Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  “Americans don’t rely on government for safety,” Madison said.

  “One day, they may. Autocrats slyly build anxiety and fear, and then offer up government to protect people from these shadowy threats. Each submission erodes liberty.”

  “You paint a bleak future,” Pinckney said.

  “No bleaker than Europe—and no healthier.”

  “I can’t believe—”

  “Gentlemen,” Madison interrupted, “the general is signaling us to come over.”

  The four men immediately approached. Three additional chairs faced the two seated men, so Madison waved the others into the chairs and gratefully remained standing.

  “Good afternoon, General, Doctor,” Madison said. “I hope this morning’s service was enlightening.”

  Washington smiled. “On the contrary, Jemmy, I left completely befuddled.”

  “Were you visiting another church again?”

  “The Dutch Reformed Church.” Washington made a habit of attending different services to “broaden his viewpoint,” but Madison believed he wanted to spread his presence to as many voters as possible. “Gentlemen, don’t look so distressed. I’m in no danger of becoming a proselyte. The sermon was delivered in Dutch, so I didn’t understand a single word.”

  Franklin laughed while everyone else politely smiled.

  “Religions are like a man traveling in foggy weather,” Franklin said. “A man sees those at a distance wrapped in fog, but near him all appears clear. In truth, he’s shrouded in fog as well. A clever man strives to see things from another’s vantage point.”

  “I believe you’ve cleared up a mystery,” Pinckney said. “I believe some in our party stand fast in a deep haze.”

  Randolph went crimson. “Mr. Pinckney, that’s enough. I don’t need—”

  “Gentlemen.” This single word from Washington put a contrite expression on everyone’s face.

  “Dear Mr. Pinckney,” Franklin said in a conciliatory tone, “you amuse only yourself. Let’s not spoil this fine afternoon.”

  “My apologies. I referred to our opponents at the convention, not to anyone present.”

  “Very well,” Washington said. “Mr. Madison, we seem to be at an impasse. Do you have any suggestions?”

  Madison shook his head. “The small states hold progress hostage to their petty ambitions.”

  Hamilton looked smug. “Ambition, avarice, and personal animosity operate on those who support, as well those who oppose, the right side of a question.”

  Washington ignored Hamilton. “How do we break the deadlock?”

  “By remaining steadfast,” Madison offered.

  “That seems insufficient. The small states may retire. Noisily, I’m sure.”

  “They’ll remain.”

  “Speculation?”

  “No, I’m sure.”

  “How?”

  Madison paused. He felt uncomfortable revealing a confidence in front of so many. Deciding, he said, “I spoke with Sherman this morning—privately.”

  “I understand.” Washington looked at each man. “No one’s to mention this.” Everyone nodded. “The situation may not be as dire as I had feared. But we must move forward. The doctor has a compromise he has graciously offered to present tomorrow.”

  Madison tensed. “Sir, you don’t propose that we sacrifice proportional representation?”

  “Not exactly,” Franklin said. “I’ll propose equal representation based on equal contribution in taxes.”

  Madison hesitated, not sure how to raise objections to a revered legend. “Equal contributions will bankrupt the small states. Can you explain your scheme?”

  “I could, but you shan’t understand it.”

  “Excuse me, sir—and I don’t mean to be presumptuous—but if I can’t understand it, how will the delegates understand it?”

  “I’m a befuddled old man. I often say unfathomable things.”

  “Not in my presence.”

  “Kind of you, but untrue.” Then with his trademark twinkle, Franklin said, “James, my dear boy, sometimes a fire must be smothered, not doused.”

  The doctor was right, Madison didn’t understand. But since people he trusted had concocted the scheme, he decided not to pursue the issue. He’d wait for events to unfold.

  Sherman opened Monday morning with a proposal for one vote per state in the Senate, but then he threw in a surprise. He said membership in the first branch should be based on the number of free inhabitants. It was said in passing, but everyone heard it. Madison thought this devilish. Sherman had spotted the crevice in their alliance and had adroitly exploited it.

  An energized buzz filled the chamber. The big state delegates conferred angrily or sat sour faced. Obviously, tempers hadn’t cooled under the influence of Sunday services. The endless seesaw of political maneuvering had filed emotions raw, and Madison worried that the chamber was ready to erupt. With relief, he saw Franklin take the floor. Perhaps the doctor had concocted a formula that would extricate them from this mire.

  Franklin spoke in an engaging and friendly manner. “It has given me great pleasure to observe that until proportionality, our debates were in good humor. We were sent here to deliberate, not fight. Bold declarations neither enlighten nor convince. Heated debate on one side begets hot responses from the other. I originally hoped that every delegate would consider himself a representative of the United States, rather than as an agent of his particular state. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

  “Gentlemen, when England and Scotland united, the Scot patriots cried that England would swallow tiny Scotland. After they finally agreed to unite, the Scots were given only forty members in the Commons and sixteen in the House of Lords. A great inferiority!”

  With a gentle smile and the timing of a thespian, Franklin concluded his story. “But when the Duke of Argyle came to government, he put so many Scots into civil posts that Jonah swallowed the whale.”

