“Yes, yes,” Franklin said. “Look both ways and step with care. But whatever you do, don’t venture across Race Street.”
“My goodness, where’s that?” Cutler asked.
“Actually it’s Sassafras Street,” Hamilton explained. “Notorious for young gallants racing their horses against all comers. They must maim one or two careless gawkers each day.” The easy laughter erased the earlier tension, and Sherman hoped that Gerry would refrain from tossing a rude brickbat into the conversation.
Gerry seemed to read Sherman’s mind and decided to engage in the light banter. “Mr. Cutler, what did you think of the State House?”
“I found the State House a noble building. Quite a fine example of Georgian architecture. I was disappointed to see the sentries stationed within and without.”
“A fine building. The pride of our city,” Franklin said, ignoring the reference to the guards. “Did you see the construction behind the State House on Fifth Street?”
“Yes, Mr. Gerry pointed it out and told me that it was to be our new home for the American Philosophical Society.”
“Since your dues helped build the site, you must return as my guest when it’s finished.”
“I’d be delighted. I’ll bring notes on the flora and fauna of the Ohio Valley.”
“Excellent,” Franklin said. “It would be a grand addition to our library. Ah, here’s John. Would you gentlemen care for refreshment?”
Everyone agreed to chilled lemonade. John had started toward the house when Dr. Franklin politely interrupted his progress. “John, before you get the lemonade, could you bring out my specimen?”
“Of course, sir,” John said without asking for clarification.
“Mr. Cutler, I have a very interesting specimen to show you. Something I’m sure you’ve never seen before.”
“Good. I was afraid I’d be suffocated in boring political talk.”
“We may get to that, but first I want to show off.”
“I’ve seen almost everything.”
“Do you like snakes?”
“I’ve cataloged every known species.”
John returned holding a quart jar with both hands. As he approached, Sherman could see something coiled in a clear liquid. He would rather John had brought the lemonade. Franklin accepted the jar like it was a precious porcelain vase. John bowed quickly and, without a word, returned to the house to fetch their refreshments.
“Have you seen anything like this?” Franklin asked as he handed the jar to Cutler.
Cutler wore a bemused expression as he examined the garden-variety snake. Then he exclaimed, “Oh, my God!”
“Yes, an unusual specimen. A freak of nature.”
Sherman craned his neck to get a better look but saw nothing unusual. Then he noticed something odd. “Does that snake have two heads?”
“Yes, two heads, one body,” Franklin said with great pride.
Cutler turned the jar, peering hard. “Is this a trick?”
“No, it’s as real as you having two feet.”
“Will you sell it?” Cutler asked.
“I’m sorry, but it gives me too much pleasure.”
“I’ll pay a generous price.”
“This oddity is priceless,” Franklin said with a chuckle. “Poor dumb creature. It probably never knew whether it was coming or going.”
“Perhaps not so dumb,” Sherman said. “Two heads means two brains. Perhaps that jar holds a towering intellect among the community of snakes.”
“Now that’s a thought,” Franklin laughed. “Two brains and nothing to do but slither about.”
“Would two brains enlighten or confuse?” Hamilton asked.
“Confuse, I’m sure,” Franklin said. “What if the snake approached a branch, and one head decided to go to one side, and the other started in the opposite direction? The ensuing bewilderment parallels our own convention. One faction demands—”
“Excuse me, sir,” Hamilton interrupted, “I apologize, but I wish to remind you about our oath of secrecy.”
“Of course, Mr. Hamilton. Thank you for saving a befuddled old man an embarrassing moment.”
Sherman thought the admonishment unnecessary. Franklin was hardly befuddled, and his example was probably going in an innocent direction. Besides, Cutler seemed to be oblivious to the exchange, his attention focused on the jar. “I’ll give you twenty sovereigns for the specimen.”
Sherman sat back, interested to see how the great diplomat would handle this churlish proposition without damaging their delicate negotiations.
