Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  “Isn’t it a bit hot for a knit cap?”

  Mrs. Marshall dropped the skewered heap of yarn into her lap. “Mr. Sherman,” she said in an exasperated tone, “I thought you were a smart man. In the winter, I tat lace for summer sale.”

  “The house doesn’t support you?”

  “Boarding has been good this year, but a little extra never hurts. Besides, I enjoy ending the day with handiwork. It soothes me, and this room seems cool after a day by the hearth.”

  “You’re an excellent cook.”

  “And I knit a tight cap—along with other talents.” She set her knitting aside and bounced out of her chair. “Brandy? My treat.”

  “Thank you. That would be a tidy end to an unkempt day.”

  “Difficulties?” Mrs. Marshall asked as she handed him an expensive snifter that looked like Stiegel glass.

  After she had settled into her chair, Sherman said, “Not exactly. Just the drudgery of a herdsman entrusted with a flock that tends to wander.”

  “How long before you return home?”

  “Perhaps a few weeks.”

  “Then we’ll soon know what you men have dealt us.”

  Sherman took a sip and discovered that the expensive goblet held a middling brandy. “What’ve you heard?”

  “That you bicker and haggle like old women.”

  “The purpose of politics is debate.”

  Mrs. Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Debate?”

  Sherman shrugged.

  “Well, I hope you fix the money problem.”

  “I’m optimistic on that score.”

  “Good. That’ll make it easier to run my house.”

  Sherman put his glass on the side table. “Mrs. Marshall, I apologize, but can you wait a few more days for our board?”

  Mrs. Marshall leaped out of her chair, exclaiming, “Oh my!” She scurried out of the room. “I think the letter you’re expecting arrived.” She returned a moment later, carrying a smile and a post.

  After Sherman sliced open the envelope, he grew his own smile. “I’ll pay our delegation’s arrears tomorrow.”

  “You received a draft?”

  “Yes, Connecticut has appropriated an extension of our allowance.”

  “I’m happy for you. I know you worried so.”

  “Thank you for your patience.” Sherman put the draft in his coat pocket. “I hope you didn’t assume any debt on our account.”

  “Never. Too many people I know have taken up residence at the Walnut Street prison.”

  “I never would’ve let that happen to you.”

  “Mr. Sherman, I never would have let that happen to me.”

  Sherman, taken aback by the strident tone, didn’t reply. In a slightly more relaxed voice, she said, “Debt is a vice I do not abide.”

  “Your husband?”

  “When he died, it took me two years to pay off his debts. I sold most of my fine furniture and accessories.” She made a dismissive wave at the fireplace. “Instead of chalkware figurines, that mantle used to display an ormolu clock and a pair of Sèvres vases.” Mrs. Marshall tossed her hair. “Long gone.”

  That explained why a few expensive pieces sat among the mostly tattered furnishings. Sherman glanced at the mantel that still held Mrs. Marshall in a wistful trance. She sat quiet a minute and then met his eyes to explain. “My husband thought money should always be in motion, his and any sitting idle in another man’s purse. I was ignorant of his dealings until the strain put him in an early grave. After I put his books in order, I swore to keep a clean ledger.”

  “You manage the house well.”

  “Thank you. I make the most of it. It’s all I received from my husband’s estate … besides a drawer full of worthless bonds.”

  “You own Pennsylvania bonds?”

  “So does Howard.”

  “Howard?”

  “What surprises you? That a Negro had money or that he supported the Revolution?”

  “Both I suppose. Stupid of me.”

  “We pay Howard a fair wage, and he believes in that document you signed.”

  Sherman took another sip of brandy. “All men created equal … not self-evident to everyone.”

  “Nonetheless true.”

  Sherman felt humbled. He made a decision. “Don’t sell your bonds.”

  She leaned forward, as if joining a conspiracy. “The new government is going to honor war debt, isn’t it?” Sherman conveyed nothing in word or expression. “May I tell Howard?”

  “Yes, but no one else until the convention concludes.”

