Tempest at Dawn (4 page)

Sherman had brought the conversation to
where he wanted it. “Perhaps our interests are more common than you
suppose.” He leaned toward Butler and lowered his voice. “There
will be disappointments coming from the large state quarters.”

“
Surely you’re not suggesting an
alliance?” Butler asked.

“
No, you’ve made commitments.” Sherman
shifted his gaze until he caught each man’s eye. “Just remember to
see me when you feel your vital interests threatened. Connecticut
will work with the South on her sensitive issues.”

Butler and Pinckney looked intrigued. That
was enough for the moment. The innkeeper provided another opportune
interruption by bringing Sherman his meal. He eagerly turned his
attention to his soup and the inn’s famous cornbread.

Chapter 2

Tuesday, May 15, 1787

A quick motion drew James Madison’s attention to the
foyer of the Indian Queen. Roger Sherman stood in the entrance,
shaking his rain-splattered cloak. Madison watched Sherman with
delight and apprehension.

Gen. Washington followed Madison’s gaze and
remarked, “I see Connecticut sent Sherman.”

“
Yes,” Madison responded. “We’re one
state closer to a quorum, but he’ll fight our plan.”

“
Without a quorum, we remain idle,”
Washington said. “Far better to endure a few opponents than to
never leave the stable. Our alliance will hold, Jemmy.”

Madison feared the general underestimated
Sherman. Many did. Sherman was a strange man. His big frame made
him one of the few who could look Washington in the eye, but unlike
the general, he did not carry himself with even elemental grace. He
lacked wealth, dressed plainly, pulled his hair straight back with
neither wig nor powder, and hid his humor behind a dour
countenance. His big square face, thin lips, dark eyes, and
expansive forehead gave the impression of a dullard plodding
through a mediocre political career. Madison knew better. Despite
his slovenly appearance, Sherman possessed a sharp wit, expansive
knowledge, and decades of experience, both in his native
Connecticut and on the national level. Madison held no illusions
that he could alter Sherman’s mission. The small states would fight
mindlessly to protect their supposed sovereignty.

It troubled Madison when he saw Sherman sit
down with South Carolina. He was a threat Madison would keep his
eye on, but Washington was right: bringing Connecticut to the
convention was far more important to the upcoming course of
events.

Madison returned his attention to his dinner
mates. On the other side of the table sat Robert Morris and
Gouverneur Morris, both from Pennsylvania, related only by
politics. Robert Morris, reputed to be the richest man in the
United States, revered Washington and stayed close to the general,
both physically and politically. Gouverneur Morris, a stalwart
champion of a strong central government, sat at the end of the
table, allowing him to stretch his inflexible wooden leg and girth
into the aisle. Thirty-five, talkative, wealthy, and brilliant,
Gouverneur Morris usually got his way—in politics, in business, and
with women.

Gouverneur Morris had also watched Sherman’s
entrance. “I wonder what Roger’s purpose is with South
Carolina?”

Robert Morris swiveled in his seat to look
behind him. Watching Sherman squeeze in amongst the South
Carolinians, he said, “I don’t like this. Sherman likes to stay in
the background, negotiating deals out of public sight. He’ll do
everything in his power to stop us. He’s as cunning as the devil.
If he suspects you’re trying to bamboozle him, you might as well
catch an eel by the tail.”

“
South Carolina will stay with us,”
Washington said. “Her western settlers are on a pivot, and the
touch of a feather will turn them toward the Spanish.”

Robert Morris turned back to Washington. “But will
she remain steadfast when we address other issues?”

Robert Morris looked exactly like what he
was, a wealthy financier: pudgy, with a serene round face well
supported by an ample double chin. He exuded the confidence that
came from a long line of accomplishments.

Washington took a thoughtful moment.
“Connecticut and South Carolina differ in their manners,
circumstances, and prejudices. I doubt Roger can find a common
interest.”

