Tempest at Dawn (50 page)

Madison decided he liked
horseracing.

Madison and the other delegates
decided to walk back to the Indian Queen. The commotion was too
maddening to attempt to hire a coach. Gouverneur Morris had been
right: Washington won the second two races easily after nosing out
the first contest.

Hamilton tossed a bag of coins from hand to hand.
“Easy money.” Then with a laugh, he said, “I think Jemmy should buy
dinner.”

“
I didn’t bet.”

“
Penalty heaped on punishment. A Puritan
tradition.”

“
We’re not in New England, nor am
I a Puritan. I trust you’ll be a gentleman and part with one or two
of your sovereigns.”

“
Very well, the night’s entertainment is on
me. I haven’t played host in a while.”

“
If that is the measure,” Morris said, “it
would be your turn for the next two weeks.”

“
Gentlemen, my duty is not to pay
but to entertain you poor souls and bring cheer into our little
conclaves.”

“
Indeed. Every evening, I look forward to your
relentless pessimism.”

“
Bah! You’re a good-natured beast,
Mr. Morris, but you need reminding that the common man carries a
bag of faults he tosses to the wind with no discernible
pattern.”

“
Man sins, but he can also be noble,” Madison
said, halfheartedly.

“
As we prove with this convention,” Hamilton
said. “A noble enterprise, nobly achieved.”

Morris looked irritated.
“It
is
a noble
enterprise. Perhaps not nobly achieved, but we’ll achieve it
nonetheless.”

“
We’re not finished yet,” Madison
said.

“
Don’t worry, Jemmy. You shall have your
republic.”

Madison glanced at Morris. “What
makes you so confident?”

“
The general doesn’t like to
lose.”

Chapter 29

“
How is Mrs. Sherman?”

“
Lonely.”

Sherman had returned late to his boardinghouse. As
on his first night in her home, Sherman had found Mrs. Marshall
knitting in the parlor. She beckoned him with a two-handed wave of
indigo yarn and said, “Come in, Mr. Sherman. Sit a spell.”

“
Thank you.” Sherman took a seat in an
opposing chair positioned in front of the dead fireplace. “What’re
you knitting?”

“
A cap. I have someone who sells them for me
on Market Street.”

“
Isn’t it a bit hot for a knit
cap?”

Mrs. Marshall dropped the skewered heap of yarn into
her lap. “Mr. Sherman,” she said in an exasperated tone, “I thought
you were a smart man. In the winter, I tat lace for summer
sale.”

“
The house doesn’t support you?”

“
Boarding has been good this year, but a
little extra never hurts. Besides, I enjoy ending the day with
handiwork. It soothes me, and this room seems cool after a day by
the hearth.”

“
You’re an excellent cook.”

“
And I knit a tight cap—along with other
talents.” She set her knitting aside and bounced out of her chair.
“Brandy? My treat.”

“
Thank you. That would be a tidy end to an
unkempt day.”

“
Difficulties?” Mrs. Marshall asked as she
handed him an expensive snifter that looked like Stiegel
glass.

After she had settled into her chair, Sherman said,
“Not exactly. Just the drudgery of a herdsman entrusted with a
flock that tends to wander.”

“
How long before you return home?”

“
Perhaps a few weeks.”

“
Then we’ll soon know what you men have dealt
us.”

Sherman took a sip and discovered that the expensive
goblet held a middling brandy. “What’ve you heard?”

“
That you bicker and haggle like old
women.”

“
The purpose of politics is
debate.”

Mrs. Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Debate?”

Sherman shrugged.

“
Well, I hope you fix the money
problem.”

“
I’m optimistic on that score.”

“
Good. That’ll make it easier to run my
house.”

Sherman put his glass on the side table. “Mrs.
Marshall, I apologize, but can you wait a few more days for our
board?”

Mrs. Marshall leaped out of her chair, exclaiming,
“Oh my!” She scurried out of the room. “I think the letter you’re
expecting arrived.” She returned a moment later, carrying a smile
and a post.

