Prelude to Glory, Vol. 7

by Ron Carter

  * * *

  The evening incoming Atlantic tides were running high into Boston harbor, and seagulls and terns and egrets and grebes set the waterfront alive with their squawking as they wheeled and pirouetted in the easterly wind, then dropped like stones to snatch at the dead fish and refuse that littered the bay and the shore, and would remain until the tides reversed.

  The schooner Queen worked her way through the few ships anchored in the harbor, spilled her sails, and settled thumping against the dock at Clark’s Wharf. Minutes later the gangplank was lowered banging onto the pier, and Matthew Dunson was the first man to stride down, seaman’s bag over his shoulder, wind at his back. In the gathering dusk, he quickly worked his way through the scatter of shipping crates on the mostly deserted docks, past the dark windows of the office of DUNSON & WEEMS. He strode rapidly through the narrow cobblestone streets with birds and squirrels chattering in the greening of trees and grass and the budding of flowers, as they sought the safety of their nests and holes. His pace quickened at the thought of Kathleen and little John, and he was nearly trotting as he approached the white picket fence, pushed through the gate of the great Thorpe home, and hurried up the walk to open the front door.

  His heart leaped as he heard Kathleen’s call from the kitchen.

  “Matthew! Is that you?”

  “I’m home,” he answered.

  He heard the hurried steps, and then she was coming through the archway with John on one arm, the other extended to him as she exclaimed, “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  He dropped his bag to the floor and lifted John from her and held her close with his free arm, and she wrapped both arms about his neck. She drew her head back and kissed him, and John moved and pushed back from Matthew. Kathleen smiled.

  “He’s a little strange. You’ve been gone.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me help you with your bag.”

  “I’ll carry it.” Matthew picked up the heavy canvas bag with his free hand and with John in his other arm and Mary following, walked down the hall to their bedroom. He put his son on the floor and the bag on the bed and untied the knotted cord to lay it open. Kathleen emptied it on the bed and sorted the clothing for the wash while Matthew dropped to his haunches to talk to John who stood still, face a noncommittal blank.

  “Finished,” Kathleen said. “I was cooking supper when you came. I need to go back to the kitchen.”

  Matthew scooped the boy up and followed her back to the kitchen where she put her apron on, and opened the door to the black, cast-iron oven to stoop and peer inside. “Beef roast. About done.”

  She turned back to Matthew. “You saw Jefferson?”

  “I did.”

  She stopped moving, waiting.

  Matthew shook his head. “No answers. No solutions.”

  She raised a hand to her throat. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I hoped—”

  “We all did. There’s nothing he knows of in the law to help.”

  “What will you do? You and Billy.”

  “I don’t know. We’ll talk in the morning. I’ve got to find Caleb tonight. We’ll need him.”

  “Caleb? For what?”

  “I don’t know yet. I can tell you that Jefferson said several things that opened my eyes to issues I’ve never known, or never thought of.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Like what?”

  “Generally, what’s happening in this country, and which direction we are to go.”

  “Tell me.”

  “During supper.”

  She turned and lifted the lid from a pot of steaming potatoes to thrust a pewter fork into the uppermost. “Almost there.”

  He set the table while she put the smoking beef roast and steaming potatoes and cabbage onto platters and carried them to the dining room, then added sliced bread and cheese. Matthew lifted John to his chair between them, and Kathleen folded the little boy’s arms and gently held them while Matthew said grace. As they ate, Kathleen asked questions, and Matthew steadily added detail of his time with Jefferson in Annapolis. Kathleen eyes grew larger as she caught the beginnings of Jefferson’s vision for America.

  “I’ve never dreamed!”

  “Not many have.”

  Together they cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes, then Matthew said, “I need to go to see Caleb. I’ll be back soon.”

  He put on his coat and Kathleen followed him to the door. “Don’t be long.”

  He covered the two short blocks quickly, was hugged by a relieved Margaret and Brigitte, delivered his message to Caleb, and twenty minutes later walked back through his own door. John came walking sturdily across the parlor, arms outstretched to his father, who gathered him up and hugged him to his breast.

  Kathleen asked, “Was Caleb there?”

  A shadow crossed Matthew’s face. “Yes. They all were. But something’s not right in that house.”

  Kathleen stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Time will tell. He’ll be at the office in the morning.”

  They settled into the large chairs facing the screened fireplace with their son on the floor, investigating the fire tongs and scoop. For a while they spoke of things great and small while they watched the boy and smiled and laughed as he moved about, exploring the wonders of the fireplace and the parlor. At half past eight, Kathleen put John in his crib and rubbed his back gently while she hummed him to sleep. She returned to sit in her chair, and time was forgotten while the two talked of the little things, giving and receiving the nourishment that renewed their souls and would sustain them as life moved on. The clock was close to ten when Matthew turned out the lamps and they quietly walked to their bedroom.

  The breeze died in the night, and the sun rose on a still, warm, rare, New England spring day. It was as though the world were being born anew, a green canvas accented by splashes of reds and yellows as the early flowers burst from their buds to greet the morning. People in the streets walked with a lift in their spirits, and for a little window of time the burdens of life were forgotten.