  “Speculators have stepped up their purchase of old bonds.”

  “Guesswork at the moment. At least, I hope.” Sherman had second thoughts. “Make sure Howard understands you must keep this to yourselves.”

  “Don’t worry. More happens in this house than you think. Nothing has escaped.”

  Sherman relaxed a little. “Tell me your best boarder story.”

  Mrs. Marshall laughed with genuine gaiety. “Tawdry tales should be shared only with intimates. But we’ll see. I do appreciate the advice. You gentlemen may have done a proper job. Now, if you could only make my western lands valuable.”

  “You own western lands?”

  “Mr. Marshall threw money in every direction.”

  “Sell it.”

  “What? Sell my land and hold my paper.” Mrs. Marshall took on a mocking tone. “Mr. Sherman, are you rich? Should I heed your advice?”

  Sherman laughed now. “No, I foolishly put my money into Connecticut bonds.”

  “Then why should I listen to you?”

  “Listen to Adam Smith. He said the price of anything is the toil and trouble it takes to acquire it. Squatters take all the land they want with no toil, no trouble.”

  Mrs. Marshall looked dubious. “Are you saying that the value of western lands will never swell?”

  “Not in your lifetime.” Sherman saw annoyance flash across her face. Figuring it was the indirect reference to her age, he added quickly, “It’ll take a hundred years to populate a boundless frontier. Emigration is restricted by the number of ships at sea.”

  “Everyone buys western lands.”

  “Passion makes people do foolish things.”

  “Indeed.”

  Sherman became wary of her coy smile. “Did you ever hear about the tulip rage in Holland?”

  “It went bust.”

  “And so will this craze. When this bubble bursts, many prominent people will become neighbors of your friends on Walnut Street.”

  Mrs. Marshall sat a moment and then said, “I’ll consider your advice.”

  Sherman stood up and didn’t bother to stifle a heavy yawn. “Excuse me, but I must get to bed.” He gave her what he hoped was an engaging smile and said, “Since I was unable to pay my board until this evening, you may give the advice the weight it deserves.”

  Mrs. Marshall also rose. “I’ll give it the weight due a wise and good man.” She picked up the two brandy glasses, hesitated, gave Sherman a direct look, and then asked, “Mr. Sherman, are you lonely?”

  “Don’t tell Mrs. Sherman, but I’m far too busy. Good night … and thank you for the brandy.”

  On Thursday morning, Sherman and Ellsworth wandered into the already stuffy State House chamber. Ellsworth arranged his papers for a moment and then asked, “What’s our plan for today?”

  Sherman became distracted when he saw several delegates migrate to a corner. Keeping an eye on them, he said, “I’d prefer a shorter executive term.”

  Ellsworth looked uncertain, but Sherman barely noticed. He continued to watch as delegates meandered around to bid good morning and chat with friends. He judged the mood businesslike, with no sign of frenzied exchanges driven by high emotion. Good. Perhaps he could get home shortly.

  Gouverneur Morris started. “We must make the executive strong enough to pervade every corner of this vast land. If the executive is impeachable, some demagogue will hold him hostage.”

  She
rman didn’t understand why Morris was against impeachment. As a judge, putting the executive beyond the reach of the law grated against his hardest held convictions.

  Gouverneur Morris thumped around and then delivered an oratory flourish he hoped would close the issue.

  “If the executive is to be the guardian of the people, let the people elect.

  “If the executive is to check the legislature, let him be unimpeachable.

  “If the executive is to be reeligible, let his term be short.”

  Wilson observed that election by the people seemed to be gaining ground, but Paterson jumped up to bellow that the rabble was unqualified to select an executive. Sherman leaned over and whispered to Ellsworth, “If Wilson said the sun sets in the west, Paterson would insist that it sets in the east.”

  Ellsworth threw a glance at Ellsworth. “But only after he first yelled treason and stomped around like a raging schoolmarm.” Both men chuckled as Madison stood to speak. In order to hear his quiet voice, Sherman and Ellsworth stopped their banter.

