He hoped the knock at the door meant his tea had arrived but discovered the barber instead.
“Come in.”
“Thank you, sir.” The barber looked around and said, “May I move the chair nearer the light?”
“Of course.”
He picked up a ladder-back chair and set it carefully by the window. As Madison took a seat, the barber asked, “How would you like it cut?”
“Short. Crop it short enough to feel a breeze on my head.”
“And where will you find this breeze?”
“I shall find it in the bluster of my fellow delegates.”
Chapter 33
Thursday, August 9, 1787
Sherman stared at a small ship supposedly powered by steam instead of wind. The polished brass machinery looked heavier than a printing press and seemed to take up the entire deck. He thought it a poor idea.
“Absolutely brilliant.” Ellsworth looked like a child who had just peered through his first telescope. “I must meet the inventor.”
Sherman, Ellsworth, and Dickinson stood at the midpoint of a narrow dock that extended into the Delaware River. It felt like a parade, with about thirty men shoulder to shoulder on the dock and hundreds more on shore. John Fitch had brought his steam-powered ship to Philadelphia to impress the delegates and garner investors. The steam engine supposedly used twelve powered oars, six to a side, to propel the boat without sails. Sherman thought the wind undependable but easier to gather than a cord of wood.
He shifted his stance a bit wider to balance against the rolling dock. “We’ve not yet formed our government, and the rapacious already want to pillage the public treasury.”
“Fitch wants private investors,” Ellsworth said.
“Then why did he bring his novelty to us?”
Sherman felt Dickinson’s hand on his shoulder. “In case you haven’t noticed, most of the rich are here.”
“Just because something can be done, doesn’t mean it should be done. Ships move cargo.” Sherman looked at Ellsworth. “That metal barrel with its levers, treadles, and cranks takes all the space and tonnage. Water is plentiful in the Atlantic, but trees are scarce.” Ellsworth and Dickinson laughed, trading a knowing glance. “Could you gentlemen explain the humor in my comments?”
Dickinson squeezed Sherman’s shoulder. “Roger, you may be inscrutable in chamber, but you’re predictable outside.”
“You think this has merit?” Sherman said in disbelief.
Ellsworth swept his arm across the ship. “Fitch proposes his steamship for the Mississippi River. Environs with plenty of trees, if I recollect.”
Dickinson used his foot to caress the gunwale. “Innovations like this will increase the value of western lands.”
Sherman grunted. “Driving the Spanish from our frontier will—”
A loud voice yelled, “All those game, climb aboard! We’ll push off in a moment.”
Ellsworth immediately squeezed onto a deck crowded with an unbelievable menagerie of rods, tubes, and struts. Madison suddenly exploded from the crowd and slipped on the wet wood as he tried to board. Sherman gripped him by the scruff of his coat and gave a gentle tug that righted the little man squarely on the ship’s deck. Madison beamed. “Thanks. Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll forego the experience, but I’ll expect a report.”
Seamen pushed the boat away with long poles and let it drift until it slipped a dozen yards into the river. About a dozen delegates had jumped aboard for the promised ride against the river’s current. Suddenly, the weird boat issued a deep-throated growl that made conversation impossible. Twelve oars thrashed the water, lifted, and then thrashed again, until the river was a carpet of white foam. Despite a deafening roar and a frenzied whipping of the river, Sherman guessed the boat moved at less than two knots.
Turning to Dickinson, he shouted, “Let’s step away.”
When they reached the shore, Dickinson was laughing uproariously. “I believe that thrashing may kill all the fish within a hectare.”
Sherman took a moment to catch his breath and suppress his own laughter. “Now I know what prompted Fitch to bring his boat to us. He spotted a kindred spirit in our braying and pointless thrashing.”
Gouverneur Morris opened Thursday’s session with a motion to require senators to be citizens for fourteen years.
Surprisingly, Butler backed the motion. “I oppose foreigners in the Senate. I was called to public life within a short time after coming to America, but my foreign attachments should have made me ineligible.”
Madison said, “The parts of America that encourage emigration advance faster in population, prosperity, and the arts. The issue is negligible, because foreigners are rarely elected to office.”
Gerry jumped in. “Eligibility ought to be restricted to native-born Americans. Otherwise, foreigners will infiltrate our councils and meddle in our affairs. Everyone knows the vast sums Europe lays out for secret services.”
Wilson reminded Sherman of a neglected stew pot ready to spew. “I’m not a native, and if these ideas are approved, I’ll be ineligible to hold office under the Constitution I’m entrusted to write. I’d feel humiliated.”
Gouverneur Morris thumped his leg and said, in a snit, “Reason, not feelings, man. We should never strive to be polite at the expense of good sense. Some Indian tribes carry their hospitality so far as to offer their wives and daughters to strangers. I’ll admit foreigners into my home, invite them to my table, provide them with lodging, but I don’t carry hospitality so far as to bed them with my wife.”
