Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  With this crucial issue settled, Gouverneur Morris moved that the Senate should consist of two members per state and that each vote independently. Ellsworth agreed, fulfilling the other Sherman promise. The delegates, without further debate, approved the scheme. Madison rejoiced. This somewhat weakened the small states’ great victory. The states would be equally represented in the Senate, but good men might break their state allegiance when conscience dictated.

  Gerry next moved to appoint a committee to prepare a draft constitution. Assuming there would be no objection, Madison received a surprise from Pinckney. “Gentlemen, if the committee fails to insert security for the South against an emancipation of slaves, I’ll vote against their report.”

  Before Madison could figure out the meaning behind this statement, the convention agreed that tomorrow, a committee of five members would be appointed to draft a constitution.

  “Mr. Pinckney, hold up a minute.”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  Madison had scrambled down the sidewalk to catch up with Pinckney. Irritatingly, Pinckney, a few steps ahead, did not slow his pace. Madison juggled his valise under his arm and hurried to pull alongside. “What was the meaning of your last remark?”

  “I thought my meaning clear.” Pinckney continued his brisk pace and kept his eyes forward. “You must pay better attention. Were you distracted by your note taking?”

  “I heard what sounded like a threat.”

  “Then you were listening.”

  “Charles, we’re almost finished. Why are you throwing sand into the inkwell?”

  “Because that inkwell will scribe a new constitution.”

  “The Senate protects your interests.”

  “The Senate represents but half of one branch.”

  “What more do you want?”

  “A greater weight in the selection of the executive.”

  Madison saw something. “Did you cut a deal with Sherman?”

  Pinckney stopped and turned toward Madison. “If you want something in a political sphere, you go to the one that has the power to deliver it.”

  “I could have helped.”

  “Face reality, James. A new coalition controls this convention.”

  “New England and the South make strange bedfellows.”

  “Desperate men go to bed with anyone willing to prostitute himself.” With that less than flattering comment about his new ally, Pinckney charged down the street. Madison declined to follow.

  Thursday started another argument over how to elect the executive. The rancorous debate extended into Thursday. Madison realized that the executive provided yet another issue that stymied progress, but this time it was an honest bafflement over design, not an emotional fight over power.

  Madison placed his quill down and asked for the floor. After summarizing the various positions, he informed the delegates that he had changed his opinion. “I’ve decided to support electors—chosen by the people.”

  A battle line had been drawn. Electors had gained the upper hand, but who would elect the electors?

  Their energy finally spent, they elected a Committee of Detail. The committee—James Wilson, Oliver Ellsworth, Edmund Randolph, John Rutledge, and Nathaniel Gorham—would organize their sundry resolutions into a draft constitution.

  To give the committee time to prepare a draft constitution, the convention adjourned until Monday after next.

  “Mr. Madison, may I have a word?”

  Madison immediately slowed his pace. “Of course, General.”

  Washington descended the few steps leading from the State House and walked close to the building until he was out of earshot. Madison followed.

  “I believe the executive should serve a short term, be reeligible, and be subject to impeachment.”

  Madison nodded. “And who is to elect?”

  “I lean toward electors. Prudent men who understand the required skills.”

  “I concur.” Madison hesitated. “But who elects the electors?”

  Washington gave one of his closed-mouth smiles. “That seems to be the remaining question.”

  “I support the people.”

  “We all support the people.”

  Madison was not sure what that answer meant, but he knew that he shouldn’t take it as an endorsement of his preference.

  Washington started toward his carriage. “Jemmy, what do you plan for recess?”

  “I’m not sure,” Madison said. “What will you do?”

  Washington beamed. “I’m going fishing.”

  “Fishing?”

  “Yes, trout fishing at Valley Forge.”

  “I’d think you’d want to avoid that dreadful place.”

  “A man should face his devils. Besides, it is only dreadful in winter.”

  “Then I wish you fair weather.”

  “Thank you, James. My advice is that you should do something fun. Don’t obsess about the convention.”

