“Sorry, Charles, but your sarcasm escapes me.”
“You know quite well what I mean. You, Washington, and Franklin treat the rest of us like children. You elders send us to bed early so you can play illicit games.”
“You sound angry.”
“The Virginia Plan has been gutted without the slightest consideration of my plan. There’s a plot to keep me out of the foreground.”
“Didn’t the general ask you to propose the committee?”
“His Royal Highness neglected to tell me about the intrigue that made the committee possible. I don’t like to be used.”
“Then you must get out of politics.”
Pinckney laughed. “Roger, you’re one of the few who don’t lose your balance when someone violates accepted norms.”
“Does it work? These brash assaults?”
“Quite often. More frequently with Southerners, I’m afraid.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Why do I suspect you’re doing research for future intrigues?”
Now Sherman laughed. “My interest is genuine. I fail to understand Southern culture.”
“We’re more insular, I suppose. And less religious. We impose more social structure to make up for fewer spiritual rules.”
“How sad. Religion guides the soul.”
“As it has in your political machinations?”
This barb caught Sherman unawares, so a moment passed before he said, “Faithfulness is not how one lives, but what one aspires to.”
“Convenient.”
“Not very.”
“Ah, yes, the Calvinist guilt. I’m sure you are a better man because you feel bad about your misdeeds.”
“It does hold extreme excesses in check.”
“It’s comforting to know that you didn’t go to excess this time.”
“Charles, your sarcasm could be dismissed if you didn’t touch on the truth so often. Mercifully, it appears we’re ready to eat. Shall we find a seat?”
Sherman and Pinckney chose seats together at one of the four long tables. As was his habit, Sherman kept a watch on the room as he talked to Pinckney. The mood continued to be one of restraint. The delegates had buried their ill will for the moment, but the tottering convention had sanded nerves crimson.
Franklin and Madison seemed to hold the most interesting exchange. Sherman felt a pang of sympathy for Madison. He had worked hard, and his plan remained more intact than Pinckney had alluded to in his fit of jealousy. The basic structure held, and there would have been no convention without his obsessive dedication to a stronger central government. The intense little man deserved the gratitude of all the delegates. Madison’s only failing was his strict adherence to principle. While he strove for perfection, the real world muddled through with good enough.
Madison had too much to contribute to become disenchanted, and the nation needed the balance of his philosophical perspective. Sherman decided the time had come to work with Madison.
Part 4
Shifting Alliances
Chapter 24
Monday, July 2, 1787
“You know why you weren’t taken into our confidence.”
“I deserved an opportunity to express my opinion.”
“You would’ve fought every element.”
Madison cringed. Washington’s statement did not invite argument. The two men walked the State House yard in the waning light of evening. They were very much alone. The block-size square seemed unnaturally still and separate from the city life just beyond the walls.
When the Indian Queen dinner had ended, the delegates had scattered to talk in private. Washington, no doubt prompted by Franklin, had asked Madison to take a walk with him. It surprised Madison to discover that Washington liked the yard when he could have it to himself. Madison didn’t see the general as someone who appreciated solitude. He wondered if his perception was wrong. As a young man, Washington had spent long periods alone on the frontier with only his thoughts. Later, as a Revolutionary commander, he lived isolated from interpersonal relationships. Nowadays, Washington surrounded himself with people, but perhaps this habit was meant to compensate for years of loneliness.
Coming back to the subject at hand, Madison said, “General, I understand the hard realities of politics.”
Washington, in a rare display of physical closeness, put a hand on Madison’s forearm. “Jemmy, you’re an exceptional student of government forms, but you must learn the delicate art of political timing before you can weave your ideas into history.”
“General, sir, with all due respect, you may have been precipitous.”
“The convention shattered on Saturday. Were you not there?”
“Tempers flared, but our coalition could have held.”
Washington lifted his hand from Madison’s arm. “Damn it, Jemmy, equal state suffrage in one house doesn’t negate the republican form. If we break into pieces, we’ll be like Europe. We need one nation unified under a single government.”
“During the war, you suffered under the impotency of the Confederacy. Surely, you learned that a weak Congress can’t protect the nation.”
“I don’t appreciate being told what lessons I learned commanding the Continental Army.”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to instruct Your Excellency.”
“Now you’re being insolent.”
“I’m sorry, sir. An inappropriate lapse.” Madison had regretted the “Excellency” as soon as it left his lips. Washington warranted the title, but using it in that context had been a dangerous taunt. He was not handling the conversation well. Or perhaps Washington was handling it exceptionally well.
They had completed two circuits around the yard and were next to the privy. Madison excused himself, more to gain time than to relieve himself. Washington had summarized the arrangement with Congress with little prompting. Madison admired the symmetry of the deal but despised the sacrifice of principle. He also felt sad. The ease with which Congress could be corrupted reinforced his reservations about democracy. Protections, checks, and offsetting power centers must be built into the system to secure the country from human vice. Madison finished his business and, as he stepped back into the twilight, vowed to continue fighting for a proportional Senate.