After Sherman sliced open the envelope, he grew his
own smile. “I’ll pay our delegation’s arrears tomorrow.”

“
You received a draft?”

“
Yes, Connecticut has appropriated an
extension of our allowance.”

“
I’m happy for you. I know you worried
so.”

“
Thank you for your patience.” Sherman put the
draft in his coat pocket. “I hope you didn’t assume any debt on our
account.”

“
Never. Too many people I know have taken up
residence at the Walnut Street prison.”

“
I never would’ve let that happen to
you.”

“
Mr. Sherman,
I
never would have let that happen to
me.”

Sherman, taken aback by the strident tone, didn’t
reply. In a slightly more relaxed voice, she said, “Debt is a vice
I do not abide.”

“
Your husband?”

“
When he died, it took me two years to pay off
his debts. I sold most of my fine furniture and accessories.” She
made a dismissive wave at the fireplace. “Instead of chalkware
figurines, that mantle used to display an ormolu clock and a pair
of Sèvres vases.” Mrs. Marshall tossed her hair. “Long
gone.”

That explained why a few expensive pieces sat among
the mostly tattered furnishings. Sherman glanced at the mantel that
still held Mrs. Marshall in a wistful trance. She sat quiet a
minute and then met his eyes to explain. “My husband thought money
should always be in motion, his and any sitting idle in another
man’s purse. I was ignorant of his dealings until the strain put
him in an early grave. After I put his books in order, I swore to
keep a clean ledger.”

“
You manage the house well.”

“
Thank you. I make the most of it. It’s all I
received from my husband’s estate … besides a drawer full of
worthless bonds.”

“
You own Pennsylvania bonds?”

“
So does Howard.”

“
Howard?”

“
What surprises you? That a Negro had money or
that he supported the Revolution?”

“
Both I suppose. Stupid of me.”

“
We pay Howard a fair wage, and he believes in
that document you signed.”

Sherman took another sip of brandy. “All men created
equal … not self-evident to everyone.”

“
Nonetheless true.”

Sherman felt humbled. He made a decision. “Don’t
sell your bonds.”

She leaned forward, as if joining a conspiracy. “The
new government is going to honor war debt, isn’t it?” Sherman
conveyed nothing in word or expression. “May I tell Howard?”

“
Yes, but no one else until the convention
concludes.”

“
Speculators have stepped up their purchase of
old bonds.”

“
Guesswork at the moment. At least, I hope.”
Sherman had second thoughts. “Make sure Howard understands you must
keep this to yourselves.”

“
Don’t worry. More happens in this house than
you think. Nothing has escaped.”

Sherman relaxed a little. “Tell me your best boarder
story.”

Mrs. Marshall laughed with genuine gaiety. “Tawdry
tales should be shared only with intimates. But we’ll see. I do
appreciate the advice. You gentlemen may have done a proper job.
Now, if you could only make my western lands valuable.”

“
You own western lands?”

“
Mr. Marshall threw money in every
direction.”

“
Sell it.”

“
What? Sell my land and hold my paper.” Mrs.
Marshall took on a mocking tone. “Mr. Sherman, are you rich? Should
I heed your advice?”

Sherman laughed now. “No, I foolishly put my money
into Connecticut bonds.”

“
Then why should I listen to you?”

“
Listen to Adam Smith. He said the price of
anything is the toil and trouble it takes to acquire it. Squatters
take all the land they want with no toil, no trouble.”

Mrs. Marshall looked dubious. “Are you saying that
the value of western lands will never swell?”

“
Not in your lifetime.” Sherman saw annoyance
flash across her face. Figuring it was the indirect reference to
her age, he added quickly, “It’ll take a hundred years to populate
a boundless frontier. Emigration is restricted by the number of
ships at sea.”

“
Everyone buys western lands.”