  “How do we design a strong executive unbeholden to another branch and avoid a monarch? I believe the people should appoint, but how do we give proper weight for Negroes in the South? The use of electors will give the South their proper influence.”

  Until now, Sherman had found it ironic that he had promised to help the South protect slaveholdings, while Madison, who owned slaves, condemned the institution. Madison now seemed to defend his fellow Southerners.

  Ellsworth quickly clarified their coalition’s preferred design. “I move to strike out appointment by the national legislature and to insert ‘to be chosen by electors appointed by the legislatures of the states.’” Without debate, the motion passed. Sherman leaned back with satisfaction. Yes, he might be home soon.

  Ellsworth next proposed a term shorter than seven years. “I move for a six-year term.”

  Sherman smiled. Six years was certainly less than seven, but by as small a decrement as possible. The proposal, however, passed.

  Pinckney and Gouverneur Morris then passionately argued to delete the impeachment clause. Morris searched for a convincing argument. “Gentlemen, will impeachment suspend his duties? If not, the mischief goes on. If it does, the mere launch of an impeachment will render the executive inert.”

  Mason responded with a rare spate of anger. “Shall any man be above the law? Above all, should this man be above the law—the one who can commit the most outrageous wrongs?”

  Franklin, always ready to soothe ill temper, spoke in a cordial manner. “Gentlemen, what is the practice when a chief magistrate becomes obnoxious?” Franklin gazed about the chamber as if he actually expected an answer. When none surfaced, he exclaimed, “Why, assassination!”

  After a few gasps and some sprinkled tittering, Franklin continued in his unique, whimsical way. “The man’s not only deprived of life, but of an opportunity to clear his name. To avoid unjust injury to a man’s reputation, I suggest we provide some other form of punishment.”

  The chamber laughed, but Sherman saw that Franklin had pierced to the core of the issue. Franklin and Madison shared a trait; they each invariably centered on the pertinent issue. Franklin used droll humor, while Madison wielded logic like a scythe.

  Madison’s next comment did not disappoint. “A majority of an assembly cannot be bribed, so it would be difficult to get the legislature to act together in some devious plot. On the other hand, the executive, as a single man, can be corrupted. We must provide a defense against the duplicity of a chief magistrate. Term limits are not enough.”

  Gouverneur Morris thumped heavily to the front of the chamber and contemplated something on the ceiling. Evidently coming to a conclusion, he said, “I’ve changed my opinion. More correctly, the arguments have changed my opinion.” Morris met Washington’s eyes. “I now see the necessity for impeachment. We are designing a system for the ages, not the next few years.”

  With Morris now for impeachment, the vote came fast and decisive. The assembly voted eight to two to include a clause that allowed for the impeachment of the executive. Although Sherman hadn’t become highly engaged on this issue, he felt as if he had achieved one more victory. More important, another controversial subject had been resolved, which meant they were closer to finishing their work.

  “Unanimity Hall, what claptrap.”

  “What?”

  “The Pennsylvania Packet. They wrote a mindless article on the convention.” Ellsworth thrust the newspaper in Sherman’s face.

  “Oliver, I’m writing a letter.” Ellsworth had barged into his room, eager to share the news. Sherman ignored the press because he found that newspapers seldom contained anything useful to his purposes. Since Ellsworth looked crestfallen, Sherman set his quill aside. “Read it to me.”

  Ellsworth read the text as if it held great portent. “‘So great is the unanimity that prevails in the convention that it has been proposed to call the room in which they assemble Unanimity Hall.’”

  “I prefer Harmony Hall,” Sherman teased.

  Oliver slapped the newspaper against his thigh. “Roger, nothing goes unchallenged. We debate minutiae, argue long-dead republics, and dispute the very quality of human nature.”

  “Oliver, relax. Things have been going smoothly of late.”

  “Smoothly? We seesaw like children. Two sides, tottering back and forth ad nauseam.”