  “General, obsessed men have fun only when allowed to work on their obsession.”

  Chapter 31

  Friday, July 27, 1787

  The coachman closed the door with a satisfying click. Sherman felt the carriage rock as the big man climbed into the driver’s seat. The mild dawn predicted a good day for travel, and a hearty breakfast had made him drowsy. He closed his eyes and saw home. Tomorrow night, he would be in New Haven.

  “Don’t go to sleep, Roger,” Baldwin said. “You need to restrain me from throwing this rascal out.”

  “Yes, Roger, stay awake,” Hamilton insisted. “Otherwise, I’ll throw myself out if I must converse with this backcountry lout.”

  Sherman opened his eyes. Alexander Hamilton and Abraham Baldwin sat smiling on the opposite side of the coach.

  “Children, behave. It’s going to be a long trip.”

  “At least His Highness will depart our company in New York,” Baldwin said,

  “With great relief, Mr. Baldwin,” Hamilton responded. “After a boring day of banter about pigs, chickens, and savage Indians, I’ll be desperate for urban company.”

  “Now, now,” Sherman said. “I’m looking forward to this journey. I get to go home, and I have the pleasure of making the trip with my best friend and my favorite politician. We’ll avoid discussing chickens and pork until we eat.”

  “I’m not your friend?” Hamilton asked.

  “I thought you would be more impressed with being my favorite politician.”

  “Actually, I am.” Hamilton gave Baldwin a grin. “Friends are overvalued.”

  “As seen by your lack of surrounding admirers.”

  “Of the male variety only. I boast many women admirers.”

  “A gentleman does not boast—whoa!” The coach had bounced hard, introducing the three men to the ceiling of the closed carriage. Their speed had picked up to signal that they had left the city for open road. Sherman grabbed his tricorn and snugged it back onto his head to pad the next bounce.

  Since a ten-day recess was too short for a return to Georgia, Baldwin had decided to visit friends and family in New Haven. Sherman was glad for his company. Hamilton and Baldwin, if not friends, were friendly. Both men enjoyed ribald bantering, which promised to make the trip entertaining.

  “Any word from New York?” Sherman asked Hamilton.

  “Not yet, but I hope to hear something when I arrive.”

  “If that falls through, I might as well return to Georgia to herd pigs.”

  “The deal’s been struck,” Hamilton said.

  Baldwin looked skeptical. “You trust the word of bandits?”

  “Clinton might make additional last minute demands,” Sherman mused.

  “A true scoundrel.” Hamilton laughed. “But you must admire his mastery of the game.”

  “I know the blackguard only by reputation,” Baldwin said. “I see nothing to admire.”

  “His political network runs like a well-tended gristmill. Every part reliably does its assigned task. If government’s job is to make things h
appen for its constituents, then New York compares favorably to the mayhem in your respective states.”

  “In Georgia, we prefer our politicians’ hands in their own pocket.”

  Hamilton shrugged. “Graft is a disguised tax that lubricates the wheels of government.” Hamilton gave Sherman a theatrical wink that said he was enjoying himself. “Tell me, Mr. Baldwin, have you eradicated the vice in Georgia?”

  “We endeavor to control the scale.”

  Hamilton laughed. “Bravo. But we take pride in doing things big in New York.”

  Turning to Sherman, Baldwin said, “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

  “Guilty.”

  “We’re all guilty,” Hamilton said.

  “I merely played a bit part,” Baldwin said.

  “An all too crucial part. We’re in your debt.”

  “And I shall collect—”

  Another rude bump sent the men bouncing. Hamilton rapped on the ceiling. “Watch the road, man!”

  Sherman smiled. “I’d rather not dally.”

  “Oh, it does no good. Drivers relish tossing their fancy guests around.” An impish grin appeared on Hamilton face. “I yell to bolster their amusement.”

  “Why, Mr. Hamilton,” Baldwin said, “your regard for the common man surprises me.”