“
Passion makes people do foolish
things.”

“
Indeed.”

Sherman became wary of her coy smile. “Did you ever
hear about the tulip rage in Holland?”

“
It went bust.”

“
And so will this craze. When this bubble
bursts, many prominent people will become neighbors of your friends
on Walnut Street.”

Mrs. Marshall sat a moment and then said, “I’ll
consider your advice.”

Sherman stood up and didn’t bother to stifle a heavy
yawn. “Excuse me, but I must get to bed.” He gave her what he hoped
was an engaging smile and said, “Since I was unable to pay my board
until this evening, you may give the advice the weight it
deserves.”

Mrs. Marshall also rose. “I’ll give it the weight
due a wise and good man.” She picked up the two brandy glasses,
hesitated, gave Sherman a direct look, and then asked, “Mr.
Sherman, are you lonely?”

“
Don’t tell Mrs. Sherman, but I’m far too
busy. Good night … and thank you for the brandy.”

On Thursday morning, Sherman and Ellsworth
wandered into the already stuffy State House chamber. Ellsworth
arranged his papers for a moment and then asked, “What’s our plan
for today?”

Sherman became distracted when he saw
several delegates migrate to a corner. Keeping an eye on them, he
said, “I’d prefer a shorter executive term.”

Ellsworth looked uncertain, but Sherman
barely noticed. He continued to watch as delegates meandered around
to bid good morning and chat with friends. He judged the mood
businesslike, with no sign of frenzied exchanges driven by high
emotion. Good. Perhaps he could get home shortly.

Gouverneur Morris started. “We must make the
executive strong enough to pervade every corner of this vast land.
If the executive is impeachable, some demagogue will hold him
hostage.”

Sherman didn’t understand why Morris was
against impeachment. As a judge, putting the executive beyond the
reach of the law grated against his hardest held convictions.

Gouverneur Morris thumped around and then
delivered an oratory flourish he hoped would close the issue.

“
If the executive is to be the
guardian of the people, let the people elect.

“
If the executive is to check the
legislature, let him be unimpeachable.

“
If the executive is to be reeligible,
let his term be short.”

Wilson observed that election by the people
seemed to be gaining ground, but Paterson jumped up to bellow that
the rabble was unqualified to select an executive. Sherman leaned
over and whispered to Ellsworth, “If Wilson said the sun sets in
the west, Paterson would insist that it sets in the east.”

Ellsworth threw a glance at Ellsworth. “But
only after he first yelled treason and stomped around like a raging
schoolmarm.” Both men chuckled as Madison stood to speak. In order
to hear his quiet voice, Sherman and Ellsworth stopped their
banter.

“
How do we design a strong executive
unbeholden to another branch and avoid a monarch? I believe the
people should appoint, but how do we give proper weight for Negroes
in the South? The use of electors will give the South their proper
influence.”

Until now, Sherman had found it ironic that
he had promised to help the South protect slaveholdings, while
Madison, who owned slaves, condemned the institution. Madison now
seemed to defend his fellow Southerners.

Ellsworth quickly clarified their
coalition’s preferred design. “I move to strike out appointment by
the national legislature and to insert ‘to be chosen by electors
appointed by the legislatures of the states.’” Without debate, the
motion passed. Sherman leaned back with satisfaction. Yes, he might
be home soon.

Ellsworth next proposed a term shorter than
seven years. “I move for a six-year term.”

Sherman smiled.
Six years was certainly less than seven, but by as small a
decrement as possible. The proposal, however, passed.

Pinckney and Gouverneur Morris then
passionately argued to delete the impeachment clause. Morris
searched for a convincing argument. “Gentlemen, will impeachment
suspend his duties? If not, the mischief goes on. If it does, the
mere launch of an impeachment will render the executive inert.”

Mason responded with a rare spate of
anger. “Shall any man be above the law? Above all, should this man
be above the law
��
the one who
can commit the most outrageous wrongs?”