Tempest at Dawn (72 page)

“
The mill girls in Lowell live a more
restrictive life.”

“
They choose to work in the mills, and
they can choose to leave.”

“
Yes, of course they can. Shall we
proceed?”

We rode around the plantation, but I was
disappointed to see that late fall didn’t require work in the
fields.

“
Mrs. Madison tells me you’re an
abolitionist,” Watson said.

“
Yes.”

“
Montpelier is a large, well-run
plantation. We do not abuse our slaves.”

“
You mean you take care of your
property.”

“
Exactly.”

“
I meant that
sarcastically.”

“
I know.”

“
Do you believe treating a Negro as
well as a horse condones slavery?”

“
We’re all slaves, to one degree or
another.”

“
Then the degree matters.”

Watson turned in his saddle to look at me.
“Interference from soppy abolitionists will incite armed
conflict.”

“
You’re suggesting the South would go
to war?”

“
I’m not suggesting.”

“
Were you instructed to give me this
advice?”

“
I was instructed to show you
Montpelier.”

“
Not much to see.”

“
We’ll go to the
ironworks.”

We rode up to a large shed and dismounted.
Inside, the dark interior brought a little warmth from the forges
scattered around the periphery of the earthen floor. About eight
black men labored at different tasks, and the hammering, the
protesting hiss of hot iron dipped in water, and the snap of embers
gave the place a bustling atmosphere.

“
Montpelier has the largest blacksmith
operation in Orange County. Take a look around. I’ll be back in a
moment.”

Watson walked over to a white man just
entering the shed. “Hello, Mr. Caster. What can we do for you
today?”

“
Nails. I also want to settle my
account.”

“
I hope that means you had a good
crop.”

“
Middling, but one of my niggers grew
into a strapping buck that brought a good price.”

I saw a hooded look from the black man
standing a respectful distance behind Caster and realized he was
not a Montpelier slave.

“
Let’s step over to the ledger,”
Watson said.

As Caster followed Watson to a writing shelf
along the wall, he pointed and said, “Sam, carry one of those kegs
out to the wagon.”

The keg of nails looked anchored to the
floor, and I knew that I could never lift it. Sam crouched and,
winding his lanky arms around the keg, with a grunt brought it up
to his chest. As he shuffled toward the door, he suddenly stumbled
and dropped the keg, spewing nails in every direction. Sam
immediately dropped to his knees to gather up the nails, but once
he had a double handful, he looked forlornly at the burst wooden
keg.

Caster flew across the shed and kicked Sam
in the rear, splaying him across the nail-strewn floor. “You
imbecile!”

I stepped forward, but Watson held up a
restraining hand. “Mr. Caster, no harm. We’ll get you another keg
in respect for your business.”

Caster hovered over his slave, and for a
second, I thought he might give him another kick, but instead he
made a dismissive wave of his arm. “Sam, you thank Mr. Watson for
savin’ you a whippin’ and make sure to gather up every one of those
damn nails.”

“
Yas suh, and thank you, Mr.
Watson.”

I wanted to help Sam pick up the nails, but
a stern look from Watson dissuaded me.

After the incident, we left the shed and
rode back to the mansion in silence. Dismounting, I couldn’t help
but throw one more barb. “Mr. Watson, would the South fight to
protect men like Caster?”

“
The South will fight to protect
Virginia’s right to choose her own way. Good day, Mr.
Witherspoon.”

I found the Madisons in the
parlor, sitting side by side with an unoccupied chair facing them.
I took the chair and leaned in to rub my hands in front of the
crackling fire. An involuntary shudder tried to chase away my chill
and distress.

“
Tea or coffee, sir?” This came from
Sukey, who had materialized behind me.

“
Coffee, please.” I twisted in my
chair to see her face, but she had disappeared.

“
I see it hasn’t warmed up,” Madison
said.

“
No, there’s a crispness that brittles
your bones.”

“
Well, warm yourself,” Dolley said.
“We’ll have coffee for you in a moment.”

“
Thank you.” I soon felt flushed and
leaned back in my chair. “Mr. President, Mrs. Madison, may I speak
bluntly?”

This caused Dolley to laugh merrily. “I
thought you had been speaking bluntly.”

This took me aback, but I plunged ahead
anyway. “At your ironworks, I witnessed an atrocity perpetrated by
one of your neighbors. The man physically and verbally abused his
slave.”

“
Who?” Madison asked.

“
Mr. Caster.”

“
Ah, yes,” was all he said.

“
You know him?”

“
Of course. Most slaveholders own
fewer than five slaves. They’re hardscrabble planters, and Caster
is typical of the breed. An unseemly lot.”

“
So most slaves are owned by harsh
masters?”

In answer, Madison simply turned his teacup
in its saucer.

“
I’m sorry, sir, but just because
you’re a humane master does not make you better than Caster. You
should free your slaves.”

“
You probably believe me rich, but my
debts far exceed the value of Montpelier. The
liens

”

“
How will you survive?” I had thrown
the question at Dolley, surprised by how quickly I had grown fond
of her.

“
I’ll publish James’s notes from the
Constitutional Convention. The world has waited fifty years for
them.”

“
Is that why I can’t read
them?”

“
I assure you, you need not wait
long.” Madison smiled. “If I may continue?”

“
Of course.”

“
The liens against my estate include
my slaves. You may think me an incompetent planter, but I assure
you that my predicament is common.”

“
That’s why you can’t free your
slaves?”

“
I was making a larger point.
Abolition will cause a financial collapse.”

“
I never believed abolition would
leave the South intact.”