Morris limped across the front of the chamber but kept his eyes on Wilson. “The privileges we allow foreigners exceed those in any other part of the world. As for those philosophical ‘citizens of the world,’ I don’t want them in public councils. I don’t trust a man who shakes off attachment to his country.”
Gouverneur Morris plopped into his chair with a finality that conveyed his firmness, but his motion to extend the citizenship requirement to fourteen years failed. Someone immediately made a motion for thirteen years, which also failed. Then a motion for ten years failed. Finally, a motion for nine years passed.
Pinckney again raised the issue of property requirements. “The members of the legislature, the executive, and judges should possess enough property to make them independent. If I were to fix an amount, I should think not less than one hundred thousand dollars for the president and half that sum for judges and members of Congress.”
Franklin spoke in a lilting voice as he gently scolded Pinckney. “If honesty always accompanied wealth, then I’d agree with my illustrious colleague from South Carolina, but some of the greatest rogues I know are rich.”
Sherman wondered if Pinckney’s idea would have found acceptance if he had prescribed a more reasonable property requirement. One hundred thousand dollars would have prevented many men in the chamber from seeking the presidency.
“Morris hit Wilson hard today.”
Sherman tilted the book he was reading so he could see Ellsworth. “Don’t step into a family feud.”
“Family?” Ellsworth asked.
“Political family. Morris and Wilson tussle for leadership of Pennsylvania.”
The two men sat on chairs they had hauled to Mrs. Marshall’s backyard. Sherman had strategically placed his chair so he could rest his legs on the stump of an elm, which in its day must have been a magnificent tree. He briefly lamented its foregone shade but appreciated the utility of the carcass.
Ellsworth broke his reverie. “What about Franklin?”
“Franklin devotes his time and fortune to Philadelphia. He leaves the state to younger men.”
After fiddling with his snuff, Ellsworth said, “So Morris took umbrage that Wilson didn’t follow his lead on citizenship.”
“And Wilson didn’t like Morris trying to exclude him from national office.”
“You didn’t take offense when Pinckney tried to exclude you.”
“Pinckney’s m
otion was flummery.”
“How rich do you think he is?”
“Somewhere in excess of one hundred thousand dollars,” Sherman said distractedly.
Ellsworth laughed. “Indeed.” After a moment, he mused, “We must be nearing the end.”
Sherman dropped his book again. “Why do you say that?”
“Because Morris tried to exclude his competitor from national office, and Pinckney tried to exclude all but the crème de la crème. The ambitious already assume a new government.”
“Why, Mr. Ellsworth, you embarrass me. I was so engrossed in this book, I missed that.”
Ellsworth beamed at the roundabout praise. “What’re you reading?”
“Robinson Crusoe.”
“You like it?”
“No.”
“It’s very popular.”
“It is popular because it’s a tale well told. I object to the underlying message. It means to teach religious tolerance, but it goes too far.”
“Too far?”
“It preaches that all religions are equal.”
“I can see why you’d have difficulty with that.”
“As would anyone devout.”
“Some are open to other possibilities.”
“If you believe in one God, and you have faith that you have found him, you can admit no others.”
“But you’ve always been highly tolerant.”
“Tolerant of other Protestant faiths. They worship the same God.”
“What about the Hebrews?”
“I pray for them daily.”
Friday and Saturday’s sessions had covered old ground and frustrated Sherman, who was anxious for progress. On Monday, Randolph opened with an emotional plea to give the House of Representatives control of finances. He wanted the House to have sole authority over revenue and expenditures. The Senate would be prohibited from any modification to amount, source, or use.
Mason leaped to agree and ended with an angry harangue by saying, “I may consent to a Senate veto of money bills, but they’re not entitled to it.”
After a spout of stuttering, Gerry threw his words as a farmer might hurl stones at a mule’s backside. “The people will never allow anyone but their immediate representatives to meddle in their purses.” He glared across the chamber and then blurted, “If the Senate is not restrained from originating money bills, this plan will fail.”
Sherman felt a piece of paper slipped under his hand. When he looked up, Ellsworth looked troubled. The scratched note read, “Why are Randolph, Mason, and Gerry so angry?” Sherman thought a moment. He picked up his quill and wrote, “Mason due to principle. Randolph, because he lacks principles. Gerry due to his nature.” After Ellsworth read the note, he looked no less troubled but gave a nod just the same.
Madison received the floor and started a monologue. “The word revenue is ambiguous. In many acts, particularly in the regulations of trade …”
Sherman’s concentration lapsed. He knew Madison would deliver a long, logical argument, but he could anticipate the points and couldn’t sustain the effort to follow his soft voice. He worried that progress remained painstakingly slow after the recess. Except for a few details, he felt he could predict where they would end up, but how long would it take to get there? Sherman settled in his chair, crossed his gangly legs, and told himself to be patient. The convention needed unanimity, or close to it, and that would take time.
After recess was called, Sherman watched Randolph, Mason, and Gerry leave the chamber. They had argued the same positions today, but they left separately. He decided that they didn’t comprise a threatening coalition.
“Where are you headed?”
