“The greatest reluctance would have aborted your proposal.”
“There are unsavory aspects of this plan but nothing unique. I only pulled the strands together. This convention won’t put restrictions on slavery, in any case.”
Washington looked sad. “Mr. Sherman, there’s not a man living who wishes more than I for the gradual abolition of slavery. Slaveholders with such sympathies must rely on New Englanders to trigger change. You disappoint me.”
“I apologize, General. I wouldn’t have approached you except under duress.”
“What duress?” Washington seemed incredulous.
“Bald-faced insistence that I accept a government that threatens Connecticut’s existence.”
Washington took a long moment. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll consider your proposal. Good night, Mr. Sherman.”
Sherman was disappointed that the next day’s session started with no word from Washington. In fact, the general didn’t arrive until just before the gavel fell.
Today’s debate was on the term length for senators. Madison spoke first.
“In framing a system for the ages, we shouldn’t forget the changes which the ages will produce. An increase of population will increase the demands for a more equal distribution of wealth. Inequalities exist because they’re the unavoidable result of liberty. In time, the indigent may outnumber those who own property. With equal suffrage, power will slide into the hands of the former. A leveling spirit has appeared enough to warn of future danger.
“How should this danger be guarded against? How is the danger of any coalition to oppress a minority to be guarded against? By a senate respectful of property. Thus, the term of office should be long, at least seven years.”
Sherman disagreed. “Gentlemen, frequent elections ensure good behavior. In Connecticut, elections are frequent, yet we have experienced great stability for more than one hundred and thirty years. I agree with Mr. Madison on the need for steady wisdom, but four or six years will suffice.”
Hamilton made a sharp response. “Mr. Sherman forgets that the first branch of the legislature is designed to guard poorer citizens. Of late, mobs have intimidated the states. Fear of rebellion prevents responsible fiscal measures.” Hamilton walked between the tables and approached Sherman. “Mr. Sherman, is Connecticut so stable that you’d dare impose a new tax?”
Sherman thought Hamilton had a point. The Connecticut legislature had shown extreme caution of late, but he wouldn’t give weight to the charge by responding. Despite Madison and Hamilton’s best efforts, Sherman’s proposal passed six to four. The Senate would have a six-year term with one-third going out biennially.
“Washington avoiding you?”
“The only possible conclusion.”
Sherman walked along the river docks with Dickinson. Even if someone wanted to eavesdrop, the clamor of the waterfront made it impossible. Sherman counted eleven ships being loaded or unloaded by noisy stevedores. They stepped between two rows of barrels to get out of the way of a crate swinging off a crosstree. As the load descended, six stevedores surrounded the crate, their arms held up to grab an edge. The men tried to ease contact with the wharf, but the load hit the planks with enough force to give rise to a jarring mixture of notes. Someone was going to be the proud owner of a new pianoforte.
“Are these barrels coming or going?” Sherman asked as he looked at the rows of stacked barrels.
Dickinson gave them a quick glance. “They’re staged to be loaded. Cod.”
“Who decides all these trades?” Sherman asked. “Goods come, goods go, and nobody coordinates a thing.”
“The invisible hand. That’s what Adam Smith calls it in The Wealth of Nations.”
“I read it last year and found it boring. I tend toward practical matters.”
“Like money?”
“Like money.”
“Money controls trade between nations. My father-in-law insists that unless we establish a sound money system, we’ll be at the mercy of the great powers.”
Sherman waved his hand. “How is this trade negotiated?”
“Mostly barter, which puts us at a disadvantage.”
Sherman walked a few paces and then said, “Before we can address trade issues, we need a strong national government.”
“And Washington hasn’t responded?”
“No, but Hamilton hasn’t left either.”
“He was supposed to leave days ago.”
“As long as he remains, I believe Washington’s still considering my proposal.”
“What’s your next move?”
“When you’re in the majority, vote; when you’re in the minority, talk.”
“You’re going to talk?”
“Not me.”
“Who?” Dickinson asked with trepidation.
Sherman laughed. “Not you. Luther Martin.”
Dickinson slapped Sherman on the back. “You heartless scoundrel. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Even Sherman regretted asking Martin to speak. The man talked for over two days and said nothing coherent. When he mercifully exhausted himself on Thursday, Madison felt compelled to answer with a long sermon of his own. The chamber was clammy, crowded, and filled with rancid hot air.
It appeared they’d be allowed to exit, when Franklin gained recognition. “After five weeks, we’ve made scant progress. This assembly is unable to recognize truth when presented. How has this happened? Why have we not thought of humbly applying to the Father to illuminate our understandings?
“During the war with Great Britain, we prayed daily in this room, and our prayers were graciously answered. Have we forgotten that powerful friend? Do we imagine that we no longer need his assistance?
“If a sparrow can’t fall without his notice, can we raise an empire without his aid? If we don’t seek his guidance, governments will only be created by chance, war, or conquest.
“I move that clergy-led prayers be held in this assembly every morning.”
Sherman wanted to bless the old man for his wisdom and seconded the motion.
