Dickinson gave a slight bow. “Due to your reputed expertise in these matters, I concede the point.”
“As well you should, but you haven’t answered my question. When did you come up with the idea?”
“In the room. I thought you’d come to my assistance, but you just sat there enjoying my predicament.”
“I was testing your health.” Sherman patted his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll live.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m going home anyway. One more thing. I’m giving George money for a celebratory dinner. Manage events so George will have a good reason to spend my money.”
“Leave it in my capable hands.”
“The obligation, of course. The money I’ll trust to George.”
The next morning, Sherman looked out the Palladium window to the State House yard as he trudged up the stairs to the second floor. He was about ten minutes early. When he entered the Council Chamber, he saw that Madison was the only one to precede him.
“Roger, I’m glad you arrived early. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
Sherman plopped his valise on a chair and walked around the table. “Good morning, James. What’s the subject?”
“William Paterson.”
“Paterson? I thought you’d want to discuss presidential powers.”
“I had no difficulty outlining the powers.”
“What are they?”
“That can wait for the committee. Will Paterson return for the signing?”
“Is that important?”
“Paterson browbeat the convention until he caused a schism. Now he owes us his signature.”
“The New Jersey delegation will sign.”
“We need everyone’s support—especially the malcontents.”
“Randolph and Mason?” As Sherman watched Madison cringe, his mind raced to figure out why this subject had arisen. Madison must be thinking ahead to ratification, or more likely, Washington desired the appearance of a solid consensus.
“Randolph and Mason present difficulties, but their objections pale next to Martin’s and Gerry’s bombast.”
“Both sides harbor dissidents.”
“I thought we were beyond sides by this point.”
“My apologies.” Sherman looked toward the door. Others would be intruding in a few moments. “James, we’ll never convince everyone.”
“We can achieve unanimity among the states represented.”
Sherman nodded. “What state presents the highest risk?”
“Massachusetts.”
“Agreed.”
“Will you work with me on this?”
“Of course.”
“And Paterson?”
“I wrote him two weeks ago. He’ll be here for the signing.”
Madison began the meeting by presenting his outline for presidential powers. “The opportunity for popular election allows a stronger executive, and we can use the Senate to advise and consent. Our prior approach used a weak executive to check Congress. Now both branches provide checks on each other.”
Sherman didn’t like the way Gouverneur Morris nodded as Madison read. At dinner last night, the two had engaged in numerous whispered exchanges, and they took a common carriage back to the Indian Queen. Madison’s plan intuitively made sense, but Sherman resented that they failed to bring other committee members into the discussion.
“The convention session is about to begin,” Morris said. “I suggest we meet again directly after adjournment.” As they prepared to go downstairs, Morris said to Sherman, “I hope we reach agreement this afternoon. I have plans for tomorrow.”
“We all have plans for the Sabbath,” Sherman said. Morris coughed in a way that told Sherman he had a more earthly commitment.
Sherman left the State House with Baldwin. The afternoon session had been dull and focused on triviality. The committee had thrashed around numerous points but had come to no conclusions, so they scheduled the next meeting for Monday, which gave Sherman his Sabbath and Morris his diversions.
They walked quietly, until Baldwin interrupted his thoughts. “What are you cooking up in that scheming mind of yours?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Who becomes president if he dies in office?”
“The same man who succeeds him when he’s impeached.”
“Very helpful.”
“The president of the Senate?” Baldwin asked.
“I don’t like that. Under the Articles, the president of Congress is the executive. If we—”
“If the president of the Senate succeeds the president, he might grab too much power.”
Sherman nodded. “As our little friend likes to remind us, we need to keep powers separated.”
“So who? Someone from the executive side, but the president can’t appoint his successor.”
“At first, I thought that might work, but I decided an unscrupulous executive could barter the vice presidency.”
Baldwin smiled. “Vice president?”
“You have a better title?”
“No.”
“Madison’s plan looks good, but I think this is a hole.”
“What’ll the vice president do besides pray for his superior’s demise?” Baldwin asked.
“We must give him work.”
Baldwin took a moment. “Secretary of state?”
“Something less competitive.”
“President of the Senate? It denies the ambitious a job they might turn into something more.”
“I need to think about it,” Sherman said. “Our current president of Congress sets a bad example.”
They arrived in front of Mrs. Marshall’s boardinghouse. Baldwin was staying a block further east. “Mrs. Marshall will be serving supper soon. Do you want to sample her cooking?”
“Will there be room?”
“Saturday evening? I presume so.”
“As your guest?”
“If you behave yourself.”
“Then lead on, Mr. Sherman. A meal at your expense will be a rare treat.”
When they entered, Howard was setting the table. “Good evening, Mr. Sherman. I hope you’re staying for dinner.”