“Mr. Cutler, that’s a fine offer. You tempt me, but unfortunately the specimen is already designated for my daughter in my will. I’m afraid she has her hat set for it. As much as I appreciate your generous proposal, I must live out my remaining days dependent on my daughter’s good nature.”
After a pause, Cutler said, “I can make the offer more generous.”
“Oh my goodness, you embarrass me. But I’ll keep it in mind. Perhaps one day my daughter may tire of it. So you intend to catalog the Ohio Valley?"
“It depends on our little pact. I look forward to new terrain.”
Sherman saw the opening. “I’m sure everything will proceed along the lines that have been discussed.”
“You’re aware of the intricacies?”
“I am.”
“And you’re confident?”
“I am.”
Cutler smiled and then said, “It’s a shame I must hurry back to New York to snip a few loose ends.”
Sherman wanted to probe further but knew better. He looked at Franklin and received the slightest of nods. The business portion of this meeting was over.
On Monday, July 16, Sherman’s compromise passed just as Franklin had promised. No debate. No delaying tactics. Sherman suppressed a smile. He had won. Everything. The states would have an equal voice in the Senate. The lower house would be proportioned to the numbers his second committee had recommended. A census would be required every ten years to determine representation. The number of representatives must be adjusted to the census of inhabitants, with the three-fifths rule for “all others.” New states would be admitted on an equal basis. Direct taxation would be tied to representation. Money bills originated in the lower house, and the Senate could not alter appropriations.
The impasse had been breached.
Sherman sighed. He scribbled out a note to Ellsworth that simply said, “We won!” Ellsworth turned from the page with a huge smile and started to extend his hand. Sherman gave a tiny shake of his head to ward off an unseemly celebration and turned his eyes forward to reinforce the message. Gloating would not be productive.
In short order, several mechanical resolves from the Virginia Plan passed in quick succession. Sherman felt the relief and renewed energy in the chamber.
Randolph didn’t share the sense of relief. “The vote this morning embarrassed this assembly. I see no reason to discuss the subject further and move for adjournment so the large states can consult on this sad crisis.” Randolph started to return to his table but stopped and looked directly at Paterson. “I suggest the small states deliberate on a means to conciliate.”
Paterson could not contain his anger. “There will be no further conciliation from the smaller states. I agree with Mr. Randolph. It’s high time to adjourn. I also believe that the rule of secrecy ought to be rescinded so we can consult with our constituents.” Paterson slapped his notes against the table. “If Mr. Randolph will revise the form of his motion for an adjournment sine die, I’ll second it with all my heart.”
Sherman winced at Paterson’s angry rejoinder. Adjournment sine die meant an adjournment with no specified day to reconvene—in effect, a permanent suspension of the convention.
Pinckney quickly asked, “Did Mr. Randolph mean an adjournment sine die? I wish him to know that if I go home, I’ll not return to this … place.”
Randolph responded in his equivocal manner. “I never entertained an adjournment sine die. I merely reco
mmended an adjournment until tomorrow. The large states need to decide on appropriate actions.”
John Rutledge muttered in a voice strong enough to be heard throughout the chamber, “All that remains is for the large states to decide whether they capitulate.”
Further progress seemed impossible, so the assembly voted to adjourn for the day. The room quickly bunched up into noisy clusters of men expressing their joy or anger. Sherman walked over and stood with his back to the northwest corner of the chamber, and soon all the small state delegates surrounded him in a tight, boisterous semicircle. Sherman held up both hands, palms out, to quiet their jabbering.
A quick exodus for the door signaled that the large states had arranged their meeting place. Sherman looked over the heads of his contingent and said, “The large states will meet at the Indian Queen. We’ll go to the City Tavern.”
“When?”
“Now.” Sherman broke through the circle and walked to the exit. He didn’t look to see if his troupe followed.