  Madison laughed with the rest of the delegates. In a simple yet eloquent way, Franklin had once again dissipated the passion in the chamber. He was not done, however. Madison noticed that he held many more pages of prepared remarks.

  “To this day, Parliament hasn’t injured Scotland. Nor should the small states fear injury from an energized central government.”

  Franklin explained that under the single vote per state rule, seven small states could override the majority of people in the six large states. “Gentlemen, the large states naturally resist having their property controlled by the smaller, just as the small states harbor the same fear of the larger. We need a just solution to this dilemma.”

  Franklin presented a long and convoluted proposal that based representation on tax contributions. The complexities strained Madison’s ability to capture the essence of the scheme. When the doctor finished, Madison wondered if Franklin meant this compromise to be taken seriously, or if he merely wanted to talk until he had diffused tempers. Whatever the case, the delegates ignored his ideas and returned to the question of representation in the legislature.

  Pinckney quickly moved to clarify suffrage in the lower house with new wording: “in proportion to the whole number of white citizens of every age, sex, and, condition, including those bound to servitude, and three-fifths of all other persons not included in the foregoing description, except Indians not paying taxes.”

  This motion countered Sherman’s attempt to split the large Northern states and the slaveholding South. When Wilson seconded, Pennsylvania joined South Carolina in sending a message that slavery couldn’t be used to rend their alliance.

  Grabbing the floor, Gerry took a belligerent stance, fists firmly planted on each hip. “I’m just an ill-informed man from a small wayward state. Could someone familiar with your strange customs please enlighten me? I seek an answer to a simple question. Are blacks people or property?”

  Gerry’s eyes flitted around the chamber, but no one volunteered to “enlighten” him. “Gentlemen, property should not be the standard for
representation. The government doesn’t represent land, buildings, and poultry. It represents people. Why should blacks—which are unquestionably property in the South—be counted, in whole or in part? This makes no sense. If we count slaves, then what’s the proper count for cows, horses, and hogs?

  “May I make a humble suggestion? If you desire additional representation, free your slaves. We of the simple North will then gladly count each black as a full person.”

  Gerry sat to a stunned audience. Gentlemen used euphemisms to speak about sensitive issues. Gerry charged in with no subtlety and little regard for propriety. Without further debate, the large states passed the Pinckney amendment. Lower house representation would be based on whites and a three-fifth count of slaves.

  Sherman immediately again moved that the second branch should have one vote per state. “Everything depends on this. The smaller states will never agree to any plan that doesn’t include equal suffrage in the Senate.”

  Everything, Madison knew, meant continued attendance.

  Sherman’s motion went down to defeat, six to five. Close, but the big state alliance held. New York had sided with the small states because Hamilton had been outvoted by his two fellow delegates. Governor Clinton’s stacked delegation had again made Hamilton superfluous.

  Hamilton’s motion that suffrage in the Senate be the same as in the first branch passed with the same alignment of states.

  Madison recorded the vote with a huge sigh of relief. Finally, this contentious issue had been put behind them. If his alliance could pass these resolutions in the Committee of the Whole, they could pass them when the convention reconvened. Sherman had cleverly tried to use slavery to divide and conquer, but the large states had worked out the three-fifths rule beforehand.

  This was no small victory. The states were now diminished, and the national government could rule. The big Northern states had representation based on their larger populations. The price had been a partial count of slaves that gave the South additional representation. This devilish deal achieved a supreme national government based on a close approximation of equal representation.

  As the delegates began to rise after adjournment, Washington stood and demanded attention with a simple, “Gentlemen.”

  Everyone held still or sat back down.

  “I’m sorry to report that one of our members has been neglectful.”

  Those who remained standing quickly retook their seats.

  “So neglectful that he dropped a copy of our proceedings outside this chamber.” Washington looked around with a stern countenance. “By luck, it was picked up and delivered to me this morning. I entreat you to be more careful, lest our transactions get into the newspapers.”

  Madison shivered. Early revelation, especially of today’s victory, would ignite angry opposition.

  Washington held the papers high above his head. “I don’t know whose paper this is but let him who owns it take it.” With that, he flung the paper onto the desk with a sharp slap. Washington picked up his tricorn, firmly snugged it on his head, and stormed down the central aisle and out the door.

  Madison watched several delegates shyly approach the desk and peek at the papers. Each showed obvious relief as they turned to leave without picking up the notes. Madison knew they weren’t his. His care in handling his own journal exceeded the protection of his purse.

  By the time he had organized his materials, the chamber room had almost emptied. Curiosity drew him to the notes. Shock gripped him. He recognized the handwriting. He whirled around to find Robert Morris still in his seat. Washington’s friend just sat there and gave Madison a sly wink. Working to keep his composure, Madison returned to his table to pick up his valise. As he walked out of the chamber, Madison thought that if the Philadelphia Shakespearian Company ever needed another member, he knew where they could find an accomplished thespian.

  As Madison exited the State House, he saw that Franklin’s charges had set his sedan chair down on the sidewalk so he could talk with Washington. Neither seemed as happy as they should be. Eager to hear about the little charade at the end of the session, Madison walked over to the two men.

