Tempest at Dawn (9 page)

“
You refuse to give my plan a
hearing?”

“
Surely you don’t intend to go back on
your word?”

“
I’m a gentleman,” Pinckney said with
more strength than Madison would have expected. “You’ll have my
vote in the initial round, but if we reach a stalemate, I believe
my alternative can save us from a debacle.”

Madison had spent thousands of hours
studying ancient and modern governments, argued their flaws with
the greatest minds, designed a faultless system, and artfully
secured powerful patrons. Now Pinckney, idle and vainglorious, had
jotted a few notes and demanded the stage.

“
Mr. Pinckney, I don’t control the
proceedings, but I assure you that every alteration will be
entertained if we reach an impasse. I’ll keep your kind offer in
mind.”

“
My offer is not an alteration. It’s a
unique design based on populist principles.”

“
In that case, will you make a copy
for me? I’ve made a life’s study of governments and am always eager
to examine well-conceived innovations.”

“
Perhaps … but at a later
date.”

“
The convention will start
soon.”

“
I must polish the finer
points.”

Madison felt his irritation abate.
Pinckney’s answer meant that he probably had no plan. “We really
must rejoin the party.”

“
I deserve an answer. Yes or
no?”

“
I promise you’ll receive a hearing if
a deadlock ensues. I’m pleased that you’ve thought ahead. If the
need arises, we’ll be in your debt.”

Lightly gripping Pinckney’s elbow, Madison
steered him toward the house. He tried to quell his indignation,
knowing he would spend the next few hours with Pinckney. He must
disguise his shock and consternation.

Madison’s previous meals at Franklin’s home
had been small affairs, and the few guests had been dwarfed by a
room designed to seat twenty-four. This recent addition to the
house was a combination library-dining room, built after Franklin’s
return from Paris. The room stretched to over thirty feet and was
half as wide. A European marble fireplace interrupted the formation
of bookcases along one wall, while busts of great men sprinkled the
opposite wall of books. Windows at the north and south ends let in
soft afternoon light.

The room exhibited two busts of Franklin
next to sculptures of some of the greatest men in history. Most of
the delegates probably hadn’t noticed the tall clock ticking away
just outside the door, uninhibitedly adorned with a portrait of
their host.

The long mahogany table was set with fine
imported porcelain and silver. A crumb cloth stretched under the
entire length of the table to protect the expensive, brightly
patterned carpet. The Virginia and Pennsylvania delegations had
worked together on the seating. To accommodate the large group,
three nut-brown chairs had been interspersed with twenty-four white
Windsor chairs.

Franklin, gout ridden, had already been
assisted to his chair in the middle of the expansive table. Madison
had asked to be seated between Pinckney and Butler, his intent to
keep South Carolina tethered to their commitments. After his garden
encounter with Pinckney, Madison thought the cautionary move
prescient.

Washington held a place of honor at the head
of the table. Alexander Hamilton, representing New York, sat to his
immediate left and Robert Morris, to his right. Madison saw that
most of the delegates had already taken their seats, but no one
seemed to notice his tardy arrival. Everyone was in a merry frame
of mind. People enjoyed a feast seasoned with animated discussion.
Franklin hosted the event to build camaraderie, temper ill-will,
and soften inflexible positions. As Madison’s sour mood faded, he
hoped the celebratory mood would carry over to the State House.

Franklin opened with a few gracious remarks
and a prayer. As if cued by a stagehand, six smartly dressed
servants entered bearing cod chowder, a Philadelphia tradition. The
retinue then proceeded to serve the guests with practiced élan.

Turning to Pinckney, Madison said, “Dr.
Franklin sets a fine table.”

“
Indeed, he does,” Pinckney said,
sipping from his tankard. “And his porter is as good as
promised.”

Switching topics abruptly, Madison asked,
“What’s the mood in South Carolina?”

“
Uneasy. Charleston worries about
trade, plantation owners fear the cash shortage, and the Spanish
and Indians scare the backcountry.”

“
Sounds dire.”

