by Ron Carter
“You’ll always know where north is, and if you know that, you know where every other direction is.”
Instantly the boy was lost in moving his compass, watching the needle swing, turning it on the tabletop. Suddenly he stopped and looked up once more, eyes wide. “What makes it point that direction all the time?”
“We’ll get out a book tomorrow and find the answer.”
That was enough for John. If father said they’d find out tomorrow, they would find out tomorrow. He began working with his new treasure again, and Matthew thrust his hand once more into the seaman’s bag.
“Maybe there’s something in here for your mother, too.”
In a moment he placed a small package in Kathleen’s hands, and she worked through the wrappings to hold up a single strand of matched pearls. She gasped and clapped her hand to her breast. “Oh, Matthew! They’re beautiful.” John watched his mother throw her arms about his father and kiss him then step back and inspect her gift with eyes bright in the lamplight.
The sound of the clock on the mantle in the library striking halfpast nine gave them pause, and Matthew reached to pick up his son. “Time you were asleep.”
“Can I take my compass with me in bed?”
Matthew started for the archway. “Navigators don’t do that. They take good care of compasses. Put them on a table or a shelf for the night.”
The boy nodded, and Matthew picked the compass and the leather case from the table, and with the boy on one arm and the compass in the other hand, walked down the hall to John’s bedroom, Kathleen following with the lamp. They set the compass and case on his nightstand and Matthew spoke.
“Let’s kneel for night prayers.”
John said, “We already did.”
“Then we’ll do it again.”
They knelt and clasped their hands before bowed heads and closed eyes, and Matthew thanked the Almighty for protecting his family and for safe passage home. They finished, John got back into his bed, and Matthew pulled the sheet up to his chin and spoke softly.
“Thank you for taking care of your mother while I was gone. Now you go to sleep.”
John nodded, and Matthew led Kathleen from the room and closed the door halfway. They walked quietly back to the parlor, and Matthew carried his seaman’s bag to their bedroom to unpack while Kathleen warmed ham and potatoes. They sat at the dining table talking while Matthew ate and drank buttermilk, and when he finished they remained, talking, mindless of the passing time. Kathleen was spellbound with the stories of Matthew’s meeting with Madison who carried the leather case in which he kept his writings that were guiding the entire convention, and she laughed at the thought of old Benjamin Franklin arriving in a covered chair bolted to four poles, carried by four convicts from the local jail. She fell in love with Mother Asher in her boardinghouse and resolved that some day she would visit Philadelphia to thank her for taking such good care of Matthew.
Matthew listened intently as she chattered about the little things. John struggling against temptation to be sure he did everything Matthew had instructed. The kindling, don’t play with the ax, help mother with the wash, take care of your room. He grinned at the story of the little boy getting a stick of kindling wood to chase a stray dog out of the yard because the dog had barked at Kathleen, and he chuckled out loud when Kathleen told of John’s battle in learning to comb his own stubborn, unruly hair.
The clock struck eleven before they cleared the table, picked up the lamp, and walked hand in hand to their bedroom. Matthew pulled his nightshirt over his head and turned to Kathleen. “Prayer?”
“I’ve had two already tonight.”
“That should be enough.”
He turned the lamp until only the faintest gleam of light remained, and they slipped beneath the sheet. He reached for her and she came into his arms, and their separation and their troubles faded as they entered their own little world of peace and completeness and fulfillment.
Twice in the night Kathleen wakened to see the dark shape of Matthew sitting on his side of the bed, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, head bowed forward. In her heart she knew he was suffering from fear for Adam, and she knew he needed time to himself, so she remained silent and motionless until he quietly lay back down.
He was up at dawn and had split and stacked kindling by the time she had steaming oatmeal and fried sausages on the breakfast table. He helped clear the breakfast dishes then walked quietly to John’s bedroom to silently lean over the slumbering boy and kiss his forehead before he returned to the parlor. He embraced Kathleen for a moment, then quietly walked out the front door. In twenty minutes he was on the Boston waterfront, working his key in the front door of the office of Dunson & Weems, and half an hour later he greeted Tom Covington and Billy as they walked in. At the sight of Matthew, Billy stopped short and spoke.
“Glad you’re back. You had us worried. When did you get in?”
“Last night. You two all right?”
Tom nodded, and Billy wasted no time. “We’re fine, but things are not good here.”
Matthew picked it up. “Kathleen told me. How does it stand now?”
The three sat down around Billy’s desk and Billy laid it out. “You know about the Belle? Shot up, burned, wrecked on a reef down near San Salvador? Longboats and crew gone?”
“I know. Caleb?”
“He went down to find Adam and the crew, or learn what happened to them.”
Matthew pointed at a filing cabinet. “You know about the British Orders in Council? What they’ll do if they find Caleb down there with an American ship?”
“We talked about it.”
“You let him go anyway?”
“Not much choice. He was going, one way or another.”
“One of our ships?”
“The Zephyr.”
Matthew paused to reflect. “Light and fast, but she won’t have a chance if British gunboats catch her in a harbor. A ship and a crew at serious risk. I’m surprised you let it happen.”
