sides. “It is clear,” they said, “that each, the people on the one hand, and the states on the other, are halves of a unique whole, and as such they ought to be combined so that in one branch the people are to be represented, and in the other, the states.”
It was a solemn group that met in the opulence of the Indian Queen Hotel following the session of July sixteenth, to talk far into the night, as confused when they concluded as when they started. The following morning, July seventeenth, a subdued assembly of large-state supporters with a few small-state proponents in the mix met before the session in one last assault on the dilemma. The supporters of both extremes—large states and small states—declared that no good government could be built on the foundation of the compromise that was now before them. Some of the hard core, large-state supporters could find no way to retreat from their sworn positions and declared they were ready to push on without the intractable small-state faction, and once again, the threat of a split convention, and a fractured United States, appeared likely.
Cooler minds, however, prevailed. Less radical large-state proponents reasoned that it was probable that there was merit in yielding to the compromise, however imperfect and exceptionable it might be, as it was now agreed on by the convention as a body.
It was then that a strange spirit stole among the delegates, and the answer came. The problem was not to find a solution to the dilemma. The core problem was to learn to live with the compromise!
And learning to live with it was a hard road indeed!
The groaning and mumbling faded and died, and the delegates paused to face the facts of who they were. They were constitution-makers, here to create a new government. They pushed aside the fact they had nearly drowned in regional and political differences that had plunged them into brutal, vicious debate, and had come within a single vote of destroying themselves and their country in one stroke. They had survived, and they had learned to compromise, and they had created the beginnings of a government that was unique in all history. They looked at it, and they shifted their position and looked at it again from a different side, and yet another. Slowly the realization took form and substance in their hearts and minds. It is American. The best we could find in ourselves. Unique—like no other. It is ours. American.
With a new, growing, unspoken sense of purpose and unity, the delegates adjourned their ad hoc meeting and moved to the East Room. Washington called the convention to order, picked up the first piece of paper for the business of the day, and the delegates settled in as he read.
“Prior to adjournment yesterday, we had before us the issue of what powers should be vested in the new legislature. We shall continue. Mr. Secretary, would you read the provision previously adopted by the committee of the whole?”
Jackson bobbed his head, seized a paper, and stood.
“The legislature shall enjoy the legislative rights vested in Congress by the confederation, and moreover to legislate in all cases to which the separate states are incompetent or in which the harmony of the United States may be interrupted by the exercise of individual legislation.”
Washington waited a moment for all delegates to catch up, then went on. “Debate is open.” Pierce Butler stood and in his soft South Carolina drawl said, “It appears that the term incompetent requires some explanation, since what it implies may be open to debate.”
Gorham responded, “The vagueness of the term is its virtue. We are now establishing general principles, to be extended hereafter into details which will be precise and explicit.”
Butler sat down.
Roger Sherman stood. “I am disturbed at the possible encroachments on states’ rights involved in these powers we are considering for the national legislature and, accordingly, I propose that the following change be made.” He raised a paper and read.
“The national legislature be empowered to make laws binding on the people of the United States in all cases which may concern the common interests of the Unio
n; but not to interfere with the government of the individual states in any matters of internal police which respect the government of such states only, and wherein the general welfare of the United States is not concerned.”
James Wilson pushed his spectacles back up his nose and said loudly, “I strongly favor the proposal.”
Gouverneur Morris’s wooden leg hit the floor with a hollow thump as he stood. Large, paunchy, he shook his head. “I oppose Mr. Sherman’s motion on the ground that there are cases in which the internal affairs of the states ought to be infringed and legislated upon by the national government, most notably to prevent the states from issuing their own paper money.”
The vote was called for, and Mr. Sherman’s motion died, eight states against, only two in favor. They moved on.
Gunning Bedford of Delaware took the floor. “I move that the powers of the national legislature be altered so as to read: ‘To enjoy the legislative rights vested in congress by the confederation, and moreover to legislate in all cases for the general interests of the union, and also in those to which the states are separately incompetent, or in which the harmony of the United States may be interrupted by the exercise of individual legislation.’”
It took but one second for Roger Sherman to understand that this proposal gave the new national legislature more powers than any previous proposal, and he was on his feet in an instant, voice raised in alarm.
“This is a formidable idea indeed. It involves the power of violating all the laws and constitutions of the states, and of intermeddling with their internal affairs!”
A voice called, “Move for the vote.”
“Seconded.”
The vote was taken, and despite Sherman’s protest, the motion passed, six votes in favor, two against. And among those voting in favor were the small states of New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland. For a moment the large state delegates glanced at each other, startled that the three small states had voted in favor of granting these new, broad, sweeping powers to the new national government. It was the small states that had doggedly voted against the Virginia plan spawned by James Madison and Governor Edmund Randolph, howling their protest that it gave too much power to the new national government. Two days earlier they would have stormed and threatened at the proposal. Today? They had reversed themselves and shocked everyone in the East Room by joining hands with the large states!
