Tempest at Dawn (49 page)

“
I want you to shed your
hypocrisy.”

“
You say that without your normal droll
note.”

“
I’m quite serious.”

“
Then I’m quite offended.”

“
Be that as it may, you must come to your
senses. Without slaves, Montpelier would go under. Your countrymen
insist on your allegiance.”

“
Insist? My family’s plantation
depends on slaves, but that doesn’t obligate me to protect an
institution I abhor.”

“
Slavery has been around since the beginning
of mankind.”

“
You want me to speak out for
slavery?”

“
Deeds trump words. You live well
off the labor of slaves. Preaching abolition will not bestow
absolution.”

“
Good day, Mr.
Pinckney.”

Madison whirled and hurried away.
What had riled Charles? He had never assaulted him that way, at
least not with a mean spirit. Fear. The South smelled a threat to
slavery. The Northwest? Cutler’s deal struck terror into the
slaveholding states, but the South got a good piece of the bargain,
and equality in the Senate provided a sturdy bulwark. Something
else. Revisionary power? They feared the power to negate state
laws. He had spoken out in support of revisionary power that very
day.

Madison slowed his angry pace. His
intent was to control the unruly state legislatures that issued
paper money, extracted tribute from neighboring states, and caused
all sorts of mischief. His target had been the North, but his
grapeshot could easily splatter the South. Having figured out the
cause of Pinckney’s anger quieted his intellect but did not ease
his emotional torment. The charge of hypocrisy hurt. Montpelier did
depend on slavery. He lived a rich and comfortable life, so
comfortable that he could dedicate his life to scholarship and
government systems.

Indeed, “Deeds trump words.” What
could he do? Nothing. At least nothing while his father was alive.
What would he do when he inherited Montpelier? His heart thumped
and he felt faint. Madison hurried his pace. He needed shade, a
cool drink, and time to catch up on his notes. Yes, he had to
scribe the day’s session, and he owed Jefferson a letter. He would
find time to think about this later.

Wednesday morning started with the
judiciary. The Virginia Plan called for appointment by the Senate.
With the Senate safely in state hands, the small states now
supported the Virginia Plan, while the big states wanted executive
appointment. Gouverneur Morris’s fear of bias had already surfaced.
Delegates shifted positions like a gusty wind whipping around a
courtyard, and Madison feared that the sundry details could keep
them here for many more weeks.

Mason started with a reasonable point. “The mode of
appointing judges should depend on the mode of executive
impeachment. If the judges form a tribunal for impeachment, then
the executive cannot appoint them.”

Dickinson jumped in with a rare display of
emotion. “Talk about impeachment is nonsense. It’ll be near
impossible to punish an executive for misdeeds.”

Madison wanted to press their goal
to weaken the Senate, so he offered the first compromise that
popped into his head: judges appointed by the executive had to be
approved by two-thirds of the Senate.

Sherman surprised Madison by speaking in
support of the compromise, but the vote was postponed until the
next day.

The debate moved to the guarantee of a
republican government for each state. It should have been simple,
but some objected that it might preclude the use of force to put
down rebellions. Madison lamented that Shays’s Rebellion skewed the
debate away from sound principles.

Wilson proposed a compromise that everyone
accepted: “a republican form of government shall be guaranteed to
each state and that each state shall be protected against foreign
and domestic violence.” Wilson’s wording permitted the national
government to put down insurrections and override tyranny imposed
at the state level. The convention used this high point to adjourn
on a positive note.

“
Jemmy, quick, jump in the coach.”
Gouverneur Morris sat in a hired coach, propping the door open with
his wooden leg.

“
Where’re you going?”

“
Sassafras Street. The general
commandeered a thoroughbred from Robert Morris and intends to race
any devil-may-care with a fat purse.”

Madison hopped into the coach and
squeezed between five other delegates. He looked across at
Hamilton. “What’s the general thinking?”

“
He’s thinking fun,” Hamilton
said. “Horse racing and gambling are two of his favorite
pastimes.”

Gouverneur Morris chuckled. “And
I’ll enjoy pocketing some dupe’s coin.”

Everyone shared a laugh except Madison. “The appeal
escapes me.”

“
Jemmy, my boy,” Morris said.
“Racing’s a basic impulse of the human species. Since the beginning
of time, if it moves, someone wants to race it. Whether it’s on
foot, on hoof, or on wheels, people enjoy contests of speed.
Especially our dear general.”

Hamilton slapped the roof of the
carriage and yelled, “Faster, driver! A quarter doubloon if you get
us there in five minutes!”

Madison heard the crack of a whip
and the scream of a pedestrian as the coach lurched forward and
bounded along the cobblestones at breathtaking speed. Madison
grabbed a leather strap hanging from the roof and held on for dear
life. Their destination was the northern edge of the city. The
official name, Sassafras Street, had been supplanted by the
nickname Race Street due to the rowdy pastime that had claimed the
dirt road.

In less than five minutes, the
coach came to a slow roll. Hamilton stuck his head out and said,
“Word’s out. The street’s clogged with foot and carriage traffic.
Let’s walk.”

The men tumbled from the coach,
and Hamilton made good his promise to the driver. The streets were
packed with people in a frenzied gay mood, all moving north in a
hurry. Madison and his friends joined the throng and eventually
elbowed their way onto Race Street. At first, it looked like
bedlam, but once they squeezed by the ruffians, the street
peddlers, and the merely curious, they spotted Washington astride a
mount about a block ahead.

By moving to the center of the
street, they were able to walk quickly toward their leader. For
once Madison appreciated the heat because it had baked the
horse-droppings dry and odorless. On second thought, it made him
wonder about the fine dust being kicked up. He pulled a
handkerchief to wipe the grime from his watery eyes and then held
it in front of his mouth as he squinted against the onslaught of
sun and grit.