Tom cut in. “We told Caleb about the British. And the French and Spanish. Any one of them will take him if they can.”
Matthew shook his head as Tom went on.
“For what it’s worth, we mounted twelve cannon—thirty-two pounders—on the Zephyr, and we picked a crew that have been in sea battles before. Some were with you at the fight on the Chesapeake.”
Matthew nodded. “That might help a little, but not enough if two or three gunboats trap the Zephyr in a harbor, or even against some island.”
Tom cracked a smile, and Matthew looked at him, puzzled. “You know something you’re not telling me?”
“Probably,” Tom answered. “Caleb took some flags with him. British, French, Spanish. He intends flying whichever one he needs to get into the harbors down there. He took along a British seaman who was first mate on a British merchantman before the war, and fought on our side from 1777 on. He’ll let that man do all the talking when they tie up to a British dock in San Salvador, or wherever the hunt takes them.”
Matthew looked at Billy. “He could be hanged for flying a false flag.”
Billy shrugged. “We told him.”
Tom cut them off. “He left here with the hold of the Zephyr empty. No cargo. Nothing. Riding high and moving fast. When he gets down there he’s going to open the seacocks and flood the hold with about three feet of seawater. She’ll settle in the water and look like a merchantman with a load. If he finds Adam and the others, he’ll pump the hold empty, get them on board, and make a run for it.”
Matthew shook his head. “Wild. Risky. Dangerous.”
Billy cut in. “Nearly impossible. But I have to tell you, there was no talking him out of it. He means to find his brother. I wish you had been here. You’d have let him go. Maybe even gone with him. I offered to go, but he said no. He knows about the promise I made my mother when my father died.”
Matthew looked at Billy. “You notify the insurance companies?”
“They’re on notice. They haven
’t decided yet if they want to send people down there to verify the loss. I doubt they will.”
Tom smiled and stood. “I can tell you one thing, Matthew. I wouldn’t fancy the idea of having Caleb Dunson mad at me.” He shook his head violently. “No, sir. Not Caleb Dunson. I don’t know if he’ll find Adam, or get him home, but I can tell you one thing. No matter what happens, the British, or the French, or the Spanish, or whoever has him, are going to do some suffering.”
Notes
The characters and events in this chapter are fictional.
The British Orders in Council were explained in the endnotes of chapter 14.
Philadelphia
June 5–9, 1787
CHAPTER XVI
* * *
An overnight shift in the winds from north to southwest, and a filmy cloud cover that turned the sun into a hazy ball, brought blessed relief from the wilting heat that had beleaguered Philadelphia. Shortly before nine o’clock the embattled delegates to the Grand Convention arrived at the Statehouse with a bit of a spring in their stride and a glint in their eye. The heat that had sapped them, wearied them, frazzled their tempers, was gone at least for this one blessed day, and they were starting to get the heft and feel of the Herculean task in which history and circumstance had buried them. They had killed the old Articles of Confederation in the first two days and cut the United States adrift from every vestige of government they had ever known. Over the next nine days they had conjured up a bicameral legislature and a one-man executive, and although not one man among them knew the shape of what lay ahead, there were some things they had learned that gave them the faintest beginnings of hope.
First, they were beginning to sense the direction in which they were moving. Exactly where it was leading they did not know, but in their bones was the instinct that said it was right. And every man could remember that just such an instinct was all they had had on that bright spring morning of April nineteenth of 1775, when their citizen-army met the British redcoats at the North Bridge in Concord and the shooting began. It had led them to independence.
Second, they were seeing the beginnings of a sorting of the delegates into two camps. One camp was pushing the entire convention toward retaining the power of government in the state legislatures, and the other was pulling it away from the state legislatures because of distrust of the turbulent, factious, and inconsistent actions taken by the states. Were it left to one camp, national power would be in the state legislatures—made up of men of property and substance and education, obviously better qualified in such matters than the common man. Left to the other camp, the power would vest in the citizenry.
And third, there was an emerging feeling that the small man who sat directly in front of the dais and meticulously recorded everything—James Madison—was the real force behind the fifteen shocking proposals so eloquently delivered in the four-hour, monumental speech given by Governor Edmund Randolph that first day. With some allowances for temporary departures, and errant and unrelated speeches by some delegates, the drift the entire convention had taken was noticeably consistent with that of Randolph’s pronouncements. With the oath of secrecy that blanketed the entire proceeding, no one dared speak of it outside the room; but it was becoming difficult for those inside the room not to see that the startling plan Randolph had so powerfully delivered was not his own, but the product of the genius of the quiet little man in front.
The delegates took their seats, Jackson noted a quorum, and Gorham framed the first issue for the day.
“‘It is proposed that the national judiciary, including the supreme tribunal and all inferior tribunals, be chosen by the national legislature.’”
Wilson nudged his spectacles back up his nose and rose. “Experience has shown the impropriety of such appointments by numerous bodies. The consequence of such procedure can only be intrigue, partiality, and concealment. A principal reason for unity in the Executive was that officers might be appointed by a single, responsible person. So it should be with the judiciary. Let the judges be appointed by one person.”
