“That must have been expensive.”
“Speed is of the essence now, my boy. We mustn’t give our enemies the time to marshal resources.”
It had taken five years to ratify the Articles, and if the Constitution took that long, it could prove disastrous. Madison felt drained, but he had to find strength to bring his dream to fruition.
“How can I help?”
“Talk to Sherman. We need the small states to ratify immediately.”
“Why does everyone think I have a relationship with Sherman?”
“The two of you got us to this point. Work with him to finish the job.”
Madison nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Morris put a hand on his shoulder. “Jemmy, when you’re at your best, you inspire all those about you.”
Madison flushed. “Thank you. I’m always concerned I may be deficient in the hard political skills.”
“Many possess hard political skills; inspiration is rare.” Morris patted Madison’s shoulder. “You possess a unique talent.”
They moved outside and clambered aboard the coach positioned at the front door. As they settled in, King said. “Our gambit with Randolph didn’t work.”
“What do you suggest now?” Hamilton asked.
“Let him go.” Madison placed his valise between his feet. “He said an attempt alone is insufficient because no one will know he wanted additional scrutiny of the plan.”
Hamilton harrumphed. “An entire army couldn’t provide enough cover for that insipid poltroon.”
The carriage gently rocked as the driver climbed into his seat. Madison rested his elbow out the carriage window and reclined against the upholstered seat back. “Alex, we must push for a quick ratification.”
“I have plans.”
“What?”
“A series of papers. The Independent Journal has agreed to publish them.”
“Who will write them?”
“Not settled yet, but New Yorkers. Jay agreed, but Morris declined.”
“Morris lives in Pennsylvania.”
“He left New York when the Clinton clique drove him out of Congress, but he still has his Morrisiania estate in Westchester.”
“Too bad. We’ve seen the proof of his pen.”
“He still carries scars from New York politics.”
“Let me know if you can use my assistance.” Madison felt the carriage jerk forward and realized he was looking forward to a quick meal and bed. Turning to Hamilton, he asked, “Alex, do you have a plan for these papers?”
“Yes. I shall defend every sentence.”
Chapter 39
Wednesday, September 12, 1787
“Thank you for joining me for breakfast.”
“My pleasure.” Sherman took a seat opposite Madison in the Indian Queen dining room. “I look forward to seeing your committee’s work.”
“I think you’ll be pleased. Gouverneur did a masterful job.”
“I’m sure you contributed as well.” Sherman spread a linen napkin across his lap and realized that the walk from his boardinghouse had made him hungry. “I hear the ham comes from Virginia.”
“A small contribution from my humble state.”
“An interesting adjective for Virginia.”
“People misjudge us.”
“As they do my stiff Yankee accent. But I assume this meeting is about our states working together on some agenda.”
“Ratification.”
A nattily dressed servant interrupted Sherman’s response. After they had placed their order, Sherman started to speak, but the rich aroma of roasted coffee caught his attention. A second servant appeared at his elbow to expertly pour steaming coffee from a burnished silver urn. After an exploratory sip, Sherman had to admit that there were things the Indian Queen did better than Mrs. Marshall.
“You were talking about ratification,” Sherman said.
“It must be fast. A few states must ratify immediately.”
“Small states?”
“You have the Senate.”
“And you have protection for slavery.”
Madison winced. “The South won’t ratify easily. In their eyes, they have more to lose.”
“Georgia’ll be quick.”
“Exactly. They’re small. If you use your influence with the other small states, a momentum can be established.”
Their meal arrived, which gave Sherman time to think. He cut a piece of ham and savored the distinctive Virginia cure. “The ham’s excellent. My compliments to your ‘humble’ state.”
“Can you engineer a quick Connecticut ratification?”
“How quick will Virginia be?”
Madison looked frustrated with Sherman’s deflection. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Henry a thorn?”
Madison gave one of his little laughs. “A sword of Damocles, I’m afraid.”
“What’s in it for us?”
“A competent government.”
“A goal worth striving for.” Sherman finished another mouthful of ham. “I’ll do my best.”
“That should be sufficient. When you are at your best, you always seem to get what you want.” Madison picked up his fork and ate with relish.
“Welcome back, William.”
“This is historic,” Paterson said. “I intend to be part of it.”
“You’re aware of the latest developments?” Sherman asked.
“I met with my delegation last evening. The presidential powers are a bit worrisome, but I won’t quibble.” Paterson looked at the delegates gathered in the hall outside the Council Chamber. “People look serious.”
Sherman thought even Paterson appeared somber. “This business carries enormous risk for the country—and our families.” Sherman led Paterson to a corner of the hall. “What do you hear from New York?”
“The battlements are going up.”
“Little Mars has been planning a campaign. He’s been returning to New York to cajole or buy allies.”
“New Jersey will ratify easily.”
“Good. It helps New York and Virginia if several states ratify quickly.”
“Small states.” Paterson seemed reflective. “In May, the big states championed an energetic central government, but after your Senate victory, support for this new government shifted to the small states.”
“This has always been about power.”
“Power for Virginians. New Jersey just wanted to protect herself from their ambitions.”