When he emerged, Washington immediately started walking again. After a few paces, he said, “Congress is the pivot on which the government turns, but we must create a real government first. We need to rely on our national character to amend our errors.”
“I don’t believe we should abandon this opportunity to build a sound system.”
“Strive for perfection, or achieve what’s possible? The choice requires wisdom.”
This stopped Madison. To argue further, then, was to question the general’s wisdom. He contemplated. Washington would make a fine first executive. He had mastered the art of political persuasion and knew how to pin an opponent with a subtlety that didn’t offend. No wonder he won his way so often, yet maintained so many friendships.
Madison looked up Washington’s tall frame and caught his eyes. “General, sir, although in time I may need to yield, at the moment, I feel I must continue to fight for a proportional Senate.”
“Jemmy, don’t let proportionality become your sine qua non. Timely withdrawals often lead to later victory.”
“Sir, there may not be a later engagement.”
Instead of a stern reproach, Washington smiled and then said, “Very well, contained passion has a habit of exploding unexpectedly.”
Washington had cut deep. Madison took pride in expunging passion for logic. But Washington’s reluctant permission to continue fighting was the most he could win, so he answered with a simple, “Thank you, sir.”
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The cannon fire hurt Madison’s ears and teared his eyes as concussions pounded his body. Sulfuric mephitis scratched his throat, and the rotten egg odor made him queasy. The thirteen reports ended, but before Madison could draw a grateful and
tranquil breath, the artillery brigade started another round. After three consecutive resounding salutes of thirteen cannon shots, Madison felt exhausted.
He had been jostling for a position from which to see the Independence Day celebration when the cannon fire assaulted his senses. The State House Commons throbbed with people keyed up with rum and excitement. The crowd churned on the periphery of the Commons, while the Society of the Cincinnati, the City Calvary, the Light Infantry, and a battalion of militia vied for attention in the center of the swirling people. Each military formation, spruced up in their finest regalia, stood eager to demonstrate their parade skills. The units waited, as did Madison, for the artillery to finish their noisy salute.
Philadelphia, as the site of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, took pride in holding the rowdiest Fourth of July gala in the nation. Festivities would go from dawn until deep into the night. The city echoed with public celebrations, ringing bells, and martial music. Every church would conduct special devotionals, and all 117 taverns would compete for revelers with loud entertainment. The formal celebrations had started early in the morning, with city officials, aspiring orators, and preachers making the customary thirteen toasts.
Fascinated by the inebriated throng, Madison failed to notice Pinckney walk up beside him.
“Perhaps we should dramatically increase the size any new state.”
Madison said, “Thank God, we will. Fewer states in the Northwest Territory may save us from drunken mobs. Imagine twenty toasts —we’d have to stretch our celebration to the fifth.”
Pinckney looked surprised that Madison had caught the allusion. Madison would have been embarrassed if Washington hadn’t told him about that part of the arrangement with Congress. By acting blasé about Pinckney’s remark, he’d stopped what would have been a series of snide comments designed to show off privileged knowledge.
“Did they finally agree the number of states in the Northwest Territory?” Pinckney asked to verify that Madison knew the particulars of the deal.
“Only five states.” Without turning, Madison noticed Pinckney’s slight shrug. Good, Madison thought, he knows we are on equal footing.
Pinckney complained, “This whole exhibition seems excessive. Everyone acts as if independence were an end in itself. We’re independent, but we’re adrift without a sextant.”
“These people have no—”
Before Madison could finish his point, a huge, flushed man, dressed in a suit that struggled to cover his overhanging belly, started yelling in his ear. “Gentlemen, lift your drinks. Let us rejoice in the year of our lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven and the year of our independence, the twelfth!”
The city had distributed kegs of grog at each corner of the Commons and, despite the early hour, many toasts had already made the crowd boisterous. A loud cheer erupted, and those experienced enough to bring their own tankards threw down another swallow of the watered-down rum.
The chubby man’s next words added hot embers to Madison’s heartache. “People, another toast to the grand Federal Convention—may they form a constitution for an eternal republic”
Pinckney said, “These people are too simple to discern a republic from a public privy.”
“Charles, you’re too cynical. The people can be fooled for a time, but Americans won’t allow a tyrant to steal their liberty.”
Pinckney grunted with disgust. “No, they’ll sell their liberty for free grog.”
“Let’s move into the State House,” Madison said abruptly. Madison feared that someone might overhear in the close crowd, even though Pinckney spoke nearly in his ear. If someone picked up his voice, his words could be reported in a newspaper or spread by tavern gossip. Madison turned and entered the State House so Pinckney would be obliged to follow. The guards, standing on either side of the door, recognized them as delegates and allowed them to enter.
Madison saw delegates gathered in the Central Hall between the Judicial Chamber and the Assembly Room. Most were deep in conversation, ignoring the events outside. Madison threw a glance at the windows in the Judicial Chamber and saw that other delegates and city dignitaries blocked them.
Without looking into the Assembly Room, where they regularly met, Madison said, “Let’s go upstairs.”