  Well before eight o’clock, Matthew unlocked the office door, and he had a fire going in the fireplace when Billy arrived minutes later. Covington walked in, muttered his good morning as he hung up his hat and coat, and sat down at his desk. Caleb came in a few minutes past eight o’clock and stood silent, waiting for direction.

  Matthew gestured. “Get a chair.”

  The four of them gathered around his old, scarred desk, and Matthew leaned forward on his forearms to speak.

  “Jefferson knows of no law that will help us with the Jessica. He knows of no one in Virginia or in Congress who can help. He talked about Article Nine of the Articles of Confederation, but doubts it would apply. And if it did, it would take more than a year to get a decision from the committee that would hear the matter. Worse, there is no way to enforce any decision or judgment made by the committee.”

  He paused to give the three men facing him time to let it set in their minds. Then he continued.

  “So we aren’t here to decide how we can use the law, or a committee, for help, because they don’t exist.”

  Caleb interrupted. “Isn’t that the same problem Virginia had when we sailed the Rebecca out? There was no law or committee to hear their complaint against us?”

  “Yes. The same problem.”

  Caleb went on. “That leaves us without a ship, and without a remedy. Wasn’t it something like that that started the war eight years ago? The stupidity of a wrong being done, and no remedy except to fight?”

  Matthew turned to him. “Don’t you get any wrong ideas about getting the Jessica back.”

  A reckless smile crossed Caleb’s face but he said nothing.

  Matthew continued. “I’ve pondered the problem with the bank until I’m weary of it. I thought of one solution. I can put the Thorpe home up for security to guarantee the note at the bank.”

  Billy recoiled like he had been struck. “Have you talked to Kathleen?” />
  “No.”

  “Don’t. I won’t agree to it. I’ll let the business go first.”

  Covington spoke up. “Don’t consider it, Matthew. Your home is the last thing you give up, not the first.”

  Matthew’s shoulders sagged, and for a few moments he buried his face in his hands. Then he dropped his arms and turned to Covington.

  “There’s one more possibility. Did anyone inquire about using our ships to carry cargo while I was gone?”

  “Three or four. Four, I think. Seems half of Boston knows what Caleb and Pettigrew did down in Jamestown—ignored the Virginia authorities and cut the Rebecca loose and sailed her out. Most merchants admire it. They’re coming here with their business, but they have the same problem we have. They must deal in hard coin, which none of us has without a bank.”

  Matthew turned to Billy. “What about the bank? Have they said anything lately?”

  Billy’s face was troubled. “Two days ago they said they’re ready to call in their note. Looks like we start selling ships. Trouble is, who will buy? There’s at least ten ships out in the harbor right now for sale for whatever price the owner can get. If we sold all six of ours today, I doubt we’d get enough to pay off the bank note.”

  Matthew looked at Covington. “Any of those inquiries in writing?”

  “Three.”

  “What kind of cargo were they talking about?”

  “Stoves, nails, screws, horseshoes—manufactured goods—from the north. Tobacco and cotton and indigo from the south.”

  Matthew drew a great, weary breath. “Those are solid commodities. In what quantities?”

  “Could require all six ships, if it works at all.”

  “Reputable merchants?”

  “Yes. Been in business for years.”

  “What would happen if we took those written inquiries to the bank? Would they consider working with us for a while longer?”

  Covington shook his head. “I doubt it. They’re thinking the worst is yet to come.”

  “Is it worth a try?”

  Covington shrugged. “Can’t do any harm to ask.”

  Caleb broke in. “Is this why you wanted me here?”

  Matthew leaned back in his chair and took a moment to change the direction of his thoughts. “No, it isn’t. I thought I saw something entirely different that needed doing, and you might become a part of it.” He stopped and slowly shook his head. “Now I don’t know. If we lose the business, it won’t make much difference.”

  Billy asked, “What did you see?”

  Matthew sighed. “I better take a minute and tell you about the meeting I had with Jefferson. It took most of an afternoon. I saw and heard things about this country that I had never heard of or supposed. The first big shock was finding out there is no government institution or committee, no law anywhere, that can force any one state to do anything! That includes Congress. The entire government structure is powerless. Almost a fiction!”

  Covington was unmoved. Billy’s face was set but inquiring. Caleb was a blank. Matthew went on.

  “I saw maps of proposed new states as far west as the Mississippi.”

  “Whose maps?” Billy asked.

  “Jefferson. Hartley. Franklin. Others. Those men have plans twenty years in the future! Think about it! In twenty years we could have twice the number of states we have now. If that happens, what’s to hold them together? The Articles of Confederation? Those Articles are doomed! In our lifetime, there could be a war that would split this country into pieces. Just like Europe. The French and Spanish and English. Unending wars.”

  Covington sobered, and Billy’s eyes sharpened. Matthew continued.

  “Right now things are happening that are moving this country in that direction. The Virginia–Maryland conflict over the Potomac is a little thing, but it gives notice of the flaw that is leading the states toward their own destruction.”

  Again he paused for a moment. “The flaw is sitting right there in plain sight, but is so much a part of us we don’t see it for what it is.”