“
Everyone has placed an unreasonable
amount of hope on this convention. If we fail, we’ll face the wrath
of our countrymen. Or perhaps our success will incite their
fury.”

Relieved to be on a more agreeable subject,
Madison said, “People want to be delivered from their travails, but
they distrust us. We must aim for a government strong enough to
address national issues, but retain enough state governance for
local concerns.”

“
Ah, James, ever the philosopher,”
Pinckney said with a touch of mockery.

“
Philosophy can instruct,
Charles.”

“
I search not for purity in principle
but for solutions. That’s what will please my people. Form matters
not to them.”

Butler joined the conversation from
Madison’s other side and seemed to support Pinckney’s odd plea for
mediocrity. “We must follow the example of Solon. He gave the
Athenians not the best government he could devise, but the best
they would receive.”

For a moment, Madison regretted having asked
to be seated between the South Carolinians, but he tucked his
irritation away when he remembered that his intent was to measure
their mood. To delay a response, Madison dipped his spoon into his
soup. He put the half-coated spoon in his mouth and cleaned it with
his lips. The taste of the chowder exceeded the promise of the
aroma. Eagerly scooping a spoonful, Madison wondered if Butler had
endorsed Pinckney’s plan—or was the episode a ruse to gain an edge
for some other aspiration?

“
Mr. Butler, undue caution may render
us impotent,” Madison said.

“
Grand innovations scare people,”
Butler said, with his Irish accent. “People want order, sound
money, and to be free from unwarranted scrutiny of their habits.
They don’t understand government systems.” He looked peeved. “But
their representatives do.”

“
I don’t understand your
meaning.”

“
The South Carolina legislature won’t
sanction a plan that threatens their vital interests.”

“
Your apprehensions seem newly born,”
Madison said. “Which interests are under threat?”

“
It is not a subject for public
discussion,” Butler said.

Butler’s bitter tone gave Madison a clue to
their concern. The conversation drifted to less sensitive subjects
until the servants made another grand entrance, each balancing a
large platter of oysters on the outstretched palm of his right
hand. With a stylish flourish, they gracefully swirled the platters
to each guest, as if presenting precious pearls instead of the host
body.

Pinckney selected two oysters, each over
four inches. Gazing after the neatly uniformed Negro, Pinckney
said, “Dr. Franklin dearly loves to instruct. He sweetens his
tutelage with anecdotes and humorous stories, but his condescension
is nonetheless unmistakable.”

Franklin was a known abolitionist. His
participation at this month’s Pennsylvania Society for Promoting
the Abolition of Slavery hadn’t gone unnoticed. Madison realized
that the skilled and self-assured service by free blacks did convey
a message. He mused that his slaves at Montpelier could never put
on such a lavish and well-orchestrated ceremony.

All the states had vital interests, and each
state must tolerate the others’ interests. Madison could see no
logical reason why slavery should hinder progress, but emotions,
not logic, often ruled politics. This issue must not be allowed to
thwart the creation of the world’s first durable republic.

“
The English and the Spanish are like the two
ends of a huge tong, ready to pinch us until we crumble into small
bites.”

The long meal had reached its final stage,
and animated discussion engulfed the length of the table. Alexander
Hamilton provoked the conversation at Madison’s end. Hamilton,
thirty years old, had abundant charm to go with his good looks and
lean stature. Women, especially, found his deep blue eyes, auburn
hair, and clear skin attractive.

“
Shays and his ilk attack from within,
but we should be casting an alert eye to the horizon,” Robert
Morris added.

“
No need to look to the horizon,”
Washington said. “Enough enemies reside in our
backyard.”

Butler leaned in to gain attention. “The
Carolinas and Georgia are deeply troubled by the Spanish on our
frontier.”

“
And England loiters in the Great
Lakes region.” Hamilton slapped the table. “We must insist that the
British comply with the peace treaty and vacate their
forts.”

“
I shall send them a letter
forthwith.” Washington’s rejoinder drew laughter from all
sides.

“
And if they fail to respond, we must
forcibly evict them,” Hamilton said, as if Washington had been
serious.