“Put it away, William. It’s a good plan.”
Paterson looked reluctant to forego the anger that had given him energy, but he finally smiled. “Yes, it is.”
At the opening of the session, Gouverneur Morris distributed printed copies of the Constitution from the Committee of Style. Although they couldn’t leave the chamber, a recess was called so delegates could read the polished document. Madison had been right: the committee had done a masterful job. Sherman admired the eloquence and logical presentation of their resolutions.
After an hour, the convention reconvened to consider final modifications. Sherman hoped there would be few. A motion to revert back to the two-thirds override of presidential vetoes passed with little comment.
Gerry sputtered and spewed words like a teapot ready to blow. “I move for a right for trial by juries.”
“The plan should be prefaced with a complete bill of rights,” Mason said with equal anger. “One can be prepared in hours.”
Sherman didn’t believe the task could be completed in hours and felt it was time to bring the proceedings to a close. “I support securing the rights of the people, but the Declarations of Rights in the states are still in force, and their authority sufficient.”
Sherman was surprised when Mason responded with more emotion than he thought the issue deserved. “The laws of the United States are paramount to the states, including their Declarations of Rights.”
Sherman didn’t believe words guaranteed people’s rights. Untold hours in
backrooms had taught him that unscrupulous political operators searched until they found ways around stipulations that supposedly obstructed them from achieving their ambitions. Frequent elections and checks on the abuse of power provided better protection. The system itself must guarantee rights.
Without further discussion, a motion for a committee to prepare a bill of rights failed unanimously. The end was too tantalizingly near to closet another group of men to complete an arduous task that could stretch into weeks.
“You’re wrong.”
Sherman turned toward the State House door and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun. “About?”
“The bill of rights.” Madison remained on the State House stoop, which required Sherman to look up.
“Laws govern nations, not platitudes.”
“A bill of rights has the force of law.”
Sherman tried to keep exasperation from his voice. “I’ve been through the process numerous times. Nothing excites debate more than an attempt to build a far-reaching list of rights. The end result is too general for practical use.”
“A bill of rights can be precise.”
Sherman grew annoyed. He paused to figure out why he felt so irritated by Madison’s comments. Sherman sloughed off affronts from fools, knaves, and the ignorant, but he took to heart the critiques of people he respected. “James, the process to achieve precision in a bill of rights must go through a messy course before the list can be whittled down to the salient themes. We don’t have the time. The country disintegrates before our eyes.”
“We can start with the state bills.”
“We don’t have time.”
Madison looked worried. “Roger, you’re making a rare mistake.”
“Perhaps, but it’s one I cannot be dissuaded from.” With that, he lowered his hand, turned away from the elevated Madison, and walked in the direction of Mrs. Marshall’s house.
On Thursday, they continued their review of the final draft from the Committee of Style. Sherman was pleased that only a few inconsequential changes were made, and they progressed rapidly through the document. The Constitution was long, and as the afternoon droned on, it became increasingly difficult for people to remain in their seats. Everybody just wanted to be done. Some leaned against the back wall with their arms folded across their chests, while others whispered in small groups toward the sides of the chamber. Many left for a spell. At times, Sherman could count only a dozen delegates in their seats.
Washington, who had previously enforced strict decorum, ignored the disorder and plowed ahead without recess. Sherman shared the others’ impatience, but he felt the best way to leave this chamber for good was to stay in his seat. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any more discourteous, he heard a loud thumping behind him. He did not need to turn around to know that it was Gouverneur Morris showing his displeasure by pacing with excessive weight thrown to his wooden leg.
This proved too much for the general’s newfound tolerance. Bang! Bang! Bang! Sherman had never heard a gavel rapped with such authority. “Order in the chamber. Delegates, take your seats or remove yourselves. Immediately.” Morris made a disrespectful wave of his hand and stomped noisily out the door.
With some semblance of order restored, they slogged through the remaining articles, making only a few alterations. Sherman saw relief in Washington’s face as he struck his gavel and barked, “Adjourned.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton.”
Sherman and Baldwin had ventured across the street from the State House for lemonade.
“I’d have thought you’d be pursuing stronger refreshment,” Baldwin said, affecting a Southern accent.
“I’m waiting for the general.”
Baldwin put his muscle-hardened arm around Hamilton’s narrow shoulder. “Then you may buy us lemonade.”
“Abe, do you ever buy your own drinks?” Hamilton asked.
“Never in your presence.”
“New Yorkers don’t squander their money on backcountry ne’er-do-wells.” Despite the disclaimer, Hamilton slapped a heavy Pennsylvania coin onto the cross board. “By the way, when did you lose your Yankee accent?”
“When I ran for office in Georgia.” Baldwin wore a huge grin.
The men wandered out of earshot and stood under a tree. “I hear you intend to write a series of papers,” Sherman said.
“Yes, I’ll call it The Federalist.”
“Federalist?” Baldwin sounded perplexed. “The Articles are a federation of the states. It’s a stretch to use that term with this Constitution.”
