Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  “Do you denigrate my debating skills?”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Madison recovered his pages and put them back in their proper sequence. “Ask for a reconsideration.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Mason said in his haughty manner.

  “In the future, I’ll move to postpone when you’re absent.”

  “I’d expect that of a true colleague.”

  In an attempt to diminish the quarrel, Madison added, “And you could return the favor. I tend to get carried away. I’d appreciate it if you tugged my coattails when I get too excited.”

  “Then I recommend you stay by our table and cease scampering around like a squirrel.” Mason stood, pulled his coat taut, and tramped out of the chamber.

  As Madison gathered up his materials, he felt someone tap his shoulder. The fingers belonged to Gouverneur Morris.

  “Jemmy, my good man, may we talk?”

  “Of course. At the Indian Queen?”

  “No, this won’t take long. Let’s step into the library.”

  The two men opened a door to the left of the dais.

  “They’ll probably name this the Washington Door,” Morris chuckled.

  Madison understood Morris’s reference. When Washington had been nominated as commander in chief of the Continental Army, he had bashfully left the chamber by this door, the same from which he had made his grand entrance on the second day of the convention. Beyond the door was a narrow, dingy library, housed in a temporary lean-to structure scheduled for demolition after the Philosophical Society building was finished. Aside from clerks, hardly anyone except Washington used the door.

  The dank room contained two wooden chairs pushed against the wall. Morris pulled a chair out and ungracefully plopped onto the seat, extending his inflexible wooden leg to the side. Madison set his valise on the floor and sat with his legs crossed and his hands clasped in his lap.

  “What can I do for you, Gouverneur?”

  “I’m disturbed by the lack of discipline in the Virginia delegation.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I think you might be overreacting. It’s natural to have a few disagreements on specific points.”

  “Dissension within our ranks plays into our opponents’ hands,” Morris argued.

  ”A little turbulence is unavoidable.”

  “It is avoidable.”

  Some aspects of the last few days had disturbed Madison, but he saw no damage. They still plodded ahead. Today they had approved a single executive, worked out a compromise on the veto, and established a supreme judiciary.

  “Randolph and Mason stand firmly with us, but you must be tolerant when they voice disagreement,” he said. “Even Dr. Franklin argued against an executive veto.”

  “I’m not talking about Randolph or Mason. I’m talking about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, it’s your vacillation I wish to address.”

  Madison uncrossed his legs and laid his hands on alternate knees. “I’m at a loss.”

  “Last Thursday, you disagreed with resolution six. Why did you abandon the use of force?”

  “Why did you wait until now to discuss it?”

  “I just found out that I must leave for a time to settle an estate matter. I wanted to talk to you before I leave in case the resolution reemerges before my return.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Thursday. Jemmy, why did you abandon our cause?”

  Madison shifted once more, this time leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded under his chin. He had to handle this carefully.

  “The new government will be granted power from the people and act directly upon the people. The states don’t act as an intermediary. The resolution had no purpose in the grand scheme, and it generated resistance.”

  “That’s foolish. The states ignore Congress. You’re repeating past mistakes.”

  “Means other than arms will be strengthened.”

  “They won’t suffice. How can you delude yourself?”

  “We’ll weaken state sovereignty until it’s no longer a factor.”

  “You don’t understand.” Morris moved his leg and leaned forward as well. “Power and arms are synonymous. Without force, people defy rulers.”

  “The people won’t defy a government of their own choosing.”

  “Jemmy, for god’s sake, they choose the current government.”

  “A republic doesn’t force obedience through arms.”

  “The government will never use arms against its children, but without the threat, states will continue to ignore higher authority.”

  “Obedience must come freely.”

  “You believe this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You disappoint me. I was led to believe you had brought the perfect plan to Philadelphia.”

  “I never claimed divine wisdom. I expected the details to evolve with deliberation, minds changed, improvements made. The flesh of the plan can be transformed as long as the skeletal framework remains intact.”

  Morris weighed Madison’s statements for a moment. “I see a discouraging inflexibility.” With that, Morris stood to leave the room. “I hope you don’t live to regret this.”

  Madison sat for a moment, wondering if he had harmed his relationship with Morris. No, other issues would soon emerge to push this one into distant memory. Still, in arguing the case, he had convinced himself that Washington was right. Means other than force had to be designed into the system to make the states comply with federal intentions.

  The next day started with the judiciary. Again, the chamber divided into two parts: those who supported a legislative appointment and those who insisted that the executive select the judiciary. In his usual manner, Franklin told an anecdote to relieve the tension.

  “Gentlemen, please, the answer to this dilemma is obvious. We must follow Scotland. The Scots are wise and noble—ingenious as well. As I understand their custom, all the lawyers throughout the land select the most prosperous of their profession for judiciary appointment.”

  Franklin peered over the top of his glasses; his hallmark twinkling eye told his audience that an amusing remark was but a breath away. “This guarantees the selection of the most able jurists—and gets rid of them so the remaining lawyers can divvy up their lucrative practice.”