  “I admire the common man; I just don’t trust his judgment in government matters.”

  “All of us come from common roots,” Sherman said.

  “Yes, and I the bastard of a common whore. But wits, not lineage, define the egalitarian aristocrat. By that measure, I’m a prince.”

  Hamilton had veered from chitchat to a personal disclosure. Adversaries often called Hamilton a bastard behind his back, but this was the first time Sherman had heard Hamilton use the word himself.

  “That explains things,” Baldwin chided. “You’ve adopted The Prince as your handbook.”

  “Machiavelli understood the nature of man.”

  This comment caught Sherman’s attention. Leaning forward, he asked, “Do you believe man’s base nature can be harnessed by a well-constructed constitution?”

  “I have a less elevated goal than our little friend,” Hamilton responded.

  “What’s your goal?” Baldwin asked.

  “A sound government that can protect the nation and manage commerce.”

  “You don’t fear a union too strong?” Sherman asked.

  “I fear weakness. Defective constitutions sow the seeds of tyranny. When men are forced to go outside the limits set by their constitution, despotism reigns. The nation must meet emergencies without abandoning the constitution.”

  “Are you suggesting that we draft a flawless constitution?” Baldwin asked.

  “I’d never propose such a goal. Flawlessness is the aspiration of fools.”

  Some additional jolts jostled the three men, so Sherman waited for the carriage springs to settle down to predictable rolls. “If not flawless, what’s our aim?”

  “Adequacy. The dominion of misbegotten man.”

  An odd turn of phrase, Sherman thought, considering Hamilton’s earlier reference to his illicit parentage. “How do you define adequacy?”

  “Sufficient to satisfy the present need. None of us are seers.” Hamilton smiled. “How, may I ask, would Mr. Sherman define success for our grand undertaking?”

  The question did not catch Sherman by surprise. “Alex, I believe we can trust our liberty to any constitution that disperses power and provides enough checks to reassure Paterson, Pinckney, and our other malcontents. If the disparate interests in the chamber feel safe, then any faction, alive or on the horizon, can tuck their fears in a closet.”

  “You ol’ reprobate” Baldwin exclaimed. “You’ve rationalized your compromising.”

  “A politician slithers through any opening.”

  “A colorful choice of words,” Baldwin said.

  Sherman felt an unintended smile. “I’m a colorful man.” This brought so much laughter from his traveling companions that Sherman changed the subject. “Paterson won’t return from recess.”

  “More good news,” Hamilton said. “I shan’t miss that beady-eyed little prosecutor.”

  Baldwin stretched his legs. “I’m glad no one else chose this coach.”

  “I bought the remaining seats,” Hamilton said.

  “What?” Baldwin looked askance at Hamilton. “Why?”

  “So we can have a private ride. New York can afford it.”

  “A true New Yorker. You rape the public treasury for your own comfort,” Baldwin said.

  “I felt the expense worthwhile so we could discuss the convention.” Sherman saw a foreshadowing smile grow on Hamilton face. “But don’t get your hopes up; I purchased the seats only to New York.”

  “You miser,” Baldwin blustered. “You said you were in my debt. You could have considered our comfort after you departed our company.”

  “I’m a royalist. You, on the other hand, are men of the people. I thought you should meet some.”

  “With pleasure,” Baldwin said. “I prefer the common sense of the common man.”

  “I strive to avoid the common,” Hamilton said with surprising earnestness.

  “Roger, tell this Tory he should be mixing with the masses before he ordains himself architect of our new republic.”

  Sherman was enjoying the trip, and he felt even better when the predictable sway of the coach signaled they were making good time on decent road.

  After a few hours, the coach rolled to an abrupt stop, and Sherman felt the driver dismount. Soon the door snapped opened to reveal a grizzled face that didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You have a half hour to eat. I leave on time. If you dally in the privy, you’ll spend the night here.”

  As they dismounted, Hamilton said, “One of the commoners you’re so fond of.”