“
Intact? Abolition will destroy the
South: its plantations, social order, financial institutions, and
governments. Absolute devastation.”

“
So, we should do nothing?”

“
I once thought the wound would heal
itself, but I’ve come to believe that only a cataclysm will wipe
this scourge from our land. Fifty years ago, your grandfather asked
me to end slavery. I could not. So I promised to end the slave
trade. There were many difficulties, but I managed to get a
prohibition put into the Constitution.”

“
It didn’t take effect until
1808.”

“
I got what I could.”

“
And in the intervening
years?”

Madison coughed, holding a tiny fist in
front of his mouth. “The past is immutable.” Madison gave Dolley a
glance. “If emancipation comes, your generation, or one following,
must endure the cost.” He rubbed his gnarled knuckles. “You say
you’re an abolitionist, but are you willing to sacrifice the lives
of your relatives to this cause?” When I hesitated, Madison added,
“You cannot defeat the South by yourself. It will take your family
and all your neighbors.”

I spent many moments pondering his question.
“I might sacrifice one generation to free countless generations,
but I’m not convinced it must come to war.”

Madison struggled to lift himself, and
Dolley quickly helped him rise to his feet. The old man seemed
especially frail, and I could barely hear him mutter, “The bane of
slavery has afflicted me all my life. I shall soon be free.”

“
You still have time.” I had to make
one last plea. “Write a letter to the nation. People will listen to
James Madison.”

“
No. I intend to abide by the bargain
we struck in Philadelphia. With my passing, we’ll all be dead, and
I shan’t violate their trust in my last days.” Madison made a few
feeble steps toward the door. “I’ll go to my grave satisfied that I
bequeath a lasting republic to my countrymen.”

“
A republic with a basic
flaw.”

Madison interrupted his halting shuffle to
look at me with taunting eyes. “We provided the necessary
mechanisms for change.”

Madison leaned on Dolley and extended a
tiny, emaciated hand. I stepped forward and gently shook his hand
for the first time. It was startlingly weak. I looked hard at this
mortal man who had carried into history such immortal aspirations.
When he grappled with the world and endless generations, his
egalitarian mind intended nothing but good, but within the confines
of his home, he acquiesced to unconscionable tyranny.

“
It’s been a pleasure, Mr.
Witherspoon.” Dolley gave me a smile and assisted the last of the
founding fathers out of my presence.

I reached down to pick up my notes
when I heard his familiar voice. “We also bequeathed a loftiness of
purpose
that will continue to expand
liberty.”

And then he was gone.

Author’s Note

There are many excellent history books
about the Federal Convention. This novel is not one of them. A
historical novel has its own strengths and limitations. I chose the
novel format because the drama and characters begged to be brought
to life. A novel also provides a vehicle to fill gaps in official
records. For every journey away from the documentation, I took care
to ensure that sufficient circumstantial evidence exists to justify
my conjecture. Errors have undoubtedly occurred, and
Tempest at Dawn
should not be viewed
as a definitive source.

Certain literary license was required.
Sherman did not arrive in Philadelphia until May 29, the third day
of the convention. Others delegates at Benjamin Franklin’s
preconvention party also had not arrived. Unlike an
eighteenth-century convention, a novel must get its players on
stage when the story requires, not when they meander into town.

Everything said in the State House chamber
is accurate, but the debates have been rearranged for clarity.
Madison’s record of the convention is 231,000 words, so obviously
the deliberations have been severely abridged. In addition, the
language has been modernized, the sequence adjusted in some
circumstances, and, at times, two or more days have been blended
for brevity. The actual debates meandered in a fashion not
conducive to fiction. With Madison’s hard work, we have a
near-verbatim record that can be pursued by those interested.

In order not to confuse the reader with too
many characters, some actual quotes are attributed to a delegate
already active in the story. In most situations, I used a character
from the same state as the person who actually made the statement.
One serious deviation, however, is Paterson’s angry speech on June
30. This speech was actually delivered by Gunning Bedford of
Delaware.

Benjamin Franklin, due to age and ill
health, was too feeble to make his own speeches. He wrote them out
for James Wilson to read. Oliver Ellsworth left the convention in
late August and was not present for the signing. He actively
supported ratification. The Reverend Doctor John Witherspoon was
present for the Presbyterian Convention prior to the Federal
Convention but may not have stayed through the summer. The
Montpelier ironworks, as described in the Epilogue, no longer
existed in 1835. Due to wood rot, the State House steeple was
removed in 1781 and not replaced until 1824.

Seven delegates refused to sign the
Constitution. John Lansing, Jr., and Robert Yates, of New York,
left the convention in protest in July. Luther Martin and John
Francis Mercer, of Maryland, left just prior to the signing
ceremony. George Mason and Edmund Randolph, of Virginia, and
Elbridge Gerry, of Massachusetts, were present at the ceremony but
refused to sign. William Blount, of North Carolina, said he signed
only to attest that the states were unanimous.

The delegates from other states feared that
Virginians wanted to dominate the new nation. Their fears may have
been justified. The District of Columbia found a home on the
Virginia border, and Virginians controlled the presidency for
thirty-two of the nation’s first thirty-six years.

The Connecticut Compromise proved only a
temporary truce. Sherman proposed the compromise to protect the
small states, but the South immediately recognized that the Senate
could protect slavery. The next seventy-three years saw compromise
piled on compromise, until the divisions between the North and
South escalated into civil war.

Discover other titles by James D. Best
at
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jamesdbest

http://www.jamesdbest.com/