Hamilton quelled an immediate vote. “At this late date, such a resolution will signal distress.” Hamilton made a flip gesture. “Besides, I don’t believe we need foreign aid.”
Randolph suggested a special sermon on the Fourth of July, which was approved. Then Madison moved to adjourn. Sherman was surprised that the adjournment passed—a silent veto of Franklin’s motion.
Chapter 22
Friday, June 29, 1787
“Two long days of unbearable speechifying. Tortured mercilessly in an airless oven. I surrender! The small states may have their way with me.”
“Alex, this isn’t funny.”
“But it is. I nearly bowled over in laughter when Luther said he was too exhausted to finish and asked to continue on Thursday.”
“I was mortified,” Madison said.
“Dear Jemmy, it was your horrified expression which prompted my amusement.”
“I failed to see the humor.”
“Don’t take things so seriously. You’ve lost too much hair for such a young man.”
Hamilton’s reference to his receding hairline didn’t lighten Madison’s mood. As the two men walked to the State House, Madison wondered why Hamilton had thrown in a personal slight.
“His speech was a delaying tactic,” Madison said, as evenly as he could.
“And how did you respond—with a long sermon of your own.”
“His challenge had to be answered.”
“No, it didn’t. No one took his ranting seriously. You added vinegar to an already disagreeable drink.”
Madison seethed for a minute. After he settled down, he realized that Hamilton was right—he should have ignored Martin’s rambling diatribe. His loud and relentless condemnation of the Virginia Plan had so infuriated Madison that he felt compelled to respond. “You’re right, I should’ve left him to wallow in his own brew.”
“Play by your rules, not theirs.”
/> Madison looked at Hamilton. “Alex, I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“If the last two days are any indication, I’m glad to be free of Philadelphia.” Hamilton grinned brazenly. “Besides, there are some gentlewomen in New York that rely on my visitations.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Who will I confide in?”
“Let me think. Yes, I shall designate Charles Pinckney as my surrogate.”
“Mr. Hamilton, another remark like that and I’ll call for your carriage myself.”
“Jemmy, you’d be wise to take Charles into your confidence. He can do little good, but he can do enormous harm. Hold him close.”
Madison entered the State House and immediately dreaded the long day ahead. The oppressive heat was now accompanied by huge black flies. As he arranged his writing materials, he tried to chase the persistent pests away from his sweaty eyes. His mood did not improve when Ellsworth reproposed equal state suffrage in the Senate.
After being recognized, Madison jumped up and quick-stepped to the back of the chamber. “Please ponder the consequences of demanding concessions that will break the confederacy into pieces.” Madison tapped the Connecticut table with his fingertips. “I beg you, sirs, renounce this principle of equal state suffrage. It will infect our Constitution with a mortal illness.”
Madison whirled and walked back to his table. Just before sitting, he looked back at the Connecticut table. “Gentlemen, relent, or your countrymen will never forgive you.”
Hamilton slowly unwound to his full height, which seemed taller than his five foot feet seven. As Madison picked up his quill, his friend gave him a mischievous wink. “The small states say we ask them to renounce their liberty.” Hamilton paused and then filled the chamber with a booming voice. “This is a contest for power, not liberty.”
Hamilton’s bombast had gained the attention of every man in the room. He pointed at the Delaware table and declared, “Delaware, with forty thousand souls, will lose power to Pennsylvania, with four hundred thousand. But will a person in Delaware be less free than a citizen of Pennsylvania? Of course not.” Hamilton stared at Paterson. “Some of you pretend to protect liberty, but your real aim is to protect your illusion of power. An illusion, because if you don’t give it up freely—here, now—it shall be taken from you by force.”
Madison felt the men in the chamber stiffen as Hamilton continued. “Make no mistake, if dissolution occurs, Europe will pounce. It’s a miracle that we can sit here, engaged in tranquil deliberation.”
He placed a hand on the rear of his chair, and just before he sat, he said, with the kind of disdain only he could muster, “Only a madman would trust in further miracles.”
Gerry stammered a few beats and then controlled himself of everything but an odd tic that caused his head to bob to no discernible beat. “I regret that instead of coming here like a band of brothers, we see our role as negotiators. I am from a proud state, but I consider myself a citizen of the United States.”
Gerry continued arguing reasonably but then concluded, “Gentlemen, I think we should remember that if we don’t agree on something, few of us will be appointed to Congress.”
Madison sighed. Gerry had abruptly degraded everything he had said with a selfish plea.
Next, Ellsworth defended his proposal. “Proportional representation in the first branch protects the large states against the small. An equality of voice in the second branch protects the small states against the large. Nature has given self-defense to the smallest insect. Can’t we do the same? We must compromise or our meeting will be for naught. I’m not a halfway man, yet I prefer doing half the good we can, than to do no good at all.”
Madison felt dejected as he gathered up his things. His journal would show no progress today, only whining and exhortations to do something, anything.
