Paterson voice grew stern. “The Articles of Confederation are the proper basis for these proceedings. We must keep within its limits or be charged with treason!”
Gasps escaped, but Paterson seemed oblivious. With eyes darting, he continued in a prosecutorial tone. “The people are not easily deceived. Mr. Wilson hints that the large states might confederate among themselves. Let them unite if they please, but they have no right to compel us to unite with them. New Jersey will never confederate under the plan before this committee. She would be swallowed up. I’d rather submit to a monarch, to a despot, even to anarchy, than to such a fate!”
Madison showed obvious frustration. “If the large states possess all the avarice and ambition charged, how secure, may I ask, will the small states be when the national government falls to ruin?”
The parameters of a stalemate were being defined. The small states held off the assault of a more powerful foe by threatening to quit the convention in a public fury. The large states kept them in their seats by raising the specter of chaos and inevitable absorption by the large states.
Wilson charged up the aisle and peered over his spectacles directly at Paterson. “Mr. Paterson, you say you cannot accept proportional representation. Are the citizens of New Jersey superior to those of Pennsylvania? Does it require three Pennsylvanians to balance one from New Jersey? If New Jersey refuses to confederate on this plan, then Pennsylvania refuses to confederate on any other!”
Wilson turned to the assembly at large and spat, “If New Jersey refuses to part with her precious sovereignty, then it’s futile to continue.”
Men shouted objections, chairs scraped as some stood and others turned to their compatriots, and knots of men suddenly gathered at the back of the chamber for impromptu caucuses. The chairman gaveled to no use, until someone finally shouted a motion to adjourn. A second came equally as loud, and the men stopped clamoring long enough to vote. Upon adjournment, everyone immediately vacated the chamber, destined for various taverns where they could talk in private. Sherman was shocked at how quickly the chamber took on the feel of a crypt.
The men sat around the table with grim faces. Sherman, Ellsworth, Paterson, Dickinson, and Luther Martin met in a private room at the City Tavern. Martin had arrived from Maryland that morning. Although renowned as a skillful litigator, Martin’s slovenly nature, verbose speaking style, and fondness for drink offended Sherman. Despite his distaste, Sherman had inducted Martin into their group. His alliance now included Connecticut, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland. New York often voted with them, but for selfish reasons.
“It’s time to decide what we can accept,” Sherman said.
“To what purpose?” Paterson asked.
“To define the limits of compromise,” Sherman responded.
“Again, to what purpose? Wilson said it all: further exertion is futile. We should quit. This convention will imprison us.”
“The convention has far to go before it seals our fate. We can still manage affairs. The alternative is dire.”
“How dire?” Ellsworth asked.
“Civil war, perhaps, but I suspect the Society of the Cincinnati will thrust an emperor into power first.”
A few knowing glances darted around the room.
Martin poured himself another brandy, the third in less than half an hour. “If today’s an indication, this is a waste of my time.” He threw the brandy down in a single swallow. “I left a lucrative practice to listen to idiots.”
Dickinson’s face pinched in distaste. “I beg your pardon, Luther, but we all left gainful endeavors to come here. You trot into town and—”
“And bring us much needed expertise in political affairs,” Sherman interjected. “How do you suggest we gain the upper hand?”
“Against the haughty Virginians?”
“And their allies.”
“Well,” Martin said, “it shan’t be easy, but I’d like nothing better than to scatter the Virginians back to their precious plantations. First, I’d …”
Martin droned on with no new ideas. He talked endlessly, washing down hastily gnawed bread with huge swallows of brandy. Within minutes, he had sprinkled bits of bread all over his protruding belly. Sherman decided he must win his cases by exhausting his opponents.
Tired of waiting for an opportune break, Sherman interrupted. “Mr. Martin, I’m enthralled by your ideas, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to discuss what we can accept before we figure out how to get it.”
“Splendid idea, Roger,” Dickinson said. “Do you have a suggestion?”
“A proposition,” Sherman said, as he refilled Martin’s brandy. “Suppose we allow the lower house to be proportional but succeed in getting one vote per state in the Senate. Can we accept that?”
“No!” Paterson said.
“Think a minute, William. The Senate will be more powerful, the state legislatures elect its members, and senators enjoy a longer term. Doesn’t this provide sufficient protection?”
Martin spewed a belch before saying, “You’ll never get it.”
“What if we did?”
“Then we’d support the new government,” Dickinson said.
“Damned if we would!” Paterson shouted. “If we surrender, we’ll be condemned for sedition and cowardice.”
“William, if the states control the Senate, we’ll remain secure,” Ellsworth argued.
“Secure?” Martin boomed. “What about sovereignty?”
“Sovereignty follows might,” Sherman said, irritated. “Can Maryland defend herself against enemies here and abroad?”
“We can take care of the supercilious Virginians,” Paterson said, but he looked ready to fight the men in this room. “They mean to gobble us up, and this convention is rigged to follow their wind.”
Sherman held up the flat of his hand. “Rigging can be altered. Remember, the big states lost the improper veto clause yesterday. They suffered defeat, yet we wail and whine. None of us expected an easy fight. Your states selected you because of your character and will to prevail.”
