Tempest at Dawn (51 page)

Franklin, always ready to soothe ill temper,
spoke in a cordial manner. “Gentlemen, what is the practice when a
chief magistrate becomes obnoxious?” Franklin gazed about the
chamber as if he actually expected an answer. When none surfaced,
he exclaimed, “Why, assassination!”

After a few gasps and some sprinkled
tittering, Franklin continued in his unique, whimsical way. “The
man’s not only deprived of life, but of an opportunity to clear his
name. To avoid unjust injury to a man’s reputation, I suggest we
provide some other form of punishment.”

The chamber laughed, but Sherman saw that
Franklin had pierced to the core of the issue. Franklin and Madison
shared a trait; they each invariably centered on the pertinent
issue. Franklin used droll humor, while Madison wielded logic like
a scythe.

Madison’s next comment did not disappoint.
“A majority of an assembly cannot be bribed, so it would be
difficult to get the legislature to act together in some devious
plot. On the other hand, the executive, as a single man, can be
corrupted. We must provide a defense against the duplicity of a
chief magistrate. Term limits are not enough.”

Gouverneur Morris thumped heavily to the
front of the chamber and contemplated something on the ceiling.
Evidently coming to a conclusion, he said, “I’ve changed my
opinion. More correctly, the arguments have changed my opinion.”
Morris met Washington’s eyes. “I now see the necessity for
impeachment. We are designing a system for the ages, not the next
few years.”

With Morris now for impeachment, the vote
came fast and decisive. The assembly voted eight to two to include
a clause that allowed for the impeachment of the executive.
Although Sherman hadn’t become highly engaged on this issue, he
felt as if he had achieved one more victory. More important,
another controversial subject had been resolved, which meant they
were closer to finishing their work.

“
Unanimity Hall, what
claptrap.”

“
What?”

“
The Pennsylvania
Packet
. They wrote a mindless article on the
convention.” Ellsworth thrust the newspaper in Sherman’s
face.

“
Oliver, I’m writing a letter.”
Ellsworth had barged into his room, eager to share the news.
Sherman ignored the press because he found that newspapers seldom
contained anything useful to his purposes. Since Ellsworth looked
crestfallen, Sherman set his quill aside. “Read it to
me.”

Ellsworth read the text as if it held great
portent. “‘So great is the unanimity that prevails in the
convention that it has been proposed to call the room in which they
assemble Unanimity Hall.’”

“
I prefer Harmony Hall,” Sherman
teased.

Oliver slapped the newspaper against his
thigh. “Roger, nothing goes unchallenged. We debate minutiae, argue
long-dead republics, and dispute the very quality of human
nature.”

“
Oliver, relax. Things have been going
smoothly of late.”

“
Smoothly? We seesaw like children.
Two sides, tottering back and forth ad nauseam.”

“
Monday, we were on the verge of
collapse. Think of the progress we made this week.”

“
It’s still like pulling an ornery
mule across a rickety bridge. We squabble over every gooseberry.”
Ellsworth looked back at the newspaper. “Who would feed the press
such drivel?”

“
Who has influence with Philadelphia
newspapers?”

“
Dr. Franklin?”

“
Franklin pushes unanimity. He’s
always saying that we must hang together or surely hang
separately.”

“
Does that mean our most senior
delegate violated the secrecy rule?”

“
I thought you said the article was
claptrap.”

Ellsworth shook his head. “What would be his
purpose?”

“
Mrs. Marshall told me that street
gossip says we bicker and haggle like old women. The article
counters those rumors.”

“
Does it matter what the street
says?”

“
We must nurse public opinion. Now we
need patience, and later we’ll need support for the final design.
Remember the Revolutionary pamphleteering. They nudged people to
wage war.”

“
The pamphleteers only hardened
existing opinions.” Ellsworth plopped down in the easy chair and
nodded toward the letter in front of Sherman. “Rebecca?”

“
Yes. I have pressing affairs in New
Haven.”

“
Events will accelerate now that we’ve
settled the executive.”

Sherman picked up his quill and said
distractedly, “Assuming it’s settled.”

“
You’re not sure?”

“
Nothing’s certain.”

On Saturday morning, Sherman
entered the chamber and walked immediately over to his customary
table. He didn’t want to hear a Paterson whine, a Martin bombast,
or a Gerry diatribe. The river had been forged, and he had lost
patience with his allies who refused to dump excess
baggage.

The delegates approved the
Virginia Plan proposal that the Senate would select judges. The
next subject was revisionary power. The Virginia Plan stated that
the executive could revise laws passed by the
legislature.

Wilson started. “Gentlemen, laws
can be unwise, unjust, or dangerous.” He tilted his head down to
look over his glasses. “But we should give revisionary power to the
judiciary, not the executive.”

Sherman scribbled a note and
passed it across the table to Ellsworth, who stood to endorse the
idea. “Judges possess knowledge of law, which an executive may not.
Connecticut approves of Mr. Wilson’s proposal.”

Sherman was pleased to see Madison also argue in
favor of the concept.

Gerry huffed and stuttered until
he managed a staccato rhythm. “I strongly object. This idea grants
judges the power to legislate and ought never to be
done.”

Instead of projecting his normal
self-assurance, Gouverneur Morris seemed thoughtful. “Some check on
the legislature is necessary. The only question is, in whose hands
should it be lodged? Bad measures are often popular. Some think the
people can spot mischief, but experience has taught us otherwise.
The press provides one means to diminish the evil, but it cannot
prevent it altogether.”