Madison and Hamilton sat in comfortable chairs in front of a dead fireplace. The Indian Queen harbored its own cloud of flies that added annoyance to the sticky heat. Philadelphia hired boys to scoop up horse droppings, but the summer fly problem grew worse as the days grew hotter.
Madison made a constant motion with a fan. “Alex, why are you leaving? You saw today's proceedings. We need you.”
“We must try a different tack.”
“What’re you talking about? What’s your mission in New York?”
“I've been sworn to secrecy, but all the levers of power don’t reside in Philadelphia.”
“Your comments brought sense to the debate. Votes follow logic.”
“Don’t delude yourself. Votes follow power—power and money.”
“What deal are you sent to barter?”
“I've said too much already. Please don’t force me to be rude.”
Madison sat and contemplated. Only the general could authorize a scheme that required Hamilton to be in New York. What plot had he hatched? Who was privy? Why hadn’t he been informed? Madison became irritated. They’d decided that their young and idealistic philosopher was not mature enough to be taken into their confidence. The general had formulated a deal that included Congress—a deal that possibly exceeded the bounds of propriety. Was it necessary? Not yet. The large states could control the convention only if they had the will. Madison threw down a swallow of Madeira and vowed to get to the bottom of these dealings.
Despite Madison’s and Hamilton’s exhortations the previous day, Ellsworth continued to insist that each state have an equal vote in the second branch.
Wilson removed his spectacles and looked directly at the delegates. “If there is a compromise, it won’t come from the large states. Shall one-quarter of the United States withdraw from the union, or shall three-quarters of the population abandon their rights?” Wilson let an uncharacteristic edge creep into his voice. “If these defiant little states refuse to join us, then separation it shall be.”
Madison watched Ellsworth display uncharacteristic emotion as he answered Wilson’s attack. “The danger of the big states combining is not imaginary. Suppose three free ports are to be established. Wouldn’t an alliance be formed to favor Boston, Philadelphia, and some port in Chesapeake?”
Ellsworth absentmindedly reached into his waistcoat, pulled out his snuffbox, looked down at it, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He looked as if he wanted to add something but then glared at Wilson as he returned to his seat.
Madison rose to offer a rebuttal, but his frustration with the stupidity of the entire debate caused him to utter the unspeakable. “Gentlemen, let’s be honest. Our differences don’t lie between the large and small states. Our divisions result from whether we own slaves or do not own slaves. If defensive powers are to be given, they ought to go to slaveholding states.”
Madison sat to stunned silence. As he reached for his quill to note his own remarks, he realized he had stumbled badly.
As the embarrassed silence extended, Franklin tried to relieve the tension by moving the debate away from slavery. “Opinions turn on two points. With proportional representation, the small states claim their liberty is at risk. With equal state votes, the large states fear their property is at risk. When a broad table is to be made and the edges of the planks don’t fit, the carpenter takes a little from both planks to make a perfect fit. In like manner, both sides must part with some of their demands in order to achieve other accommodations.”
Madison seethed as Franklin presented some complex and convoluted proposal that the doctor intended as wadding to cushion Madison’s faux pas. He knew he had overstepped the unspoken bounds of propriety, but if they were to move the convention forward, they needed to address the real issues instead of false dilemmas. They argued endlessly over state power, but everyone squeezed their eyes tight against the greatest danger to the new nation. Slavery held a scythe above the delegates’ heads that could slice their best intentions to bloody pieces.
When King spoke, he looked directly at Sherman. “I’m astonished, sir, that when a fair governmen
t is within reach, you renounce the blessing because of an idealistic attachment to your state.”
As King sat, Paterson stood unrecognized and nearly shouted, “The large states must believe we’re blind! The South is so puffed up with her wealth and Negroes that evenhanded treatment is out of the question.” Paterson swatted a fly away with enough force to stun it, had he had the luck to connect. “There is no middle way. Look at the votes. They’ve been cast by interest, ambition, and the desire for power.”
Paterson’s face grew red as a ripe tomato. “Give ambition opportunity and it will abuse it. The whole history of mankind proves it.” Paterson threw his hand through the air. Madison wondered if he meant to shoo another fly or take a swat at the large states. “The small states can never agree to the Virginia Plan because the small states will end in ruin, and if we’re to be ruined, I’d rather let a foreign power take us by the hand.”
Madison looked at Washington. Why didn’t he silence this tirade? Paterson had not been recognized, and his deportment violated their rules. The general’s withering look was wasted on Paterson’s back, but he made no move toward his gavel.
Paterson blustered on. “The little states have been told, with a dictatorial air, that this is our last chance to build a good government. The large states dare not dissolve this Confederation. If they do, the small ones will find a foreign ally, one with honor and good faith.”
Madison grew increasingly alarmed. Could no one stop this man?
“Let me be clear,” Paterson said, in his prosecutorial voice. “It’s treason to annihilate our duly established government. Treason!”
He stood arms akimbo. “Gentlemen, I do not trust you!”
Paterson finally walked over to his seat, but before sitting he spat, “The sword may decide this controversy.”
Tempest at Dawn Page 26