“
If a common ground is to be found,
he’ll find it,” Madison put a hand on his knee to quiet a jittery
leg. “He’s not easily managed.” Glancing back toward Sherman,
Madison added, “Roger relishes the process, not the outcome. I’m
wary of men not guided by principle.”

“
You’re too severe, Jemmy,” Washington
said. “In my dealings with Sherman, no man has shown a better heart
or a clearer head.”

“
Perhaps,” Robert Morris said, “but
Sherman is extremely artful in getting his way. That makes him
dangerous.”

“
My good sirs,” Gouverneur Morris said
jovially, “Connecticut has no more chance of hauling South Carolina
to her side than I have of carrying Dr. Franklin to the State
House. Sherman is fishing in a droughty pond.”

Madison took comfort from Gouverneur
Morris’s droll assurance, but his unease persisted. He had put so
much effort into this plan, worked so hard. He didn’t need someone
working the back channels to unravel his careful preparations.

The Virginia Plan—his plan—had been
Madison’s obsession for over a year. He had risked his health,
labored to the point of exhaustion, and sacrificed his father’s
approval to define the essential elements of a new government. Now
everything had come together in Philadelphia. He had a plan and he
had the votes. Virginia and Pennsylvania represented the solid core
of their alliance. Massachusetts and the Southern states assured a
majority. South Carolina, as the leader of the Deep South, had to
remain firmly tied to their cause.

Madison’s greatest achievement sat beside
him. When Washington arrived in Philadelphia two days ago, he had
been greeted with ceremonial adulation. Three generals, two
colonels, and the Light Horse Calvary had escorted him into a city
of cheering throngs, exploding cannons, and pealing church bells.
The people cherished their Revolutionary hero. Washington’s fame
was so broad and pure that his mere presence lent credibility and
authority to the proceedings. Convincing him to attend had not been
easy, but it was a crucial element of Madison’s scheme to replace
the Articles with a new type of government—one never before seen in
world history.

Madison’s thoughts brought him back to the
issue they had been discussing. “Then we’re all agreed. Robert will
nominate the general for president of the convention?”

“
This seems far too planned and
arranged for my taste,” Washington said. “Why not let the selection
take its own course?”

Robert Morris took the assignment of
convincing his reluctant friend. “General, you resisted coming to
this convention in fear that it might be a debacle like last year
at Annapolis. You decided that the risk to the country exceeded the
risk to your reputation. Now that you’re here, you must assume the
position of leadership to avoid a disastrous outcome.”

“
Mr. Morris, I do not like to be
manipulated.”

“
General, sir, we have no
such

”

“
You do, sirs,” Washington broke in.
“My reputation is far too important to squander on
misadventures.”

“
General, we remain mindful of your
reputation,” Robert Morris added weakly.

“
Mr. Madison and Mr. Jefferson argued
for my attendance on the basis that the country was in dire
jeopardy, and the convention needed my stature to draw delegates.”
Washington gave them each a hard stare. “I fulfilled that
obligation. Now that you have me, you insist I assume the
presidency. What if the vote doesn’t go in my favor?”

“
I’ve queried everyone who’s arrived,”
Madison interjected. “I can assure you that you’ll be elected
overwhelmingly, perhaps unanimously.”

“
My dear general,” Gouverneur Morris
said, “your reputation is as safe as a homely maiden’s virtue. Do
not fear. Jemmy will ne’er squander his greatest asset.”

Gouverneur Morris took more liberties with
Washington than others dared, but he had learned the limit. He had
once wagered that he could slap the general on the back in a hearty
greeting but had suffered such a glaring reproach that he never
mistook the bounds again.

Washington brooded for a long moment.
Eventually, he said, “I agree, but on my terms. I’ll preside over
the deliberations but take no formal role in the debates. I want
strict compliance to parliamentary procedures, and the debates must
conform to gentleman’s precepts. I’ll make my views known, but only
to individuals outside the formal gatherings. Is that
acceptable?”

“
Of course, General,” Robert Morris
responded for the group.

Washington turned a hard gaze on Madison.
“Are you satisfied, Jemmy?”