Chapter 28
Tuesday, July 17, 1787
Madison alone remained seated. He shook his head, and the word pandemonium sprang to mind. The big state delegations had met yesterday, to no avail, and then quickly broke into tribes of angry men. They had decided to try again in the State House chamber prior to today’s session, but heated exchanges had accomplished nothing. Now the delegates stood in different parts of the room quarreling, their arms flailing, looks stern, voices a touch too loud. Madison despaired. The convention would either dissolve or recommend a fatally flawed system. Which would it be?
“Gentlemen, please! Gather round!” Gouverneur Morris boomed over the noise. “This bickering resolves nothing. We must agree on a course of action.”
Madison stood to reinforce Morris’s plea. Gradually, the delegates gathered in a tight circle.
“To what use?” Wilson demanded.
“We’ll accomplish nothing in splintered groups,” Morris said. “Capitulate to their extortion or unite on our own: that’s the decision before us.”
“We discarded uniting on our own last night,” Hamilton said in exasperation.
“Why weren’t you here for yesterday’s vote?” Wilson demanded.
“Not important,” Hamilton said.
“The hell it isn’t!” Wilson barked.
“Clinton pulled Yates and Lansing back to New York. I don’t have the authority to cast the New York vote by myself,” Hamilton said. “Can we proceed to something relevant?”
“I don’t agree that we discarded any options last night,” Randolph put in.
“Strong political forces won’t abide a partial union,” Hamilton said.
“Where’s Washington?” Mason demanded.
“He doesn’t share our uncertainty,” Hamilton answered.
“Then he should elucidate his certainty for us,” Mason said with uncharacteristic anger.
“One man cannot dictate the design of our government,” Wilson said
“The rules allow reconsideration,” Madison interjected. “Perhaps we should move forward until a more opportune time.”
“Surrender?”
“Withdraw—for the moment,” Madison suggested.
“We’re approaching this backwards,” Gouverneur Morris said. “We’re defining the structure and then the powers. We should define the powers and then design a system to administer those powers.” Thumping around on his wooden leg, he added in disgust, “After yesterday’s vote, bias will infect questions concerning the powers of the three branches.”
“We can’t start over,” Wilson said.
“We can,” Randolph cried. “Let’s quit this convention.”
“And when will we get together again. Next summer?” Madison asked. “We must act now.”
Some delegates had drifted into chairs, while others remained standing. Madison didn’t like the mood. The delegates wavered between fatalism and belligerence. Even Mason had abandoned reason. Madison noticed Sherman and Dickinson wander into the chamber and take a seat near the back. Damn. They should have met in a private room.
“If you think we can alter the plan later you’re mistaken.” Mason seemed oblivious to their new visitors. “The little states will never relent. Ever!”
Wilson looked as if he had come to some internal reconciliation. “Perhaps state equality in only one house isn’t so bad.”
“I can’t believe my ears!” Randolph screamed. “What have we been fighting for?”
“A republic.” Wilson’s voice carried a note of hopefulness. “Perhaps we’ve been too focused on past mistakes.”
A sudden stillness gripped the men. A few shuffled in indecision, while others gradually rose to their feet.
“What are we going to do?” Mason asked quietly.
After another long silence, Madison said, “Let’s see where the day takes us.”
No one offered another option, so the caucus decided to take a short break prior to the start of the regular session. Madison left immediately to beat the others to the privy. He wanted to spend any spare time making notes, not standing in line. As he passed Sherman and Dickinson, heads bent together in muted whispers, he knew that they had overheard nothing that would give them pause. Madison reached the privy first and quickly unbuttoned his trousers. As he started to urinate, he heard the door open behind him.
“We must defrock the Senate.”
Without turning, Madison said, “You think we can push forward?”
Wilson positioned himself at the station next to Madison. “I saw you bolt and realized you had the right priority.” He sighed with relief. “Too much tea this morning.”
“The Senate?”
“Let’s move to fresh air.”
Madison opened the door and stepped into a crowd of about twenty delegates. The eager shuffled in line, while the long-suffering hovered in drifting conversation and tobacco smoke.
“Let’s wander into the yard,” Wilson suggested.
After they had walked a few paces, Madison said, “You seem calmer.”