John Rutledge of South Carolina was shaking his head before he was on his feet, one hand high, a finger pointed to the ceiling. “I find it dangerous to grant so great a power to any single person. Not the least of the troubles such a thing would stir is the hard fact that the people will think we are leaning far too much towards monarchy! And I can find no sound reason to establish more than one single national tribunal. One supreme judiciary. The state tribunals are both capable and proper to decide in all cases in the first instance.”
Pinckney rose when Rutledge sat down. “I hereby give notice that when the clause respecting the appointment of the judiciary shall again come up before this committee, I shall move to restore the ‘appointment by the national legislature.’”
Rutledge smiled his approval of Pinckney’s good sense.
Madison rose and the room fell silent so his quiet voice could be heard.
“I dislike the election of judges by the legislature, or any numerous body. The danger of intrigue and partiality is necessarily present in such elections, because many members of the political bodies are not sensitive to the requisite qualifications of a judge. Legislative talents are very different from those needed by a judge, and all too often legislators are not cognizant of it.” He paused for a moment, and the other delegates shifted in their chairs, then became silent as he continued. “Nor am I satisfied with referring the appointment to the executive. My preference would be the senate, however, may I move that the words ‘ . . . appointed by the legislative . . .’ be struck out and a blank left to be hereafter filled on more mature reflection.”
Relieved at Madison’s motion to postpone the argument to another day, Wilson seconded the motion, the vote was taken, and it passed, nine to two. Who, or what institution, would appoint the court system of the new government would wait.
Franklin thumped his cane on the floor, and Gorham recognized him.
The elder statesman of the entire convention rocked forward in his chair, adjusted his right leg, and took a moment to settle his spectacles. Those nearest saw the signs and knew something outlandish was coming. They fell silent and waited.
Franklin cleared his throat and began. “Gentlemen, perhaps some of you have heard rumor that my errant life has led me to many places, here and abroad.”
Instantly half the delegates were smiling in anticipation.
“In those wasted years of rambling, I was once pleasantly surprised to find myself in Scotland.” He stopped, eyebrows raised as if something had just occurred to him. “For those of you who have not been privileged to know, Scotland is abroad, somewhere near England, as I recall.”
Men strained to maintain their composure.
“While I was there, attempting my escape . . .”
Someone chuckled.
“ . . . I chanced to find myself strenuously engaged with a Scottish court.”
There were sounds of muffled sniggering.
“To my utter astonishment, the judge correctly ruled they had no cause to hold me, and ordered my release!”
Gorham was grinning.
“I could not help inquiring how it was they had managed to place such an excellent judge of character and the law on the bench.”
Men had their hands covering their mouths, and Madison was steadily writing.
“I was informed of their system of selecting judges, and I now share that bit of Scottish wisdom with this august body. You see, in Scotland, they vest the power of selecting judges in the lawyers. And for very good reason. The lawyers meticulously determine which among them is the most capable and ablest in the profession, and that is the man they elevate to the bench.”
The room fell silent as they waited for whatever it was Franklin intended dropping on them in his conclusion.
“The result is, the judges who grace the Scottish bench are the best they have. As for the lawyer whom they have elevated to the judgeship, they are now rid of him, and they mos
t happily divide up his practice among themselves.”
Laughter filled the room. Men jabbed each other in the ribs, letting it roll, reveling in the momentary release from the tension and the snarled matters that were daily crushing them. Of those attending the convention, over thirty had spent part of their lives in the field of law; thirteen were practicing lawyers, and none relished Franklin’s irreverent jab at the legal system more than they.
Gorham leaned back in his chair and waited until the room quieted and some modicum of decorum returned before he pressed on.
“‘Such judges to hold their offices during good behavior, and to receive punctually at stated times, a fixed compensation for their services, in which no increase or diminution shall be made so as to affect the persons actually in office at the time of such increase or diminution.’”
The clause was put to the vote and passed. Judges would be held to a standard of performance, and be paid.
An adventurous, aggressive spirit seemed to creep into the room, and as the day wore on, Gorham moved the committee forward in rapid order. Three propositions were presented, argued briefly, and postponed to a future date. First, that new states could be created; second, that they should be guaranteed republican government; third, that the system now being established ought to be subject to amendment without requiring the assent of the national legislature.
He stopped at the next proposition, scanned it carefully, and read it slowly. “‘It is recommended that conventions under appointment of the people of the various states be empowered to ratify the constitution.’”
Roger Sherman came to his feet. “I conclude that popular ratification of the new constitution is unnecessary, since the Articles of Confederation provide for changes and alterations with the assent of Congress and ratification of state legislatures.”
Madison was on his feet the moment Sherman sat down. “We must remember the Articles of Confederation are no longer in force, and in any event, even as a model, those articles were flawed regarding ratification, since in many states the acceptance rested with the legislatures only. Hence in conflicts between acts of the states and Congress, an uncertainty prevailed. Further, since the Articles of Confederation were in effect a treaty between the states, they were subject to attack on the grounds that a breach of any one article, by any state, absolved all other parties from the entire document. For these reasons, the new constitution must, I repeat must, be ratified in the most unexceptionable form, by the supreme authority of the people themselves.”