  Bowing slightly, Madison said, “Doctor, I want to thank you for your speech. It went far to dampen emotion.”

  Franklin lifted his head to look the standing Madison in the eye. “Mr. Madison, we have made an immoral pact. This slave issue will hamper ratification.”

  Madison was taken aback. “Doctor, we had no choice.”

  Franklin paused. “Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He looked at each of the slaveholders in turn. “Words pale next to action. I’m afraid this rubs badly against my beliefs.”

  Franklin looked sad as he laboriously shifted his gout-ridden body. “I’m not deluded, gentlemen. I’m quite aware I’ve been a party to this arrangement. It weighs heavy on me.”

  With a beckoning wave to his prisoners, Franklin said, “You are both honorable and worked for the best we could achieve, but I believe we’ll rue this day.”

  As the prisoners lifted the sedan chair, Franklin added, “Please excuse me, but I wish to return to my courtyard sanctuary and take tea in private.”

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday, June 13, 1787

  Sherman watched the sturdy-looking young man enter the coffeehouse. Abraham Baldwin quickly made his way to Sherman’s table.

  “Good afternoon, Abe,” Sherman said with enthusiasm. “Thank you for joining me.”

  Baldwin clasped Sherman’s upper arm with his left hand as he eagerly shook with his right. “Anytime, anytime. But thank you for picking an out-of-the-way establishment. Can’t have my fellow delegates thinking I’m consorting with the opposition.”

  “We certainly can’t have that. Besides, I’m not scheming. I just want to talk to an old friend.”

  “Ha, that’s a hoot.”

  “I’d never use a friend to advance a personal agenda.”

  “Balderdash!”

  “Abe?” Sherman said with arms splayed wide.

  “My God, man, don’t tell me you’ve gone flaccid with old age. I’ve been looking forward to some titillating intrigue.”

  “Maybe we’ll get to something later, but first tell me, how’s life treating you in Georgia?”

  Both men conveyed the eagerness of old friends wanting to catch up with each other. Sherman had picked a coffeehouse in the commercial district at the corner of Market and Front streets, far from the political neighborhood around the State House. Philadelphia had a problem with beggars, pickpockets, and drunks, so Sherman was pretty confident that other delegates would avoid this rough neighborhood. Besides, this coffeehouse catered to sea captains who wanted privacy to negotiate their next cargo.

  After ordering, Baldwin said, “Georgia’s backcountry couldn’t fit me better.”

  “You were never comfortable in the city.”

  “New Haven’s a burg compared to Philadelphia. I may never get this city stench off me. The Wilkes County bumpkins may throw me to the Creeks on my return.”

  “How goes it with the Creeks?”

  “Bad. The Spanish provide them with arms and sanctuary in Florida. We’re too spread out to protect ourselves from their raids.”

  “So to buy security, you joined the nationalist cause?”

  “You do have a scheme. Tell me. I won’t help, but I surely do enjoy a good conspiracy.”

  “Abe, what ever caused you to see me as a blackguard?”

  “Years of observation.”

  The two men smiled at each other, relaxed in the camaraderie of old warriors. Baldwin, born and raised in Connecticut, had moved to Georgia just three years ago and quickly established himself in the state’s political circles. Before he left, Sherman and Baldwin had been fast friends. It helped that both held uninhibited political ambitions.

  Baldwin, only thirty-three, had had a varied career. When Sherman held the post of Yale University treasurer, Baldwin had been a student and tutor. Later, he beca
me the minister for the school. About the time Baldwin graduated, Sherman had been awarded an honorary masters degree for his service and contributions to Yale. In those prewar days, Baldwin had also kept a running account at a store Sherman owned that catered to Yale students and faculty. Baldwin, born to a blacksmith, and Sherman, the son of a boot maker, found they had much in common.

  After serving as a chaplain in the Continental Army, Baldwin was offered a professorship in divinity at Yale. He declined the offer, attended law school, and established himself as an attorney in New Haven. Baldwin dabbled in politics, entered the ministry, tried academia, practiced law, but never found his niche. A brisk outdoor man, with little patience for polite society, Baldwin finally decided it was place, not profession, that disquieted him. Sherman was happy to see his friend content in rural Georgia.

  “Roger, I’m glad you lead the opposition. Your judgment will keep the convention from going too far astray.”

  “I’m having trouble keeping the small states tethered.”

  “You mean the threat to withdraw is real?”

  “And imminent.”

  “Damn, that’ll bring ruin.” Baldwin gave Sherman a hard look. “Why, you ol’ scoundrel, it appears our reminiscing’s over. What’s bouncing around in that head of yours?”

  “We need a compromise on suffrage in the Senate. My people will acquiesce to the Virginia Plan only if they have an equal voice in at least one house.”

  “Roger, I can’t sway Georgia. Even if I vote with you—which I won’t—I’m only one vote amongst four. None of the other Georgia delegates will accept your compromise.”

  “Why won’t you vote with me?”

  “I’m a Georgian now.”

  “I see.” Sherman signaled for another cup of coffee.

  Baldwin laughed. “You don’t give up, do you? You ordered more coffee so you can continue to cajole me. You nefarious old rascal, I’ll never yield. Never.”