Before they had closed half the gap, a man
intercepted them and shook a bag of coins in their face.
“Wager?”

“
How many contestants?” Hamilton
asked.

“
Four, but separate
races.”

“
Odds?”

“
Two to one against the ol’ man in
the first race. Straight up for the second two.”

“
Do you know who that old man
is?”

“
Of course. Jared Ingersoll can’t
gather a crowd this size.”

“
Yet you set the odds against Gen.
Washington.”

“
The general knows how to flog
men, but that doesn’t mean he can flog a horse. These boys are here
most afternoons, and your general has matched against the best.
Besides, by the third race, his bonny mare will be
tuckered.”

“
How’re the bets going?”

The man shrugged. “You’ll bet the
general—like the other delegates and sightseers.”

“
And the experienced betters?”

“
How much do you wish to wager?”

Hamilton turned to give his companions a knowing
smile. “Ten sovereigns.”

The bookmaker scratched his chin.
“A rich bet. On most days beyond my means, but
¾
” He waved his hand over the crowd.
“Let’s see the coin.”

After everyone but Madison set a
bet, the men moved further down the street toward the champing
horses.

“
You didn’t place a wager,” Hamilton
said.

“
I don’t gamble.”

Hamilton laughed. “This is no gamble.”

“
Nothing’s sure.”

Gouverneur Morris looked over his
shoulder. “This is, my boy. As sure a thing as you’ll encounter.
The general has the best riding seat in Virginia, and Robert Morris
paid a princely sum for this mare. These boys will get a rude
lesson from that ol’ man.”

“
We have another edge,” Hamilton
added.

“
What’s that?”

“
The general doesn’t like to
lose.”

As they approached the starting
point, Madison’s attention was riveted on Washington’s mount. He
had never before seen such perfection. All the horses in the Robert
Morris stable were first-rate, but this one looked like
Michelangelo had sculpted it as the rightful companion for David.
The shimmering red coat highlighted smoothly delineated muscles
that looked taut and ready for the slightest nudge of the heel. As
the well-groomed mare pawed at the ground, she occasionally threw
her head in disdain for all those about her.

It took a while for Madison to
notice Washington. He sat in calm dignity, seemingly oblivious to
the pandemonium or the side-strutting horse beneath him. He wore a
blue and buff trouser suit that carried a military hint but fell
short of a uniform. Both man and horse clearly were in command of
their purview.

Madison regretted not placing a wager.

“
The man’s in love.”

“
What? Who?”

Gouverneur Morris rollicked in
laughter. “The general. I’ve never seen him so smitten.”

“
With whom?”

“
The mare, of course.”

“
Oh.”

“
Robert had an agent buy her in
Maryland. She arrived this week, and it was love at first ride. The
general would mortgage Mount Vernon to get her, but Robert won’t
sell.”

“
She looks strong. Can she win three
races?”

“
The second two will be easy, if she can win
the first one,” Morris said, as he pointed at the
challenger.

For the first time, Madison
noticed the rider next to Washington. The small-framed boy could
not have been more than seventeen, and he appeared overmatched.
Looking nervous amongst all the commotion, he had a hard time
controlling his wiry horse that stood two hands shorter than his
rival’s mount. His brown trousers, open-necked white shirt, and
scuffed saddle contrasted with the general’s proper attire and
shiny black tack.

“
You’ve seen him race?”

“
That boy keeps me in tavern
money,” Morris said. “He and his horse may look common, but they
run with uncommon speed.”

“
Did you bet on him?”

“
Heavens, no. I wouldn’t want to
be seen collecting a wager against the general.”

“
But you think it’ll be
close?”

“
The edge goes to the one with the
greatest will to win. And they’re equally matched in that
category.”

“
Are you talking about horse or
man?”

“
Both, my dear boy. Both.”

Suddenly, a man stepped in front
of the two riders waving a handkerchief. The skittish horses
snorted and stepped back, away from the flag-waving starter. Two
other men ran down the road, shooing people out of harm’s way. The
race was about to begin. Everyone was shouting and cheering as a
path cleared, and the mob surged back and forth as people strove
for a place to see. Madison was shoved to the side and found
himself separated from his friends.

As things grew almost hushed, the
starter yelled, “Riders, get ready!”

Washington, if possible, grew even more still, his
body posed slightly forward with his weight carried in the
stirrups.

The starter raised both arms and held steady for a
moment. The boy’s horse seemed to settle on his rear legs and
snorted with checked energy.

The starter’s arms dropped.

The horses bolted. Hoofs flew,
dirt sprayed, people yelled, and Madison found himself pushed and
shoved as spectators fought to get a view of the riders dashing
down the lane. He couldn’t tell who led, but the cheering grew
strident as the riders approached the finish. In what seemed like
an instant, the race was over.

Madison looked around but saw
nobody he recognized. Then he spotted the looping gait of
Gouverneur Morris, fifty feet down the street. How could a man with
one leg move so fast? Running, Madison caught up with Morris and
realized that everyone was sprinting toward the finish.

“
Who won?” Madison panted.

“
Well, Jemmy, my boy, I think the
general, but I’m guessing.”

“
From the cheering?”

“
The people do love their
hero.”

Soon, the sea of people parted,
and Gen. Washington emerged, trotting his horse back to the start
line. The closed-mouth grin confirmed that he had won the race.
Dozens of men raced alongside him, patting the horse, leaping to
pat the general, or, if blocked by other well-wishers, they just
patted each other on the back.