  Madison laughed with the rest as he captured the moment in his journal. It occurred to him that his notes flattened the tone of the proceedings. It would be history’s task to overlay emotion onto his sterile record.

  With their usual predilection to put off difficult issues, the delegates voted to postpone deciding how to select the judiciary. They moved to the most crucial element of Madison’s plan: ratification of the new Constitution by conventions appointed by the people.

  Sherman presented the opposing argument. “Fellow delegates, this measure is unnecessary. Approval by Congress and the state legislatures is all that’s required. There’s no need for undue complications.”

  Madison rebutted. “I beg to differ with my esteemed colleague from Connecticut. This provision is essential. Only the supreme authority of the people can ratify our new Constitution.”

  Madison caught Sherman’s eye. “The Articles are a defective foundation because they’re a treaty between sovereign states.”

  Madison had espoused the small state position. Sherman must wonder where he was going with this argument. “Under the well-established doctrine of treaties, the breach of any one article by any member absolves all parties from further obligation. For example,” Madison paused and looked directly at Paterson, “New Jersey’s refusal to pay their tax is such a breach.”

  Madison let the point echo around the chamber. “Gentlemen, this convention doesn’t pose a threat to the union. The terminal threat to the Articles is buried within itself.” Stretching out his arm, Madison slowly waved his hand across the chamber. “Any member can destroy the Articles at will. Is that the authority you wish to ratify our new Constitution?
I think not. It’s a tottering illusion.”

  Madison looked around and was pleased to see that he held everyone’s attention. “We must submit our Constitution to an unassailable authority, the supreme fountainhead, the strength of our great nation. Gentlemen, we must submit it directly to the people!”

  Madison sat to a satisfying burst of applause. Sherman remained stolid, making no effort to recapture the floor. Instead, Gerry spoke. At first, he presented the case that the state legislatures had been picked by the people and were their agents. Their instructions required approval by the states. By emphasizing state approval, Gerry deflected Madison’s assault on Congress, a good debate tactic. But then Gerry digressed to another diatribe against commoners.

  “Mr. Madison, I cannot fathom your faith in the people. You must have a different breed in Virginia. The people in my part of the world have the wildest ideas. They constantly cry for more and expect others to satisfy their desires.” Gerry bobbed his head, stuttered something Madison couldn’t catch, and then spit out an intemperate insult. “I’d no more trust the common man than I would an infant.”

  After Gerry’s outburst, the convention recessed to catch its breath and, hopefully, restart on a more positive note. Madison took advantage of the break to catch up with his notes. After he finished, he wandered over to Washington.

  “Nice speech, James. Well put,” Washington said.

  “Thank you, sir, but I fear Gerry’s views might be shared by other delegates.”

  “Not to worry. Every time he talks, we gain converts. Reasonable men don’t wish to be associated with his extremism.”

  Madison glanced at Hamilton, standing alongside the general. Madison guessed he harbored some sympathies with Gerry. “Then let’s hope the chamber is filled with reasonable men,” Madison said.

  “It is. We should put him on stage at every opportunity.” Washington waved his hand toward Hamilton. “Alex told me he wants a reconsideration of the absolute veto. I believe the two-thirds rule should prove sufficient. Does it satisfy you, James?”

  “It serves the purpose. With the split interests between the North and South, I can’t imagine Congress assembling that many votes in both branches.”

  “See, Alex, it’s not a worthy target. No need to expend scarce munitions."

  “Very well,” Hamilton said, “but I still worry about the legislature running roughshod over the executive.”

  “Do you now?”

  Hamilton gave the slightest bow. “If I may quote our eminent doctor, ‘nobody knows what sort of fellow may follow.’”

  Washington looked cross. “Nor should anyone make unwarranted assumptions about that first fellow.”

  After the recess, Wilson lectured the delegates on the flaws of the existing Congress. He pointed out that each state had a veto, so one selfish state could thwart the majority. Then he took the discussion to dangerous ground by saying that he hoped the ratification process allowed a partial union.

  Pinckney took the bait. “I thoroughly agree with Mr. Wilson. A majority of states should be free to unite under this new Constitution. As far as I am concerned, the remainder can wither away in their revered sovereignty.”

  Madison believed the argument for ratification by the people had been won until this impolitic exchange. With tempers inflamed, the only course was yet another postponement. Thanks to Pinckney’s tart tongue, today’s proceedings had made no progress.

  Madison saw Pinckney standing outside the State House, so he started to move in the opposite direction. No. He must confront the man.

  “Mr. Pinckney, shall we walk back to the Indian Queen?”

  “Together?”

  “No, I thought you should walk up Chestnut and I’ll use Market Street.”

  Pinckney looked perplexed. “Should I take you seriously?”

  “A smart man wouldn’t.”

  “Does the ever-serious Mr. Madison pretend to make fun of me?”

  “The ever-serious Mr. Madison can’t pretend.”

  “You are mocking me!”

  “No need, Charles. You take care of that yourself. Shall we go?”

  “My, what’s got into you, James?”