  Baldwin ignored the gibe and headed for the yard behind the tavern. “I’ll meet you men inside.”

  “Be swift. I’ve traveled this route many times, and I don’t recommend that privy.”

  “God, I hate traveling,” Baldwin said to himself as he walked away.

  Sherman inhaled the fresh country air. He could see nothing in either direction but a rough-hewn road that tore a gash between unending fields of trees. As soon as they had planted their feet on solid ground, a tavern liveryman drove the coach over to rickety shelter to change horses. The tavern itself was a clapboard affair that looked in dire need of repair.

  “Did you bring food?” Hamilton asked.

  “No.”

  “A mistake. The fare at this desolate tavern is invariably a rancid stew made with suspect meat and vegetables boiled to an indiscernible mush.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then I’ll reward you with a pear. I recommend we eat outside.”

  “Dank inside?”

  “The tavern reeks of their perpetual stew pot, the sweat of men oblivious to even elementary hygiene, and decades of harsh tobacco.”

  “You’ve convinced me. Let’s sit on that fallen tree across the road.”

  When Baldwin emerged from behind the building, he failed to notice the men on the other side of the road and walked into the tavern. He spent only a few minutes inside and emerged with a wooden bowl and an oversized spoon. Looking around, he finally spotted Sherman and Hamilton on the log across the way.

  As he took a seat next to Sherman, Baldwin asked, “What’s this?”

  Hamilton leaned forward to look around Sherman, “Squirrel, I think.”

  “God, I hate traveling.”

  “Throw it away, and I’ll give you a pear.”

  Baldwin dipped his spoon deep into the concoction and let the goo plop back into the bowl. “This looks like pig swill.” He ceremoniously turned the bowl over, and they all watched the pottage spill onto the ground in bumpy chunks.

  “My money says that blob will still be there on my return trip,” Hamilton said.

  Baldwin turned the pear a couple times and then to
ok a huge bite. After a noisy chomp, he spoke with a mouth half full. “I’ll not take that bet; forest animals have more dignity.”

  “How’d you like the privy?”

  “My God, can’t they dig another one?”

  “Takes work.” Hamilton absently wiped pear juice from his chin. “There’s no place more convenient to stop.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Sherman said, “I think I’ll stroll into the woods for my respite.”

  When Sherman returned, he noticed that the coach had reappeared in front of the tavern, and Hamilton and Baldwin were talking to two men on horseback. As Sherman approached, he saw enough resemblance to realize it was father and son.

  “I kick myself for being so foolish,” the older man said.

  Baldwin saw Sherman approach. “Roger, meet Mr. Russell and his son, Charles.” Sherman shook both men’s calloused hands. “They own a farm six miles north. Seems they intend to foreclose.”

  “Bastards.” The man gave his son a forlorn look. “Headin’ down to Trenton to see if I can talk ’em into more time.”

  “How much do you owe?” Sherman asked.

  “One hundred and sixty shillings. More’n I got. And the bastards won’t accept my New Jersey bonds. Three years I fought, and all I got was bloody worthless paper. Makes a man want to fight a revolution all over again.”

  Sherman thought a minute. “How much money do you have?”

  “Sixteen shillings, five pence. Sold my hogs.”

  “That won’t stop them,” Hamilton said.

  Sherman opened his purse and found his last sovereign. He didn’t know the measure of a British sovereign against a New Jersey shilling, but he knew hard money carried a heavy premium. Sherman held the heavy coin up and raised an eyebrow at Hamilton and Baldwin.

  Baldwin paused and then pulled out some coins that amounted to almost two sovereigns. “How do you expect to buy ale this evening?”

  “Keep one sovereign.” Sherman held his hand out to Hamilton. “Alex?”

  “You’re mad. We don’t know these men. And besides—”

  “We’re good, honest farmers,” the boy exclaimed, “and my father carries a ball in his shoulder to prove he’s a patriot. We don’t want your money.”