“We need to mold public perception. We’ll claim the name Federalist so we can call our opponents Anti-Federalists. Hamilton smiled. “First to trough, first to eat.”
“You sly devil.” Baldwin saluted with his lemonade. “No wonder you’re a banker.”
Hamilton shrugged. “It allows me to buy lemonade for my Yankee friends.”
“Whoa!” Baldwin feigned offense. “You can’t buy my friendship with a mere glass of refreshment.”
As they laughed, Hamilton suddenly became serious. “By the way, we’ve established the price for unanimity.”
“What does Massachusetts want?”
“It will become clear Monday.”
“Why not until Monday?”
“One of Gorham’s conditions,” Hamilton said. “I just wanted to forewarn you.”
“You forewarned me of nothing. Should I be concerned?”
Hamilton shook his head. “No. Gorham’s reasonable. He could have gotten more.” Hamilton handed his glass to Baldwin. “The general has stepped from the State House. I’ll see you men later.”
Sherman watched Hamilton’s back as he dodged the carriages to cross the street. “That was ominous,” Sherman said.
“The man’s too clever by half,” Baldwin said.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. It’s too late.”
When Randolph received the floor on Saturday, he walked to the front of the chamber wearing a theatrical expression of solemnity. “I feel great pain to differ from my fellow delegates on the close of our great labors, but I make a final motion that amendments to the plan can be offered by state conventions.”
An audible groan filled the chamber, but Randolph pushed on. “Should this proposition lose, it will be impossible for me to put my name to this instrument. I don’t know if I shall oppose it afterwards, but I cannot deprive myself of the freedom to do so.”
Mason seconded Randolph and gave his own speech. Sherman had never seen Mason look so haughty or use a more condescending tone. Both traits were personal attributes, but most of the time he kept them in check. Sherman wondered if he was seeing the true George Mason or an extremely frustrated patriot.
When the votes were called on Randolph’s motion, all the states sharply answered—no!
Sherman saw Mason accept defeat with a frown and his arms folded tightly against his chest.
Elbridge Gerry felt obliged to state why he would withhold his name from the Constitution. He accused the convention of proposing a system that could make any law it chose by declaring it “necessary and proper.”
When Gerry took his seat, Washington gave a gentle rap with his gavel and said in a loud, clear voice, “On the question to agree to the Constitution, as amended, will the states please mark their votes.”
The assembly quieted in less than two minutes and then faced the front of the chamber with an air of expectancy. Washington, as dictated by tradition, called the roll of states from north to south.
“New Hampshire?”
“New Hampshire votes aye.”
“Massachusetts?”
Rufus King proudly said, “Massachusetts votes aye.””
“Connecticut?”
Roger Sherman stood, paused a heartbeat, and said, “Aye.”
“New Jersey?”
“New Jersey votes aye.”
“P
ennsylvania?”
Benjamin Franklin struggled to his gout-ridden feet. “Pennsylvania votes a hearty aye.”
Applause sprinkled the chamber as Franklin sat. Sherman didn’t know if it was to honor a great man or the vote.
When the applause subsided, Washington called, “Delaware?”
“The great state of Delaware votes aye.” When George Read sat down, the applause grew more pronounced.
“Maryland?”
“Aye.” The trend had now been set, and the applause became steady.
“Virginia?”
“Virginia votes aye.” The applause strengthened, and James Madison wore the smile of the truly joyful.
“North Carolina?”
“Aye.”
Up to now, Sherman had been clapping perfunctorily, but he caught the enthusiasm of the room and started to pound his hands with rare delight.
“South Carolina?”
Charles Pinckney rose and gave Gen. Washington an aristocratic bow, flourishing his arm across his midsection and dipping his right shoulder just a bit deeper than his left. “Sir, the great and sovereign state of South Carolina votes aye.”
When the applause grew loud and sustained, Pinckney turned toward the delegates and bowed as if they were honoring him.
“Georgia?”
Abraham Baldwin stood slowly, paused, bowed graciously toward the general, turned, and then boomed in a heavy Southern accent; “Gentlemen, it is my great honor to announce that Georgia votes AYE!”
Sherman leaped to his feet banging his cupped hands and yelling a Revolutionary cheer. He felt a slap on his back and turned, expecting to see Gouverneur Morris, but it was a beaming James Wilson. Sherman grabbed his hand, but they shook quickly so they could resume clapping. Turning toward Ellsworth, he started to reach out his hand but instead clasped him in a fraternal hug. When he broke free, everywhere about him was pandemonium. Delegates clapped, yelled, hugged, and some cried. Washington sat on his dais with a smile and his hand purposely laid flat on the table away from his gavel.
Sherman shouldered through the crowd, trying to get to Madison. Backslapping, handshakes, and emotional embraces slowed his progress toward the Virginia table. As he shuffled through the jostling crowd, he noticed that three men remained seated in steadfast defiance. He reached Madison to find Franklin enveloping the little man in his beefy arms. When they broke, Sherman muscled his way past a couple of well-wishers and caught the eye of the little genius from Virginia. He took Madison’s delicate hand within his own huge palm and covered the combined fist with his left hand.
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