  Madison grabbed Pinckney’s elbow and guided him down the street. “Your last remarks today were foolish.”

  “Don’t tell me you sympathize with this sovereignty rot.”

  “Mr. Pinckney, if you were detached to a firing squad, you’d roll up with cannon.”

  “I prefer the rapière,” Pinckney said smugly.

  “Thrust and retreat?”

  “Leaving bewilderment and but a small spot of blood.”

  “I’ve noticed blood on my waistcoat from time to time,” Madison said, giving Pinckney a sharp look.

  “Mere pricks, I’m sure,” Pinckney retorted, lengthening his stride. “So you thought I was foolish.”

  Madison scurried to keep up. “Ratification by the people would’ve passed if you hadn’t insulted the small states.”

  “Do you suggest that a tiny piece of rudeness can alter the course of debate?”

  “Yes, at times.”

  “How convenient for me.”

  Madison shook his head. At the State House, he had held the upper hand, but somehow Pinckney had recaptured the advantage. True irreverence couldn’t be trammeled. Madison stopped short of the steps leading to the Indian Queen. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to pick up something at the apothecary.”

  “I hope you’re not ill.”

  “No. Something for Montpelier.” Madison threw a “good afternoon” over his shoulder as he hastened down the street.

  Before he had taken six paces, he heard Pinckney holler, “Mr. Madison, a smart man would take me seriously!”

  Pinckney opened Wednesday’s session with a call to reconsider the election of the first house. He proposed that they be elected by the state legislatures, instead of by the people.

  Madison sighed as Gerry endorsed Pinckney’s motion. “The worst men get into the legislature. Base men use any tactic, however dirty, to win against men who refuse to stoop to such artifices.”

  Sherman tried a more rational argument. “Gentlemen, if we intend to abolish the states, then the people ought to elect the legislature. If the states are to continue, then the state legislatures ought to elect the national legislature. This will preserve harmony between the national and state governments.”

  After a small cough, Sherman continued in his dilatory manner. “The aims of a national government are few and must be strictly defined. I believe they include defense, internal harmony, treaties, and the regulation of commerce. All other matters must be handled by the states.”

  Madison challenged Sherman’s simplistic view. “I’d respectfully like to add to Mr. Sherman’s list. A national government must also protect individual rights and dispense steady justice.”

  Madison made a few more comments on the role of the national government but then could not contain himself. He had to rebut Wilson’s and Pinckney’s advocacy for a partial union. Without preamble, Madison charged into new terrain. “Gentleman, all societies divide into different sects, factions, and interests. Conflicts grow between the rich and poor, debtors and creditors, landed and commercial interests, this district against that district, followers of this political leader or that political leader, disciples of this religion or that religion.

  “When a majority unites by passion or common interest, the minority is in grave danger. What can restrain a majority? Not respect for others, nor conscience. In Greece and Rome, the patricians and plebeians alternately oppressed each other—with equal ferocity. We’ve seen the mere distinction of color, in our supposed enlightened time, furnish the grounds for the most oppressive dominion ever exercised by man over man.”

  With this last, startled gasps escaped from various corners of the room. Madison tried to ignore the reaction. His indictment of slavery had been unpremeditated, but now that it had escaped his lips, he couldn’t recall it.

 
“Who imposed these unjust laws? The majority. Debtors defraud creditors. The holders of one type of property throw a heavier tax on other types of property. When a majority has the opportunity, they will always threaten the rights of the minority.” Madison shifted his gaze across the sea of delegates. “Make no mistake, in a republic, the majority always has opportunity!”

  Madison scurried across the front of the chamber. “The only remedy is to enlarge a nation to include so many interests, so many ideas, so many biases, that none can gain preeminence. We must frame a republic so huge that this ever-present evil is controlled.” Madison felt breathless. He marched to his table and paused. Stretching to his full height, he tried to inject command into his soft voice. “For this reason, I resist a partial union of the states.”

  Madison sat to sparse applause and realized he had veered far afield and delivered an unwelcome sermon. He had previously tried to explain the concept to people. Few grasped it, but years of thought had convinced him of its truth. Republics must be large, the larger the better.

  Madison leaned over and whispered to Mason, “You didn’t pull my coattails.”

  “I would’ve sooner laid a finger on lightning.” Then Mason smiled, which told Madison that their quarrel had been forgotten.

  Read now burst forth with obviously suppressed emotion. “I’ve been silent up to now, but I must speak. This chamber displays far too much attachment to the states. The new national government must consolidate them.”

  Read looked nervous, and Madison thought, with good cause, but the Delaware delegate continued. “The Confederation cannot last! It cannot be amended! If we don’t establish a national government on new principles, we must go to ruin.

  “Gentlemen, you wrongly suspect that the people object to a strong national government. In truth, their hopes ride on this convention to deliver them from the incompetent state governments. They expect us to save their farms, to protect them from invasion, and to secure their liberty.” With an anxious look around, Read blurted his last words before quickly retaking his seat. “I strongly recommend that we proceed posthaste with our duty.”