“I am. Do you have room for another guest?”
“You’ve made Mrs. Marshall a happy woman. The other boarders have engagements. You have just enough time to wash up.”
The two men climbed the stairs to Sherman’s room to find a clean towel and fresh water beside the washbowl. After washing, Baldwin said, “Mrs. Marshall runs a good house. Are there any open rooms?”
“Full,” Sherman said distractedly.
“Damn city.”
“What?”
“Roger, where’s your head?”
“A vice president solves another problem.”
“Which is?”
“The electors can vote for two men. The one with the most votes becomes president, and the one with the next highest number becomes vice president. If both must be from different states, then the president will always be someone of national stature.”
“Thank God tomorrow is the Sabbath.”
“I usually need to pray for forgiveness because I think about politics on the Sabbath.”
“You think that surprises me? By the way, good solution.”
“Let’s eat.”
When the men walked downstairs, the aroma of freshly cooked meats and vegetables greeted them. As they took their seats, Mrs. Marshall distributed a series of bowls and platters as she clucked over the men like they were esteemed dignitaries. She quickly laid out generous portions of chicken, roast beef, dumplings, boiled potatoes, and fresh green beans that Sherman knew she had harvested from her garden within hours of preparation.
After Baldwin had served himself a heaping plate of food, he asked Mrs. Marshall, “When do you expect an open room?”
She stopped in midmotion. “Don’t you gentlemen understand how anxious we are for you to finish your work?”
“We’re clo
se,” Sherman said.
“Then why does Mr. Baldwin consider changing boardinghouses?”
“Mr. Sherman is correct,” Baldwin said. “We have only a few things to tidy up. I was just overcome with your cooking.”
Mrs. Marshall, arms akimbo, said in her matron’s voice, “Gentlemen, time is running out. I suggest you get on with your business.”
“As we shall, Mrs. Marshall. After the meal, Mr. Baldwin and I will tidy up those loose ends.” Sherman glanced over at Baldwin to see disappointment written on his face. “Eat up, Abe. You didn’t expect a free meal did you?”
On Tuesday, September 4, the Committee on Postponed Matters presented their report. They had spent Monday arguing, cajoling, and at times bickering, but in the end, they voted out a plan that put the various pieces together in a coherent whole.
King explained that the president, with the advice and consent of the Senate, could make treaties and appoint ambassadors, the Supreme Court, and all the other officers of the United States. The president could be removed from office for treason or bribery when impeached by the House of Representatives and convicted by the Senate. Money bills had to originate in the House but could be amended by the Senate. Military appropriations were restricted to two years. Members of Congress were barred from holding any other government positions. The government could grant authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries.
Sherman noticed some uneasy shuffling as King spoke, but the room became still as he read the next clause. “The president shall hold his office during the term of four years, and together with the vice president, chosen for the same term, be elected in the following manner. Each state shall appoint in such manner as its legislature may direct, a number of electors equal to the number of senators and members of the House of Representatives to which the state is entitled.”
King explained that electors would vote for two persons, one of which could not be from their state. The president would be the individual with the most votes, and the vice president would be the one with the second highest count. In case of a tie, the Senate would select the president. The vice president would be president of the Senate, except during presidential impeachments, and the vice president did not have a vote unless there was a tie. Upon death or incapacitation of the president, the vice president would assume the office.
Randolph immediately asked for the floor. “If I may beg the speaker’s pardon, how did the change in the electing of the executive come about?”
Morris answered. “First, to avoid intrigue if appointed by Congress. Second, to allow reeligibility. Third, to establish an impeachment court separate from the election body. Fourth, many wanted the people to choose. Fifth, to make the executive independent of the legislature.”
“I’m heartened to learn that the esteemed delegate from Pennsylvania can count,” Pinckney said. “In like mind, I will enumerate my objections. First, this process throws the appointment into the Senate. Second, the electors will be strangers to the candidates. Third, it makes the executive reeligible.”
Baldwin recommended a postponement to give the delegates an opportunity to digest the recommendations. Before adjournment, the committee received another assignment: “to prepare a plan for defraying the expenses of the convention.”
“Washington wants another recommendation,” Madison said at the beginning of yet another committee meeting.
“Will this interminable convention never end?” Butler said, in exasperation.
“What is it?” Sherman tried to sound noncommittal.
“He wants the national capital independent of any state.”
“What?” Butler bellowed.
“The national capital will be a huge plum. See how Clinton turned it to his advantage. Also, the general fears hot political battles between New York and Philadelphia.”
“Not if the general sides with Philadelphia.” Morris waved his arm to encompass the room. “This city has a birth right. The nation was invented in this building.”
“You prove the general’s point, Gouverneur,” Madison said.
