by Ron Carter
Fitzsimons and McKean and Clymer were standing like statues, spellbound, while a grin split Wilson’s face. “That’s what I wanted to hear, sir. You have no idea how badly I wanted to hear that.”
Caleb said, “Your sergeant at arms still has that pistol, and it would be a nice thing to let him keep it. I should also warn you, when I kicked that door open, the jamb splintered. You may get a repair bill from whoever owns the Bellamy Boardinghouse.”
Wilson chuckled. “I’ll pay all damages personally. And I want to thank you for the privilege.”
“My pleasure. Gentlemen, I appreciate your patience with me. I know I am a poor fit in your world. I’m glad it turned out in your favor.”
Judge McKean found his voice. “It is we who are indebted to you, sir.”
“Unless there is something further, I should go. I have to get to the waterfront to find a ship sailing for Boston, and I have to collect my things.”
Wilson took him by the shoulder. “You tend to your business, son. If you ever come to Philadelphia again, I will be insulted if you don’t come find me.”
Caleb nodded to the four men, turned and walked out of the chamber, across the floor of the legislature, down the long hall, and out into the bright, warm late afternoon sun of Philadelphia.
It was later, when he was packing his bag, that he came across the folded paper signed by Fitzsimons. He unfolded it and read it.
“Dated this twenty-ninth day of September 1787. Know all men by these presents that I, Thomas Fitzsimons, Speaker of the Legislature of the State of Pennsylvania, have this date duly and regularly authorized Caleb Dunson as a Sergeant At Arms for said legislature.”
For a time Caleb stared at the document, thoughts running, and then he folded it and carefully put it back in his pocket, with a grin forming.
A sergeant at arms for the Pennsylvania legislature. Matthew and Billy and Adam have got to see this. They aren’t going to believe it. I can hardly believe it myself.
Notes
The Pennsylvania state legislature convened in Philadelphia in September 1787 to address the question of ratification of the new United States Constitution. At the time, the state was divided, some supporting ratification, some opposing. The supporters held a slight advantage in numbers in the legislature. The debate between the two interests occurred as described, including the slurs against Benjamin Franklin and George Washington. The boycott by nineteen non-supporters is historically factual as is the part played by George Clymer in the affair. The speaker, Thomas Fitzsimons, did in fact order the sergeant at arms to go find two of the absent non-supporters and bring them to the floor. He returned without them. They adjourned for one more day, to Saturday, September twenty-ninth. That night, almost as a miracle, an express rider sent by the United States Congress convened in New York arrived in Philadelphia carrying news that congress had received the new constitution, considered it, and had authorized all thirteen states to convene ratification conventions to act on it. The morning of Saturday, September twenty-ninth, the nineteen missing non-supporters again failed to appear. Again speaker Fitzsimons sent the sergeant at arms to bring them in, and again he failed. The record then states that “a mob succeeded in forcibly returning the necessary two seceding assemblymen, and the legislature completed its business.”
The name of the supporting leader, George Clymer, is accurate, as are the names of Judge Thomas McKean, Chief Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court, Thomas Fitzsimons who was speaker of the legislature, and James Wilson, one of the strongest men at the constitutional convention, and a powerful figure in the politics of Pennsylvania. The part played by Caleb Dunson in bringing the reluctant assemblymen back to their places in the legislature is fictitious.
For a concise and authoritative description of the above events, see Conely and Kaminski, The Constitution and the States, pp. 37–53. For a photograph of a painting of George Clymer, see p. 50; for Judge Thomas McKean, p. 52; for James Wilson, p. 45. The name of Thomas Fitzsimons, speaker of the legislature, is found in Bernstein, Are We to Be a Nation? p. 203.
In support of the rather humorous scene of a “mob” hauling the two absent legislators from their boardinghouse back to the floor of the legislature, see Bernstein, Are We to Be a Nation? p. 203; see also generally pp. 199–207. See also Berkin, A Brilliant Solution, p. 183.