He sprang up the Great Hall staircase, sprinted past the Palladian window at the half-story landing, and continued up to the Long Gallery that extended the entire length of the building. As expected, men with enough influence to gain access to the State House blocked these windows as well. At the east end of the hall, Madison spotted James Wilson.
“Charles, can you excuse me? I need to talk to Mr. Wilson.”
“But of course, go, speak to your last faithful brother-in-arms.”
“Do you no longer support our cause?”
“I’m a realist. You get what you can.”
“How do you know where the line that cannot be crossed is drawn?”
“Not easy. You must lose all to know for certain. Anytime you stop short of full failure, you may have been six inches or six feet from that gossamer boundary.” Pinckney looked in both directions down the Long Gallery. Evidently not seeing anyone of interest, he said, “Go confer with Mr. Wilson. I prefer to mix with the plebian throng instead of witnessing their merriment from behind a shield of glass.”
Before Madison felt the stab of the insult, Pinckney had reversed course and bounded down the staircase. As Madison approached Wilson, he watched the pudgy man peer with disapproval over the top of his reading glasses. Had this visage prompted Pinckney’s cutting remark?
“Mr. Wilson, how are you on this fine anniversary of our independence?”
Wilson directed his scowl toward Madison. “Good morning, Mr. Madison. I take it from your greeting that you believe declaring something makes it true. What a simple view of life.”
“Nothing in life seems simple to me anymore, but your reference escapes me.”
“We declared our independence on July 4, 1776.” Wilson turned his condescending gaze on Madison. “If memory serves me right, we fought seven bloody years and spent our progeny’s birth right to actually become independent. Saying it was so did not make it so.”
“The people need their celebrations and their symbols,” Madison said. “What raised your ire?”
“What raised my ire?” Wilson parroted. “What tiny annoyances have fouled my normally cheery mood? Let’s see. Drunken imbeciles cheering banalities espoused by minor functionaries. An ignorant citizenry oblivious to our imminent demise. A convention eager to propose a sham republic. Yes, it’s possible these things have soured my mood.” Wilson turned back to the window. “If not those things, then perhaps a pompous military strutting around the Commons makes me fear rule by the sword.”
“I believe our army and militia have earned this day in the sun.”
“Our soldiers, yes, but I fear the Society of the Cincinnati.”
“Washington can control them.”
Wilson didn’t respond, so Madison looked through the window. He saw the Light Infantry prepare to execute a feu de joie, Madison’s favorite parade maneuver. The soldiers stood in a dressed line and readied their rifles. The first man on the right snapped the rifle tight into his shoulder and fired into the air. Each man, from right to left, quickly copied the movement and fired so fast, it sounded like one continuous shot instead of twenty. Madison loved the symmetry of the rifle reports and the practiced precision of the movements. Today, the Light Infantry executed the difficult maneuver flawlessly.
Without turning, Wilson said, “At the conclusion of these ceremonies, the Cincinnati will march us to the Reformed Calvinist Church for a special sermon. As president of the society, Washington will lead the procession.” Wilson shook his head. “The radicals want to put unrestrained power into the hands of one of their own. Can the great general resist the siren song?”
“I’ve no doubt that he can and will,” Madison said.
Looking away fr
om the window, Wilson asked, “How can you be sure?”
“He’s working hard to put together a government through the auspices of this convention. He wants the proposal for a new government to come from us, not the Cincinnati. I don’t agree with the course he’s charted, but his intent is honorable. He’ll not succumb to the Cincinnati.”
“Even if you’re right, other dangers lurk.”
“Agreed.”
“Where are you?”
“I stepped over to ask you the same question,” Madison said.
“I’ll fight to my last breath for a true republic. I’ll fight for representation based on population—in both houses. I’ll fight to reduce the influence of the states. I’ve not moved.” Wilson struck a pompous pose and asked, “Have you?”
“No. And it cost me dearly.”
“Good. Then we shall continue to work together.”
“It will be my honor,” Madison said. The pair spent a few minutes watching the parade movements. Madison said, “They’ve packed the committee.”
“Did you know Ellsworth conveniently came down sick? Sherman has taken his place.”
“This whole thing has Sherman’s imprint.”
“More than Sherman’s. Elements of this scheme could not have happened without Virginia’s Gen. Washington.”
“Nor without Pennsylvania’s Franklin.”
“Touché. They must be working together.” Wilson looked even more dejected than when Madison had first approached him. “How do we fight them?”
“Pinckney tells me logic doesn’t win political battles. Power wins.”
“Pinckney’s another turncoat. We must hold the remaining South, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts.” Wilson lost his affected look of superiority. “Have we lost already?”
Madison had absorbed Wilson’s melancholy, but he vowed to remain firm and fight this awful mistake. The delegates in the Long Gallery started to migrate downstairs. Madison gestured in their direction. “It looks like we’re preparing to march.”
“I understand we’ll hear a sermon by James Campbell, some aspiring young reverend.” Wilson started to move in the direction of the stairs. “It’d be a shame not to be blessed by his untainted wisdom.”
Tempest at Dawn Page 29