“
Difficult without an army,”
Washington said.

Turning to Butler, Hamilton asked, “Did you
know that Congress has reduced the army to seven hundred?”

“
You must be mistaken,” Butler
said.

“
I visited Secretary Knox’s New York
headquarters. Three clerks. That’s it.”

Butler looked at Washington. “How will we
defend South Carolina?”

“
Not with militia,” Washington
answered. “And British garrisons within our sovereign territory
will eventually lead to another armed conflict.”

“
Something will break soon,” Hamilton
huffed. “Either the belligerent British in the North or the crafty
Spanish in the South will test our resolve.”

Madison wanted to remind South Carolina of their
stake in the convention. Turning to Butler, he asked, “How serious
is the trouble on your western frontier?”

Butler answered Madison while directing his
eyes toward Washington. “If something is not done—and soon—our
settlers on the other side of the Appalachians will join the
Spanish to protect their families and farms.”

From Madison’s other side, Pinckney added,
“This spring, the Spanish incited Indian raids on the Georgia
frontier. Seven families slaughtered.”

“
The Spanish are testing the pioneers’
allegiance to us,” Butler said. “Georgia declared martial law. We
may not be far behind.”

Hamilton now banged the butt of his dinner
knife against the table. “We must stop the Spanish before they set
the entire frontier ablaze with insurrection.”

Madison straightened his napkin and folded
his hands in front of him. Brave talk at a dinner party, safely
nestled in the heart of a thriving city, didn’t impress him.
Madison appreciated Hamilton’s logical mind, but the man’s passion
caused him discomfort. Inciting emotions defeated reason.
Hamilton’s love of bluster would this time, however, serve
Madison’s purpose. He wanted the delegates to fear a helpless
government.

Hamilton shifted to his favorite subject.
“The conflict has begun on the field of commerce.” Hamilton leaned
into a conspiratorial posture. “John Jay has kept me abreast of our
trade negotiations in London. He writes that England refuses to
lift the embargo on West Indies trade. And the Spanish have already
closed the Mississippi to block our western trade. They intend to
impoverish us so we cannot raise an army or equip a navy.”

When Hamilton spoke, Madison paid attention.
During the Revolution, Hamilton had served on Washington’s staff
and greatly influenced the general’s thinking. Or perhaps it was
the reverse. Hamilton had a habit of repeating Washington’s words,
especially in situations in which the general didn’t want them
directly attributed to him.

“
The risk of war is real,” Morris
said, “but my greater fear is internal rebellion. The mood outside
the cities is ugly.” Morris looked at Butler. “In the North,
farmers dominate state legislatures and get them to pass tender and
stay laws that cheat creditors. The states print money like
handbills, encouraging slothful behavior and distrust between
neighbors.”

Madison suppressed a snicker. The richest
man in Pennsylvania, perhaps the country, begrudged others a chance
to hold on to their small farms. Morris owned huge tracts of
western land, and Madison had heard rumors that ethical behavior
seldom tempered his speculative fever.

“
Are you implying that money is the
sole cause of our travails?” Madison asked the two money-obsessed
men.

“
Money is the root system that
supports the tree of liberty,” Hamilton answered. “Money is a
promise, a commitment. Not good, nor evil.”

“
You mean debt?” Butler
asked.

“
No, I speak of money. Money is a
promise by the government: if you put it in your purse, everyone
will accept it in exchange for goods when you draw it out. The
government must keep money whole.”

“
Just as a debtor must repay,” the
wealthy Robert Morris added.

Hamilton nodded. “Today, people turn to their state
governments to avoid their obligations.” Hamilton’s voice filled
with sarcasm. “The Europeans watch our feeble efforts with glee,
anxious to graft our broken pieces onto their empires.” Hamilton
was building to a climatic moment. “We’re not a nation, but mere
children playing adult games.” Hamilton paused for dramatic effect.
“The primary cause of our disorders lies with the small states and
the tenacity with which they guard their sovereignty. These
intransigent states must not be allowed to destroy our nation.”