In support of the near miraculous arrival of the express rider sent by the United States congress in New York, see Conely and Kaminski, The Constitution and the States, p. 51, second paragraph.
Boston
January 3, 1788
CHAPTER XXIX
* * *
Ice hung ragged from the ropes in the rigging and the furled sails of every ship anchored in Boston harbor and tied to the docks, and rattled in the freezing wind that gusted raw and bitter from the Atlantic. With the wind ruffling their feathers, seabirds walked the ice that reached fifteen feet from the shore and prowled the ice-coated, black timbers of the wharf, hunting for anything they could snatch and swallow for food. The men loading and unloading the ships moved slowly, wrapped in heavy woollen coats with caps pulled low, and mittens or gloves on hands numb from the cold. They wore heavy scarves wrapped high, over their mouths and beards, and the wind whipped the vapor from their faces. White spots appeared on their cheeks, and they rubbed them, and kept working with the wooden cases and the barrels that moved the freight of the world.
In the frigid midmorning sun of a cloudless sky, Adam Dunson ducked as he leaned into the wind and held his tricorn on his head with one hand while he worked his way to the offices of Dunson & Weems. He opened the door and slammed it shut against the wind while those inside clutched at papers that moved. He walked through the scant warmth of the room to the desk where Billy and Tom were seated facing Matthew and dropped a flat package before his brother.
“From Madison,” he said, and walked back to hang his hat and coat on the pegs near the door, before going to stand before the large, black stove at the rear of the office. He moved close and extended his hands flat toward the heat.
Matthew cut the string and opened the package, glanced at it, and put it aside. “More essays from ‘Publius,’” he said. “They can wait for now.” He called to Adam, “Anything else from the post?”
“No. Just the package.”
“When you’re ready, we’re handling things you need to know.”
Adam turned to drag the chair from his desk and take his place with Billy and Tom. He cupped his cold hands to his mouth to blow on them, then rubbed them briskly together and listened intently as Matthew referred to a large chart spread on his desk. On the chart were the names of all thirteen states, with Matthew’s notations of when the ratification conventions were scheduled, where they were to be held, and the best information his unending correspondence with high political figures had produced concerning the likelihood of ratification. Beside the chart were two stacks of files, six inches deep. Following his chart with a finger, Matthew began, with the steady hum of the wind outside.
“As of now, Delaware has ratified the Consitution. A unanimous vote. That was December seventh. Pennsylvania ratified December twelfth with a vote of forty-six to twenty-three—two to one in favor. New Jersey was unanimous in favor December eighteenth. Georgia has probably ratified by now, but we won’t know until we get the official notice. That makes four states that have ratified, and one of them—Pennsylvania—was critical. We had to have Pennsylvania.”
He paused for a moment. “It looks like Maryland will be scheduling their convention sometime in April. We’re still waiting on notice from the others.”
He leaned forward over the chart. “You know that our state—Massachusetts—is another state we must have. Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Virginia; three of the biggest and most powerful. The other states are watching. We’ve got to have all three.” He paused, and Adam watched the concern come into Matthew’s eyes for a moment before Matthew drew a deep breath and pointed to a map on the wall to his left
.
“As of right now, it appears that the Massachusetts counties away from the coast—the farming counties—Middlesex, Bristol, Worcester, Hampshire, Berkshire—are against ratification. Strongly so. Maybe two to one against it.” He shifted his pointing finger. “I estimate that the populated counties on the coast—Suffolk, Essex, Plymouth, Barnstable —all favor ratification, perhaps as much as four or five to one.”
He placed both hands flat on the desktop. “Today is January third. Our ratification convention is scheduled for next Wednesday, the ninth. And as of right now, our people do not control the convention. Those against ratification do.”
Billy and Tom shifted in their chairs but said nothing while Matthew continued.