Martin roiled in laughter. “Perhaps the latter, my friend, perhaps the latter.”
Despite his crudeness, Sherman appreciated Martin’s churlish diversion.
Paterson ignored Martin. “What about my plan? Why won’t you let me present it? Why must we accept theirs?”
Sherman marveled at Paterson’s use of the personal pronoun. “John, I’m not suggesting we accept their plan. I’m asking us to define what we can accept at a minimum, where the limits are. You’ll present your plan, but as a counterweight.”
“The New Jersey Plan is solid—and within our instructions. Why can’t we have it?”
“Because we don’t have the votes,” Sherman said with firm finality.
The two men stared at each other. Paterson’s challenge to his leadership had to be addressed, but not today. His immediate concern was how to achieve a consensus that included New Jersey. Sherman was wondering how to move Paterson, when Martin surprised him.
“As I understand it, the convention has already determined that the state legislatures will elect the Senate?”
“Correct.”
“Hmm … the lower house will be proportional, elected by the people. If the Senate has one vote per state, and the states elect senators, then I can probably sell the new government to Maryland. If the remaining components make sense, of course.”
Sherman turned a questioning look to Paterson. Paterson scowled and folded his arms in front of him. “I want something closer to my plan.”
“And you can have it if you win over delegates.” Sherman gave Paterson a moment to grasp the futility. “We’re trying to define the minimum we can accept.”
Paterson glanced at Martin and then gave a longer, harder look at Dickinson. Finally, his face muscles slackened, and he unwound his arms, laying both palms flat on the table. “All right, Roger. I don’t like it, but I’ll go along. With Martin’s caveat. All the other components must make sense.�
��
“Then we’re all agreed.” Sherman didn’t wait for equivocation. “I’ll propose the compromise on Monday.”
“You don’t suppose they’ll buy it?” Ellsworth asked.
“Not on Monday, probably not next week, but they will.”
Sherman entered Mrs. Marshall’s house, weary from a long session and a seemingly longer caucus. On their return walk, Ellsworth had been effusive in his praise for how Sherman had handled their contentious group. Ellsworth seemed energized; Sherman wanted to go to bed.
“Mr. Sherman, what an opportune arrival. May we talk a few minutes?” The voice belonged to Witherspoon.
“If we keep it short, Reverend. I’m in need of a feathered mattress.”
“If you don’t mind, Roger, I’ll retire and let you two gentlemen while away the night.” Sherman watched Ellsworth ascend the stairs, wearing a devious grin.
“I have a bottle of brandy in the sitting room,” Witherspoon said.
“Then by all means, let’s join it.”
After Sherman and Witherspoon had settled and chitchatted for a few minutes, Sherman said, “I’m afraid I’m very tired, Reverend. What’s on your mind?”
“I think you should talk privately with James.”
“Why?”
“He needs your help. I know how deft you are in political matters. Young James needs a seasoned hand to guide him.”
“He has Washington, Franklin, and a bevy of Virginians. He doesn’t need my counsel.”
“He doesn’t need your opposition.”
“We have different aims.”
“You have the same aim, only different means.”
“Nothing can be accomplished by our meeting.”
“Nothing can be harmed by your meeting.”
“Reverend, we both share an affection for James, but I cannot accede to his plans.”
“Politics tend to become uncivil. A chat early on can open a door before it’s bolted tight. Perhaps a compromise only the two of you could engineer could save the nation.”
“James won’t compromise his precious plan.”
“Nor, I hear, will you sacrifice Connecticut’s sovereignty.”
“You hear wrong. Connecticut does not have the military might to claim sovereignty. I’m here to protect Connecticut from being swept into oblivion.”
“You believe the proud Virginians will sacrifice their state?”
“They think they’ll run the new government.”
“You’re more headstrong than I expected.”
“Headstrong, yes; shortsighted, no.” Sherman pushed himself up. “I’ll see James.”
“You’re a shrewd man.” Witherspoon stood to signal that he had achieved his aim. “A dialogue between the two of you is in the country’s interest.”
“Reverend, I’ll not slip Connecticut over to the large state side.”
“I never imagined that you would.”
“Good night, Reverend.”
“Yes, a good night.”
Part 3
Deadlock
Chapter 16
Sunday, June 10, 1787
Sunday mornings found Philadelphia’s streets full of people strolling to church. The two men mixed with the parade but were destined for different churches. Steeples and tavern signs were the most visible emblems of town life, and thirty churches stood within a few blocks of State House. While in Philadelphia, Sherman worshipped at the Old Pine Street Church, a Presbyterian denomination. Madison, along with most of the Virginians, attended the Anglican Christ Church on Second Street.
Dressed in a black suit, Madison strolled with his hands clasped behind his back. Sherman trudged alongside, his fists buried deep in the pockets of his sturdy brown coat. Sherman withdrew a hand and pointed toward the Walnut Street Prison.
“Government must have a better purpose than to build prisons for debtors.”