  “Monday, we were on the verge of collapse. Think of the progress we made this week.”

  “It’s still like pulling an ornery mule across a rickety bridge. We squabble over every gooseberry.” Ellsworth looked back at the newspaper. “Who would feed the press such drivel?”

  “Who has influence with Philadelphia newspapers?”

  “Dr. Franklin?”

  “Franklin pushes unanimity. He’s always saying that we must hang together or surely hang separately.”

  “Does that mean our most senior delegate violated the secrecy rule?”

  “I thought you said the article was claptrap.”

  Ellsworth shook his head. “What would be his purpose?”

  “Mrs. Marshall told me that street gossip says we bicker and haggle like old women. The article counters those rumors.”

  “Does it matter what the street says?”

  “We must nurse public opinion. Now we need patience, and later we’ll need support for the final design. Remember the Revolutionary pamphleteering. They nudged people to wage war.”

  “The pamphleteers only hardened existing opinions.” Ellsworth plopped down in the easy chair and nodded toward the letter in front of Sherman. “Rebecca?”

  “Yes. I have pressing affairs in New Haven.”

  “Events will accelerate now that we’ve settled the executive.”

  Sherman picked up his quill and said distractedly, “Assuming it’s settled.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “Nothing’s certain.”

  On Saturday morning, Sherman entered the chamber and walked immediately over to his customary table. He didn’t want to hear a Paterson whine, a Martin bombast, or a Gerry diatribe. The river had been forged, and he had lost patience with his allies who refused to dump excess baggage.

  The delegates approved the Virginia Plan proposal that the Senate would select judges. The next subject was revisionary power. The Virginia Plan stated that the executive could revise laws passed by the legislature.

  Wilson started. “Gentlemen, laws can be unwise, unjust, or dangerous.” He tilted his head down to look over his glasses. “But we should give revisionary power to the judiciary, not the executive.”

  Sherman scribbled a note and passed it across the table to Ellsworth, who stood to endorse the idea. “Judges possess knowledge of law, which an executive may not. Connecticut approves of Mr. Wilson’s proposal.”

  Sherman was pleased to see Madison also argue in favor of the concept.

  Gerry huffed and stuttered until he managed a staccato rhythm. “I strongly object. T
his idea grants judges the power to legislate and ought never to be done.”

  Instead of projecting his normal self-assurance, Gouverneur Morris seemed thoughtful. “Some check on the legislature is necessary. The only question is, in whose hands should it be lodged? Bad measures are often popular. Some think the people can spot mischief, but experience has taught us otherwise. The press provides one means to diminish the evil, but it cannot prevent it altogether.”

  Morris sat without taking a position. Martin had no such qualms. “Gentlemen, this is wrong! If the judiciary opposes popular measures, they’ll lose the confidence of the people. The constitutionality of laws will, in time, come before the judges in their official capacity. Judges shouldn’t intervene before that time. I cannot conceive of a greater danger.”

  Madison took the floor and, uncharacteristically, seemed uncertain. “Our purpose is not to blend departments, but to erect barriers to keep them apart.” Madison stopped his customary pacing and gave the assembly a long look. “Perhaps the revisionary idea ought to be discarded.”

  Sherman sat stunned but impressed. Madison ended up on the opposite side of the fence from where he had started. His switch in position and simple argument killed the entire concept of revisionary power. The assembly voted to give the executive the authority to veto bills in toto, but without the ability to revise laws.

  “What do you think about the proceedings, Roger?”

  He looked up to see Madison. Sherman sat in a cane lawn chair at the State House Inn. “I’m satisfied. And yourself?”

  “My comfort increases daily. The design must change because of your Senate.”

  “Our Senate.”

  “It will be our Senate only after we leave the chamber. Now it’s your creature.”

  “The Senate provides balance and a unique check,” Sherman said.

  Madison shrugged. “I want your support for the popular election of the executive.”

  “Not practical.”

  “Why not?”

  “Our nation’s too large. Results from some states would be known before the count was completed in other states.”