Morris sat without taking a
position. Martin had no such qualms. “Gentlemen, this is wrong! If
the judiciary opposes popular measures, they’ll lose the confidence
of the people. The constitutionality of laws will, in time, come
before the judges in their official capacity. Judges shouldn’t
intervene before that time. I cannot conceive of a greater
danger.”

Madison took the floor and,
uncharacteristically, seemed uncertain. “Our purpose is not to
blend departments, but to erect barriers to keep them apart.”
Madison stopped his customary pacing and gave the assembly a long
look. “Perhaps the revisionary idea ought to be
discarded.”

Sherman sat stunned but impressed. Madison ended up
on the opposite side of the fence from where he had started. His
switch in position and simple argument killed the entire concept of
revisionary power. The assembly voted to give the executive the
authority to veto bills in toto, but without the ability to revise
laws.

“
What do you think about the proceedings,
Roger?”

He looked up to see Madison.
Sherman sat in a cane lawn chair at the State House Inn. “I’m
satisfied. And yourself?”

“
My comfort increases daily. The design must
change because of your Senate.”

“
Our Senate.”

“
It will be our Senate only after
we leave the chamber. Now it’s your creature.”

“
The Senate provides balance and a unique
check,” Sherman said.

Madison shrugged. “I want your support for the
popular election of the executive.”

“
Not practical.”

“
Why not?”

“
Our nation’s too large. Results
from some states would be known before the count was completed in
other states.”

“
All counts could be disclosed on a single
day.”

“
Too much opportunity for
chicanery.”

“
Are you firm on this?”

The question gave Sherman pause. “I’m open to
reasonable alternatives.”

“
Would you consider dinner with me
and Rev. Witherspoon?”

“
I’d look forward to it.”

Madison gave him a friendly nod, then scurried
across the lawn like an energized child who had spotted a new
toy.

“
What did the little titan want?”

Sherman turned to see Dickinson. “Now I remember why
I avoid the State House Inn. Everyone bothers a simple man trying
to write a letter to a friend.”

“
Every part of that sentence is a
lie. You’re not a simple man, delegates hurry in other directions
when they spot you, and no one besides myself can abide
you.”

“
I
am
writing a
letter.”

“
Rebecca?”

“
No, John Adams.” Sherman set the
letter aside. “Pull up a chair. I’ll buy you lemonade or an
ale.”

Dickinson picked up another cane chair and
positioned it beside Sherman. “What does John say?”

“
He’s frustrated. The English refuse to give
him the recognition due an emissary from a sovereign
nation.”

“
He expects too much.” Dickinson
raised a hand to signal a tavern maid. “The English will treat us
like an errant child until we prove otherwise.”

“
That requires a sound government
backed by a secure source of funds. We have neither.”

“
Nor in the future, I suspect.”

This startled Sherman. “You think not?”

“
We design a hodgepodge. We should
follow the British model. They built a vast empire, and a British
subject has greater liberty than a citizen of any other
nation.”

“
Then why did we break away?”

“
Need I remind you that I voted against the
Declaration?”

Sherman had momentarily forgotten
this pivotal episode in his friend’s life. It seemed long ago, but
it had actually been only eleven years. A comely tavern maid gave
Sherman an excuse to avoid a response. “May I bring you gentlemen
some refreshment?”

“
I promised to buy this patriot a
lemonade.”

“
You promised an ale.”

“
I suppose I did. Two ales,
please.”

As the maid retreated to the
tavern house, Dickinson asked, “What’s your intent with the
executive?”

“
I want the states to control his
election.”

“
Why?”

“
If the states elect the
executive, and his term is short, and he’s eligible for additional
terms, he can’t ignore any region of the country. He’ll be forced
to be a national leader. An executive from the South will need
political friends in the North and vice versa. Nor will an
executive feel free to turn a blind eye to new states.”

“
Madison wants the people to
elect.”

“
The people elect the state
legislatures.”

“
You think it’s the same?”

“
Better.” The maid returned, and
Sherman took his ale from the young girl. After a bracing swallow,
he attempted to explain. “State politics are fought in tight
quarters, and the closeness means that elected officials are held
to account. If they choose a bad national leader, they’ll have to
explain it to their neighbors.”

“
This convention carries a severe
prejudice against state legislatures.”

“
A few irresponsible houses have
sullied the reputation of the rest.” Sherman ran his finger around
his damp shirt collar and took another sip of ale. “Their sin is a
craven servility to popular demand, not exactly the kind of tyranny
that suppresses the will of the people. Besides, will this sin be
banned at the national level?”

The two men languished into
silence a minute, and then Dickinson said, “I still fear we’re
designing a hodgepodge. It’s not the balanced system Madison
brought to Philadelphia, nor a copy of a working model. It’s
cobbled together each day from scraps and remnants. How can it
possibly succeed?”

Sherman knew his friend needed an
answer. “John, if the mix of interests crammed into the chamber can
agree on a plan, then it has a good chance of working. It’ll mean
that all those political rivals feel secure. That’ll happen only if
we balance power, build checks, and erect defensive measures. If
the diverse interests in the chamber are protected, interests not
present will also be protected.”

“
If everyone feels safe in their defensive
armor, who has enough power to lead?”

“
The darling of Mr. Madison—the
people.”

Chapter 30

“
Come, take a look,” Witherspoon
said.

Madison, Sherman, and Rev. Witherspoon had met at
the Coach and Horses for Sunday supper. The tavern had been
Witherspoon’s choice. The Coach and Horses appealed to the merchant
class and tradesmen, not the leisured affluent, but the food was
good and the service cordial. Witherspoon selected this tavern
because he wanted to show Madison and Sherman a novelty he found
fascinating.