Sherman and Madison watched the prisoners use poles to extend their hats out to passing churchgoers. A few quickly dropped a few coins in the proffered hats, but most walked briskly along toward their destination. Although the prisoners accepted donations with jocular good wishes, they seemed to take greater delight in throwing insults at those who ignored them.
“It looks cruel,” Madison said, “but the sanctity of contracts must be upheld.”
“Many believe government shares the blame.”
“Nevertheless, government must protect property.”
“Shouldn’t a good government do more?”
“A good government should be impartial when it protects property.”
“If the aim of government is so elementary, why did you make it a life’s study?”
“It took a life’s study for me to discover that it was so elementary.”
“Are you serious?”
“Quite.” Madison smiled. “But I entertain a broad view of property.”
“How broad?”
“Nations engage in war to protect or acquire property—territory. Governments must protect property from larceny and theft. If a man owns no land, commerce, or trade, he still owns his liberty, and liberty is the most precious property of all.”
“In my experience, governments are more inclined to threaten liberty than to protect it.”
“Exactly. Tyrants shamelessly demand tribute and obedience; while republics show a predilection toward embezzlement—slowly snatching liberty when attention is distracted. History records an uninterrupted stream of states that deny liberty, confiscate property, or enable some to swindle others.”
“A gloomy outlook.”
“That’s why I’m so passionate about a sound design. In a republic, the majority rules, so the majority can steal from those with fewer votes, be they rich or from another region, commercial class, or religious faith. Democracies have always been turbulent and short-lived, with violent deaths. Theologians believe that by granting equal rights, they can equalize possessions, opinions, and passions. They’re wrong. Historically, democracies threatened liberty and property rights.”
“You believe your plan corrects this tendency?”
“The Virginia Plan balances power and checks the erosive tendencies of republics.” Madison gave a shrug and added, “But I’m accused of being too philosophical. Forgive me. How’s the mood in your camp?”
“We’ll be present Monday.”
“Fairly noncommittal.”
“On the contrary, attendance was not a given.”
“I see.”
“We must compromise on proportionality.”
“We must not.”
“James, we’re at a stalemate. One side must give.”
“We already have. The states may elect the Senate.”
“Not enough. Tomorrow I’ll propose a single vote per state in the Senate.”
“And I’ll oppose it.”
“We can’t proceed until this issue is resolved.”
“Then you must accept proportional suffrage. Fairness dictates it. The states will continue to exist because of our vast territory, not because of an intrinsic right to govern.”
“My group doesn’t share your view.”
“Obviously. Your doggedness has kept us from moving forward. We must become a single nation—a single nation with its power derived directly from the people.”
“We’ll insist on a single vote in the Senate.”
“You’ll lose. And isolated, you’ll have no choice but to join us.”
“James, please keep that smug attitude.”
Madison whipped his head around. Sherman did not make contentious statements. “You believe you can win?”
“I believe politics, not philosophy, will prevail.”
“Votes prevail.”
“That’s what I said.”
Madison, Hamilton, Randolph, and Pinckney stood in a corner of Franklin’s serene courtyard. Washington and Franklin had asked for a few moments alone after church to converse in private, and the four men had given them some distance. Madison feared
that the two leaders had invited this group over to Franklin’s home to gain agreement on a compromise.
“The whole thing may collapse: the convention, the nation, our independence. How can I explain to the people back home?”
“Mr. Randolph, I’m sure your exquisitely honed political skills will shield you from the slightest blame for this debacle.” Pinckney spoke so smoothly that Randolph looked unsure whether to take offense.
He decided to ignore the comment. “The small states ruin every opportunity.”
“We must ignore the little deeds of little politicians,” Hamilton said.
“Which little politicians are those?” Pinckney teased.
“Paterson, for one,” Randolph huffed.
“Yes, of course, those little politicians.” Pinckney looked straight at Randolph with an impish grin.
Randolph gave Pinckney a disconcerted glance and turned to Madison. “Mr. Madison, must we tolerate this obstructionism?”
“Yes, Mr. Madison, can we not abandon our traveling companions and leave them to the bears, the Indians, and the European powers?” Pinckney showed far too much delight in tormenting Randolph.
“I’d like nothing better than to unite only those states committed to republican principles, but others disagree.” With this, Madison nodded toward the two men bent in whispered conversation under the famed mulberry tree.
Madison rolled forward on his toes and arched his back. His back ached from bending over his desk, and stretching felt good. As he settled back on his heels, Madison worried that he might be coming down with some illness.
“We must avoid a partial union, or we’ll see the same evils which have scourged the old world,” Hamilton said.
“Which evils?” Pinckney asked. Madison noticed that his voice had lost the derisive tone he used with Randolph.
“War. Vicinity dictates a country’s natural enemies. Only a fool believes separate nations wouldn’t be fighting frequent wars.”
“Surely war can be avoided,” Randolph protested.
“War is natural and the threat of war devours liberty.” Hamilton’s voice took on a forlorn note. “The most powerful influence on a nation’s conduct is safety. People sacrifice freedom to feel safe.”
Tempest at Dawn Page 19