Madison had urged Jefferson—serving as
minister to France—to write letters beseeching Washington to attend
the convention. Madison had always intended to convince the general
to preside over the assemblage, once the general had committed.

He knew that the people around this
table viewed him as their resident scholar, more theologian than
practical politician—Jefferson’s bright little friend who supplied
the rationalization for what they wanted to do. They
believed
they
were the
experienced national leaders with the stature and temperament to
win tough contests. Their attitude didn’t distress him. His years
in Congress and the Virginia Assembly taught him that his small
frame, soft speaking voice, and tendency to argue from history and
logic didn’t impress seasoned politicians—men more comfortable
bartering votes than changing minds. They failed to notice how
often he set the stage for their grand appearances.

Madison ignored Washington’s rebuff and
responded to the general’s conditions. “After your election, the
convention will appoint a committee to prepare standing rules.
George Wythe has agreed to serve, and I’m sure he’ll be selected
chairman. We can trust our fellow Virginian to follow the general’s
wishes.”

Madison was about to address another
sensitive subject, when two impeccably dressed gentlemen
interrupted them.

“
General, sir, sorry for the
intrusion, but we wish to express our delight in seeing you once
again lead our nation in this hour of peril.”

Washington stood. “Gentlemen, may I
introduce Lieutenant Colonel Elijah Vose and Major William Perkins.
Both served with distinction in the Continental Army.”

Everyone stood. Madison reflexively stepped
back when their foul breath accosted him. The soldiers, wearing
inane grins, had obviously imbibed well beyond the limit of a
gentleman. The little ceremony had an awkward feel as chairs
scraped and extended hands tangled, and the two officers gawked
when Gouverneur Morris stiffly lurched onto his wooden leg.

“
Excuse me, sir, did you lose your leg
in service to your country?” Perkins got this out just before a
tiny burp punctuated the query.

“
Oh, my goodness, no,” Morris said.
“It embarrasses me to admit this to you fine soldiers, but I lost
it jumping from a lady’s balcony.”

The officers, looking nonplussed, wavered
slightly in a vain attempt to maintain erect posture.

With an impish grin, Washington said, “Yes,
indeed, and the experience has sharpened his morals. He now works
harder to control his illicit impulses.”

“
My dear general,” Morris said, “you
argue the point so handsomely that I’m tempted to part with the
other leg.”

All six men now enjoyed an easy laugh that
erased the uncomfortable moment. Madison forced laughter to keep
from spoiling the story. Morris had actually lost his leg in a
carriage accident, but he savored his reputation as a rake, and
this little scene had been played many times before.

“
Gentlemen, before we part, I must
correct your erroneous notion that I shall lead the Federal
Convention,” Washington said. “I’m a tired old soldier. We need men
with far greater political skills than I to set our government
right.”

Vose blanched. “Excuse me, sir, but
the situation is far too grave for dithering politicians.” The man
tried to steady his bearing, shuffled half a step, and, after
catching himself, comically puffed himself up. “Many fine men have
expended their estates, hazarded their lives, and sacrificed their
families’ needs in the service of our country. Now disorder and
anarchy rule. The time has come for decisive
action

action dictated by
leaders with the will to suppress the rabble.”

Washington’s expression grew as stern as his
voice. “This rabble, as you call them, is composed of our
countrymen, who are trying to deal with problems not of their
making. Our leaders must see themselves as servants of the people,
not disciplinarians.”

“
Sir, we spent our youth as servants
of the people, spilled our blood, and have come to know their
miserly and ungrateful nature. Now they defy authority like unruly
children,” Perkins responded. He added in a rather nasty tone, “The
country needs a strong taskmaster, one backed by a loyal army to
impose his will.”

Madison watched Washington turn crimson.
When he spoke, Madison had never heard a colder voice. “May I
remind you, a soldier’s place is on the battlefield. In peacetime,
a warrior may feel discarded, but his blood does not buy him the
right to ration his countrymen’s liberty. Good night,
gentlemen.”