Sherman recognized the voice of Dickinson. “Across the street for lemonade.”
“I’m with you.”
As the two men dodged horses, carriages, and wagons, Sherman yelled above the din, “Is this social, or do you have an agenda?”
Dickinson gave a thank you wave to a teamster who had pulled up to give him room to scurry across. “Do you have social calls?”
“Not since I left New Haven. What’s on your mind?”
“Let’s get the lemonade first.”
“Since you’re the one with business, this is your treat.”
“I’d gladly bribe you for the price of a lemonade.”
“I don’t barter my opinions, only my time.”
“Really?”
Sherman gave him a friendly smile in response.
The State House Inn had taken advantage of the sweltering heat to set up an outdoor shelter to sell iced lemonade. Rough-hewn logs supported a canvas cover with brightly colored pennants over a makeshift table. Having bolted the chamber, they had beat the convention crowd and had to wait behind only a few strollers. When they reached the table, Sherman was impressed with the innkeeper’s business acumen. The comely young maid had conveniently forgotten to tie the string on her loose cotton blouse, and when she leaned over to pour each glass, she invited a tantalizing peek.
As they walked over to the shade of a tree, Dickinson said, “I’ll bet not many men pass that stall without stopping for a respite.”
Sherman lifted the glass in salute. “Since you’ve already received good value for your money, I question whether I owe you my time.”
“Then will you lend me your ear?”
“Ha, for that repartee, I’ll make a donation. You look a charitable case.”
“As a matter of fact, I wish to discuss money.”
“How so?”
“I’ll propose this afternoon that members of Congress be paid by the national treasury.”
“I thought we agreed the states pay.”
“I’m concerned that some states will set salaries so low, only the rich can serve.”
“Pinckney’s motion failed.”
“There’s more than one way to rig a scale. I want the wages secured by the national government so men such as yourself can serve, as well as men like Pinckney.”
“That’s considerate of you, especially since you can satisfy Pinckney’s admission price.”
Dickinson made a dismissive shrug. “A silly, transparent proposition. I want equal compensation to avoid hard feelings and elitism.”
Sherman thought Dickinson’s argument sound. Previously, he had argued for state compensation so Connecticut could control its delegation. Now he saw it as a hindrance to a truly national government. He wondered at how far his thinking had evolved since arriving in Philadelphia. “I agree. Anything else?”
“I want to restrict members of Congress from holding other national positions.”
“Agreed.”
Dickinson’s head snapped and then he laughed. “This from Madison’s greatest dread.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Separation of power. Madison’s sacred incantation. You’re the mayor of New Haven and a judge of the Connecticut superior court and, for many years, you were simultaneously a member of Congress.” Dickinson laughed again. “You must give the man fits. Executive, judicial, and legislative powers, all tightly gripped in the hands of one man.”
“Those are separate jurisdictions. National, state, and city. I couldn’t support my family on the wage from a single position.”
“You prove my point. Congress must be paid from the national treasury. You deftly juggled multiple posts, but the task is beyond mortals.”
“Mr. Dickinson, you’re enjoying yourself far too much. If we had more time, I would make you buy me another glass of lemonade.”
“Unfortunately, we must get back so you can earn that handsome allowance Connecticut pays you.”
Sherman felt Dickinson’s hand on his shoulder as they walked over to the table to return the empty glasses. He had tried to make light of Dickinson’s taunts, but in his heart, he knew he would trust few others with such a broad expanse of power as he had wielded in Connecticut.
Dickinson had foreseen correctly. Pinckney opened the afternoon session with a motion that mem
bers of Congress should receive no salary or expenses. He also proposed that members could be appointed to positions in the executive branch.
Luther Martin stood unsteadily and made a point of pulling down his soiled waistcoat. Sherman heard someone at another table say a bit too loudly, “The man’s drunk.” Sherman wished that Martin had taken his refreshment from the maid with the décolleté blouse. Martin coughed into a filthy handkerchief and then waved the offensive fabric at buzzing flies. “Gentlemen, without patronage, the Senate won’t let the president in for his share of the plunder.” He weaved a bit and then blew his nose before resuming his semaphore. “I ask, is that fair?” Martin seemed to instantly regain sobriety, and his voice lost its flippant quality. “If our senators carry such mercenary views, we should choose a despot, because it’s easier to feed the rapacity of one man than the rapacity of many.”
Sherman gained the floor. “I move that members of Congress be paid out of the United States Treasury.”
When his motion passed, Sherman gratefully voted to adjourn for the day.
“Mr. Sherman!”
Sherman stopped midstride to see Pierce Butler charging at him like an enraged bull. “Yes?”
“We have an agreement.”
“It doesn’t extend to compensation.”
“It extends to a Senate committed to protect the sensitive issues of my state.”
“The Senate has enough control to protect your interests.”
“Not if we can’t control our senators.”
“I was unaware the type of man selected by South Carolina could be controlled by an allowance.”
Butler’s lips quivered, and several seconds passed before he could speak. “We don’t control Georgia.”
Tempest at Dawn Page 41