  “The Articles of Confederation?” Caleb asked. “They can be changed.”

  Matthew shook his head. “Not the Articles. The only purpose they serve is to define the problem.”

  Covington raised a hand. “What are you talking about?”

  For a moment Matthew held his peace, then spoke slowly. “The minds of men.”

  Billy stirred, then settled, waiting.

  “Europe and the United States—all the same. So deeply entrenched in centuries of thought that they don’t see it has not worked. If this country follows the old forms of government, the way the world sees them, we’re doomed. Either we understand that, or we don’t, and whether we survive as the United States depends on it, and what we do about it.”

  Covington shook his head. “You still haven’t told us—”

  Matthew cut him off. “I didn’t see it until I spent time with Jefferson. The longer I thought on it, the more clear it became. It’s his thinking that the time has come that we rise above the rule of monarchs. The principles of government that support kings weaken the people—rob them of the very strength they need to survive.”

  His voice was rising. “Kings exist on the principle of aristocracy. Aristocracy depends on preserving itself. Bloodlines, father to son, wealth and power that will never be shared. The degenerate rich maintaining themselves on the backs of the desperate poor. Think about it.”

  Matthew did not realize the passion in his own voice. “Jefferson is doing all he can to change that. He’s rewriting much of Virginia law. He’s attacking the laws of inheritance. Estates can be given to anyone, not just the bloodlines. The wealth of the rich who pass on without a will is no longer given to only the eldest son. If Jefferson succeeds, the aristocrats will soon find their wealth leaving their families.”

  Covington was staring, mouth clamped shut as Matthew continued.

  “Jefferson asks the question, what right does a government—any government—have to dictate which church a man shall join? We’ve always thought that right existed in government because we believed that was the only way we be certain to have a God-fearing state. Without God in government, it would eventually fail.”

  Caleb looked down at his hands.

  Matthew went on. “But Jefferson contends that true religion consists of the relationship between a man’s own conscience and his God—worship the way the man sees it, not the way the state dictates it. Can any government force its people to be virtuous? That’s nonsense! And if government cannot force virtue, then it must leave that choice to the citizens, where it belongs.”

  Caleb spoke quietly. “What’s this got to do with the shipping business?”

  Matthew ignored him. “Right now James Madison and Jefferson are talking with each other. They’re proposing new ideas, new ways to rise above the flaws that have the country in trouble. Conferences between states. Committees. Rules. Amending the Articles. I didn’t realize this country started this process a long time ago. In 1643, when four states joined to defend against the French and Indians. The alliance didn’t last long, but it was a start. There were other organizations, and finally, the Articles of Confederation to defend against the British. We know more about this new concept of government than any other country on earth!”

  Billy spoke up. “What new form of government?”

  “Government based on the rule of the people, not the rule of the aristocracy.”

  Covington tapped the desk with a finger. “The states have it now.”

  Matthew turned his head to face him squarely. “Then why is the Jessica under seizure?”

  Covington’s answer came too fast. “Because the states can’t . . .” He realized what he was saying, and stopped.

  Matthew nodded. “Exactly. Because the states can’t agree, and there is no law, no committee, no place to go for a resolution.”

  Billy interrupted. “Are we back where we started?”

  “We’re back, but do w
e see it differently now?”

  Covington leaned back, his mind leaping. He remained silent.

  Matthew waited until he knew all three men were waiting. “This country has got to find a new form of government that can make, and enforce, fair laws that bind the states together. That means the power to tax, to regulate commerce between the states, and to control border disputes.”

  Billy leaned forward, eyes narrowed in intensity. “You mean deny the states the power to govern their own citizens?”

  Frustration showed in Matthew’s face. “Some powers, but not all. Only the ones necessary to maintain peace.”

  Caleb interrupted. “You mean the states control the citizens, and the government controls the states?”

  Matthew turned to him. “That’s the direction. No one knows how to do it, yet. But either we learn it, or we watch the breakdown of the United States. Jefferson said a few of the leaders have started to encourage citizens to form a committee they’re calling the Committee for Correspondence. It isn’t a government committee—just a gathering of citizens who have an interest in trying to find a way out of the chaos.”

  Caleb shrugged and sat back down. “Jefferson thinks a Committee of Correspondence will do it? Whatever that is.”

  Matthew thumped the desk with his finger. “No. But if enough citizens in enough states start exchanging views, and finding out what works and what doesn’t work, it could help. Remember Thomas Paine’s writing, Common Sense? The citizens were ready for it, and it pulled the country together. Jefferson and Madison think the country’s ready for the next step.”

  Covington spoke up. “The hardest thing to change is the mind of another man. How long do these leaders say it will take? How many generations?” Covington bowed his head in thought and went on. “You had something in mind about this Committee of Correspondence. What was it?”

  Matthew shook his head. “We better spend our time finding a way to keep our families alive.”

  “No, what do you think such a committee could do?”

  Matthew was reluctant. “Work with Jefferson and Madison and others to get their thoughts out where people can see them, talk about them. Stir people’s minds.”

  “Like a newspaper?”