“Madison said he received a letter from Rufus King that said our prospects of getting Massachusetts to ratify are gloomy. King represented Massachusetts at the big convention in Philadelphia and has worked hard for ratification since his return. One of our hard problems is that Elbridge Gerry was also at the Philadelphia convention, and Gerry refused to sign the finished constitution. Too many people wonder what’s wrong with it that he would refuse, after he took such an active part in creating it. They think he should have been a delegate to the ratification convention, but he isn’t. We know now that Samuel Adams is against ratification, and he has invited Gerry to attend the convention to answer questions as to why he refused to sign the constitution, and Gerry has accepted.”
For a moment he glanced at the map on the wall. “Put it all together, and I think we’re in serious trouble.”
The front door opened and Caleb stepped in and forced it shut against the wind. He hung his heavy coat and tricorn on the pegs before he walked to the stove and backed toward it, hands behind him, watching the men at the desk. “Go on with it,” he said. “I can listen from here.”
Matthew asked Caleb, “Did you get the crew for the Helene?”
“Ready to go. Saturday.”
Matthew nodded, then continued.
“You’ll remember ten days ago we decided to approach Governor Hancock because he’s popular, and one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. He’s well thought of by the citizens from the rural counties because he took up their cause after Shays’ rebellion. I’ve talked with his office. I have an appointment with him tomorrow. I can tell you now, no one knows where he stands on ratification. He’s too ambitious, too much the politician. I think he’s waiting to see which side he thinks will win before he takes a position, and he’ll go with that side. He wants to be reelected as governor, and there’s speculation that he wants to be the first president of the United States, or at least hold some other high office in the national government. There are some delegates who are still unsettled in their views, and I think if we can get John Hancock to support us, he’ll bring them along.”
Caleb snorted and the four men at the table turned to look at him. “Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking about politics and politicians, and Pennsylvania.”
Billy smiled at the remembrance of the letter received from George Clymer that arrived in Boston one week after Caleb’s return from Philadelphia. The letter had heaped praise on Caleb, but between the lines was a quiet message. The politicians Clymer, McKean, Wilson, and Fitzsimons together couldn’t get a quorum into the convention room in the Philadelphia Statehouse to make the decisive vote for ratification. Caleb had done it in forty-five minutes.
Matthew went on. “The plan is to make him an offer. If he’ll support ratification, we’ll support him in his bid for reelection. And if he later runs for national office, we’ll support him for president if Virginia fails to ratify. If Virginia ratifies, George Washington will be our president, and we’ll support Hancock for vice president.”
Adam asked, “Any idea how he’ll accept that?”
“Not yet. But there’s more. I know he favors creating a bill of rights, and making some other amendments to the Constitution as it now stands, and we’ll agree to support some of those amendments. Maybe give him a few of our own. That will give him a way to tell the people that he has some amendments to improve the Constitution, and with the amendments, that it appears to be a good thing for this state.”
Tom interrupted. “We decided to talk to Sam Adams, too. Anything come of it?”
Matthew nodded. “I talked with him. I don’t know what to expect. He sounded like he was against us, but there was something about the way he talked that left the whole thing hanging. I can’t guess what’s in his mind.”
For a few seconds they sat in silence, until Matthew said, “I think that’s where we are for right now.” He pushed the open package to Adam. “More writings by Madison and Hamilton down in New York. How many essays by ‘Publius’ does that make?”
“Close to thirty.”
“Read these when you find time and tell me what they say. Did you spend some time with number ten? The one on factions?”
Adam nodded. “I did. It runs contrary to the thoughts of just about every political philosopher known. Madison proposes that diversity is a good thing, not bad. The more different views in a society, the better, since diversity will tend to prevent one view from becoming the view of all.”
“I think he’s right. Let me know what you find in these latest ones, and whether we should be sure they’re published in the Boston newspapers, like some of the previous ones.” He turned to Tom and Billy. “Are we finished?”