“This is Hamilton’s work,” Morris muttered. The slight shrug meant he would not fight the motion.
“Perhaps, but a good idea nonetheless,” Sherman said. “We must get the capital away from Clinton.”
“To where?” Butler demanded.
“Washington believes that should be left to the First Congress,” Madison answered. “For now, we just make the provision.”
Baldwin shook his head. “The Virginians want the capital close by their plantations.”
“This is not a Virginia plot,” Madison blurted.
“Perhaps not,” Baldwin said, “but the capital will not be located in Georgia.”
“That would make no sense,” Madison said in a rare snit. “Georgia is at the extremity of the nation.”
“By Jove, I think you’re right,” Baldwin said. “Let’s get a map and see what state is at the center.”
“That’s enough.” Sherman believed Baldwin had a point, but he still liked the idea. He turned to Madison. “Do you have wording?”
Madison handed Sherman a piece of paper. He read it aloud. “To exercise exclusive legislation over such district (not exceeding ten miles square) as may by cession of particular states become the seat of the government of the United States.”
Sherman passed the page back to Madison. “I concur with this. Unless someone objects, let’s move on.”
On Wednesday, the committee presented their complete report. Sherman was a little startled to hear no objections to the recommendation on the seat of government. Either everyone was eager to take the capital away from Clinton, or Washington had discreetly let it be known that this was his suggestion. Neither did anyone object to their recommendation that they each be paid equal to the compensation received by congressmen and that all of their expenses should be reimbursed.
George Mason won an amendment to add high crimes and misdemeanors to treason and bribery as causes for executive impeachment.
Gerry opposed the idea of the vice president acting as an ex officio head of the Senate. Sherman answered, “If the vice president is not president of the Senate, then he’ll be without employment—other than mischief, of course.” Sherman sat down to enough laughter that he knew the vice president would be approved when it came to a vote.
“Can we take a walk around the yard?”
Sherman looked up to see Hamilton. “Of course.”
When they walked out the central corridor and into the yard, a warm sun and soft breeze greeted them. Sherman stopped after he descended the steps.
“Something wrong?” Hamilton asked.
“No.” Sherman looked up at the line of elm trees. “I’m just listening to the leaves rustle.”
“I fear autumn will be upon us before we finish our business.”
“We’re close to the end.”
“We merely approach a milestone,” Hamilton answered.
With a long stride, Sherman started in a counterclockwise direction. “What worries you?”
“Ratification. New York and Virginia will be difficult. If either opts out, it won’t matter if nine states ratify. They’re large powerful states that will split the new nation, both geographically and politically.”
“You want something.”
“Of course.” Hamilton had no trouble keeping up with Sherman’s pace. “Will the small states ratify?”
“Yes.”
“No equivocation?”
“None. How will you handle New York and Virginia?”
“Madison will go immediately to New York to shepherd the Constitution through Congress, and then he’ll travel posthaste to Richmond. He’ll also be the focal point for a committee of correspondence to coordinate the states. Will you join?”
“Of course, but that’s not why we’re taking this walk.”
“We want your commitment to accept whatever’s necessary to secure Massachusetts’ approva
l.”
“What’s the price?”
“Not yet determined.”
“Then how can I commit?”
“With faith that whatever price is extracted, it is the lowest possible.”
Sherman walked for a few paces and then stopped under a full elm tree. “Agreed.”
“Washington wants more than Connecticut’s commitment. He wants support from your coalition.”
“I have no coalition.”
“Of course you do.”
Sherman smiled. “You may give the general my assurances.”
Hamilton nodded and they started walking again. Sherman enjoyed the afternoon sun on his face. When they reached the far corner of the yard, he posed a question. “Alex, Clinton is sure to preside over the New York ratification committee. How do you plan to win?”
“Our first task is to win overwhelmingly in New York City to counter Clinton’s rural delegates. John Jay is already working toward that end. Beyond that, we’re still trying to figure out a strategy.” Hamilton gave a small laugh. “Any suggestions?”
“Find a way to use Madison.”
“We’ve already had discussions. Anything else?”
Sherman stopped walking again and faced Hamilton. “Don’t equivocate. Defend every word.”
“Do you believe every word is worth defending?”
“I do.” Sherman looked toward the State House. “When I first arrived, I wrote my wife that I was about to engage in a battle with desperate and able men. I’ve moved a long way since that day. The country’s dire situation instilled the desperation.” Sherman looked back at Hamilton. “But I was also right about the assembly being able. These are fine men dedicated to doing justice to our grand republican experiment. We toiled, argued, and sweated over each clause until it was the absolute best we could bequeath to our nation.”
Sherman resumed walking. “Alex, defend every word.”
Chapter 38
Sunday, September 9, 1787
Tempest at Dawn Page 46