“Resigned.”
“You believe we can still devise a good system?” Madison asked.
“Adequate.”
“How?”
“We must shift power from the legislature to the executive and judiciary.”
“A stronger executive scares people.”
“Legislative tyranny inflicts the same pain as a despot.”
Madison feared an overreaction would tilt unwisely in favor of the executive. “The legislature must hold dominion over lawmaking.”
“Adjustments can be made.”
“Where?” Madison asked.
“Appointments, revisionary power, selection of the executive. Other nuances will surface.”
“You no longer support the Virginia Plan?”
“The Virginia Plan has been violated. You can’t restore a maidenhead.”
“An errant loss of virginity doesn’t compel licentious behavior.”
Wilson gave Madison a condescending look over the top of his glasses. “A path once chosen leads in a single direction.”
Madison glanced toward the State House. “Everyone has reentered. We need to go.”
“Very well. But think. It’s your strongest skill.”
“Let’s see where the day takes us.”
Madison opened the regular session with a series of arguments in support of a veto over state laws. He stopped his customary pacing to conclude, “Gentlemen, the power to veto improper state laws is the mildest way to preserve harmony.”
After some additional discussion, Madison was disappointed to see that the power to revise state laws failed three to seven. Martin then magnanimously offered a sound alternative. “Legislative acts of the United States shall be the supreme law and the several states shall be bound by these laws.” Madison was pleased to see this alternative agreed to with no objection. It didn’t give a clear veto of state laws, but it allowed the national legislature to override state laws
. With the legislative powers issue resolved, the debate shifted to the method of electing the executive.
Gouverneur Morris remained edgy. “I’m against an executive chosen by the national legislature. If the legislature can appoint and impeach him, he’ll be their lackey. Election by the legislature can only result in intrigue similar to the election of a pope by a conclave of cardinals. I move to strike out ‘national legislature’ and insert ‘citizens of the United States.’”
Mason continued to argue for the national legislature to pick the executive. Madison put down his quill. Mason plied the waters he knew, oblivious to the fact that the rest of the fleet had changed course. Madison believed Mason had not yet grasped the irreversibility of Senate suffrage. Beyond being a sound republican principle, election of the executive by the people truncated Senate power.
“Gentlemen,” Madison said, “it’s essential that legislative, executive, and judicial powers remain separate and independent. Judges are not appointed by the legislature because they might pander to the legislature, whose laws they interpret. Likewise, if the legislature appoints the executive, it infringes on the execution of laws.”
Madison was disappointed to see election by the people overwhelmingly defeated by nine to one. Martin then proposed that electors, appointed by state legislatures, should choose the executive. Madison appreciated Martin’s newfound pliancy, but that motion failed as well. Another vote reconfirmed the Virginia Plan’s proposal that the executive should “be chosen by the national legislature.”
Sherman surprised Madison by proposing to strike the clause that prohibited the executive from a second term. Madison was wary of Sherman and felt uncomfortable when he made unexpected moves. Sherman was like a crafty chess master who inexplicably moved a peripheral pawn. The wise opponent paused until he figured out the endgame.
Gouverneur Morris charged ahead, undeterred by this left-handed move. “I agree. An executive who can’t seek office again will make hay while the sun shines.”
Sherman’s motion passed, and the delegates called it a day.
He had chosen to take a walk instead of immediately returning to the Indian Queen. Madison examined his feelings. Wilson told him to think, but his emotions were what puzzled him. He felt devastated that Sherman had won equality in the Senate, but the new sense of progress elated him. Perhaps he had been too strident. Wilson had a valid point, if not taken to an extreme. Something might still be made of this hodgepodge if powers were shifted to the executive and judiciary. Fear of a monarch had restricted using the executive to hold the legislature in check, but perhaps a settled structure permitted a fresh look at balancing power between the branches. He had to examine everything anew. Securing the popular election of the executive was a prerequisite. He decided to fight for this deviation from the Virginia Plan.
Tempest at Dawn Page 34