The front door burst open and they all turned to peer at the short, stout silhouette in the bright sunlight. Billy rose to his feet, concern in his face.
“Trudy! What are you doing on the waterfront? What’s happened?”
Trudy pushed the door closed and turned to face the men who were gaping at her. She removed the thick shawl she had over her head and said, “Matthew, you better come. Doctor Soderquist is with Kathleen. It came on sudden. The baby is coming. Mother sent me.”
Matthew leaped from his chair. “She was all right when I left this morning. Is there trouble?”
Trudy shook her head. “I don’t know. I only know Doctor Soderquist said to get you there. Quickly.”
Matthew sprang to the pegs by the front door. Grabbing his coat, he said, “Billy, take charge. I’ll be back when I can.”
He was still buttoning his greatcoat as he bolted through the door and onto the ice-slick wharf. He jammed his tricorn onto his head, and with the wind at his back sprinted toward Fruit Street, then on to the narrow street and the large home with the white picket fence. He shoved through the gate, hit the front door at a run, and barged into the parlor. It was vacant. He raced down the hall to the master bedroom, threw the door open, and stopped. In an instant Margaret was in front of him, both hands locked onto his coat, holding him. Her voice came firm, her authority clear.
“You go on back to the parlor. We’ll take care of things here.”
Behind Margaret, big, gray, shambling Doctor Walter Soderquist was hunched forward over the bed, partially blocking Matthew’s view of his wife. Kathleen lay on her back, eyes clenched shut, perspiration shining, mouth clamped, and a thin, muffled moan coming from her throat. The comforter and sheet were thrown back, her knees high and separated. Doctor Soderquist had his coat off, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, forehead covered with sweat while he worked with his hands. At the foot of the bed stood Dorothy Weems and Prissy, silent, still, mesmerized, watching the doctor’s every move.
“Is she all right?” Matthew demanded. “Trudy said something was going wrong.”
Margaret looked him in the eyes. “We’ll take care of it. She will be all right. You shouldn’t be here. Go on back to the parlor. We’ll call you.”
Soderquist glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got to turn the baby a little. Now you go on out and we’ll call you.”
Margaret steadily moved him out the door and closed it, and Matthew stood in the hallway for a time, fighting the need to be inside the room with Kathleen, struggling with the unwritten rule against allowing the fat
her, or any other man, into the room during delivery of a baby, the doctor being the sole exception.
He had reached the parlor and hung his coat and tricorn and was pacing back and forth when the front door slammed open and Adam came in, Caleb and Billy right behind. They were breathing hard from their run, and their faces showed the white spots of the beginnings of frostbite.
“What’s happening?” Adam exclaimed.
“They’re in the bedroom with her now. Dr. Soderquist said he has to turn the baby. Something’s gone wrong.”
Adam shook his head violently. “Did Dr. Soderquist say that?”
“No.”
“Then let’s not jump to conclusions. Dr. Soderquist would have told you if something was wrong.”
Billy was working with his coat buttons when he spoke. “Who’s back there with Dr. Soderquist?”
“Mother. Dorothy. Prissy.”
Billy hung his coat. “Trudy’s on the way. Dr. Soderquist knows what he’s doing. The women will take care of it.”
Matthew asked, “Is Tom back at the office?”
Caleb answered. “Yes.”
The front door jerked open and Trudy entered, breathless. “Am I too late?”
Billy answered. “No. Things are happening back there right now.”
Trudy was hanging her coat and shawl when Matthew stopped short. “Where’s John?”
Adam answered, “Probably at school, where he belongs.”
Caleb said, “This business of birthing babies goes on every day. Dr. Soderquist’s delivered half the town of Boston. Let him take care of it.”
Matthew took a deep breath and brought himself under control. “I know, I know,” he said, “but I keep seeing Mary. Eli’s wife. They lost her in childbirth.”
Billy felt the pain once again. “Her lungs were bad. Pneumonia from the smoke from that fire. She’d have been all right if—”
